One of the most difficult truths many adults come to realize is that love and liking are not always the same thing. A parent can love their child deeply and still struggle to like them. That sentence often creates discomfort because it feels cruel, almost unforgivable. We are taught that parental love is supposed to be unconditional, endless, and selfless. Yet when we sit with the lived experiences of many people, particularly those raised in immigrant, collectivist, or highly traditional households, a more complicated reality begins to emerge.
Many parents love their children because they are their children. They would sacrifice for them, work endless hours for them, and endure extraordinary hardship to provide opportunities. Yet at the same time, there can be resentment, disappointment, criticism, emotional distance, or an inability to genuinely appreciate who their child is as a person. Not because they are bad parents or because they intentionally wanted to cause harm, but because parenting often asks people to confront parts of themselves they never had the opportunity to heal. Children become mirrors, and mirrors can be painful.
Psychologically, one of the most fascinating concepts is projection. Projection occurs when aspects of ourselves that feel uncomfortable are unconsciously placed onto someone else. We criticize in others what we struggle to accept within ourselves, and we react strongly to qualities that trigger our own unresolved wounds. Children are particularly vulnerable to becoming recipients of this process because they are constantly developing in front of us. A child who is confident may trigger a parent who never felt allowed to have a voice. A child who is creative may remind a parent of dreams they abandoned decades ago. A child who takes risks may activate fears in a parent whose entire life was built around survival. A child who chooses a different path may challenge the sacrifices that parent made to follow a prescribed one.
The child is not doing anything wrong. The child is simply existing. Yet their existence can stir emotions that have nothing to do with them. This is why many adult children grow up feeling confused. They know their parents love them, and the evidence is often everywhere: the food on the table, the roof over their heads, the opportunities they were given, and the sacrifices that were made. And yet there is still an emotional distance that cannot be explained. There is a lingering feeling of never quite being accepted, never quite being enough, and never quite being seen.
The confusion emerges because love was present, but approval was conditional. Affection was attached to performance, connection was attached to obedience, and validation was attached to achievement. As a result, many children grow into adults who spend decades trying to earn a relationship that was never supposed to be earned in the first place.
For many children of immigrant families, this dynamic becomes even more complicated. The reality is that previous generations often entered adulthood under circumstances that are almost impossible for younger generations to fully comprehend. Many were married young, became parents young, and had little choice in either decision. Life unfolded according to cultural expectations rather than personal readiness. Marriage happened because it was expected, and children arrived because that was the next step. The question of whether someone truly wanted parenthood was rarely asked. The question of whether they felt emotionally prepared was often irrelevant. The question of whether they had healed their own childhood wounds was almost unheard of.
Today, for the first time in human history on such a large scale, many people have the opportunity to choose. People can choose whether they want children and when they want them. They can delay parenthood and pursue education, careers, travel, relationships, self-discovery, and personal growth before making that decision. This is not a societal failure; it is a privilege, and a profound one.
If you are reading this, regardless of your age, ask yourself a simple question: Would you feel ready to become a parent tomorrow? Would you be prepared to put another human being’s needs ahead of your own? Would you feel emotionally equipped to guide someone through life while still navigating your own challenges? For many people, the answer is no. And yet countless parents throughout history entered parenthood at younger ages, with fewer resources, less emotional support, and significantly less autonomy than we possess today.
When viewed through that lens, something important happens. Compassion begins to emerge—not because harmful behaviours become acceptable, but because they become understandable. Many parents were children themselves when adulthood arrived. They were trying to survive, trying to build stability, and trying to navigate migration, financial stress, cultural expectations, and family obligations. Many never had the luxury of asking themselves what they wanted. As a result, they spent years sacrificing parts of themselves before they even knew who they were. That sacrifice often became the foundation of their identity.
The problem is that sacrifice without choice frequently creates resentment. Not necessarily conscious resentment or intentional resentment, but resentment nonetheless. And when people do not know where to place that resentment, it often leaks into relationships, particularly the relationships closest to them. Their children become the emotional containers for disappointments they never processed. The child becomes responsible for fulfilling dreams they never chose, creating happiness they cannot generate internally, and validating sacrifices they never asked to be made.
This creates an impossible burden because no child can regulate a parent’s emotional world. No child can heal a parent’s grief. No child can justify a parent’s sacrifices. No child can become successful enough, grateful enough, obedient enough, or accomplished enough to finally make a dissatisfied parent feel satisfied. The goalposts continue moving because the issue was never the child. The issue was the unresolved pain beneath the expectations.
This is why so many adult children describe feeling lost in relationships with their parents. They are constantly chasing an invisible finish line, trying to earn approval, receive validation, and finally hear the words they needed decades ago. Yet the parent may not know how to give them—not because they do not care, but because they never learned how.
Another layer of complexity emerges through culture. The gap between generations has perhaps never been wider than it is today. Many immigrant parents carry the values of the country they left, while their children absorb the values of the country they live in. One generation was taught obedience; the next is taught self-expression. One generation values duty; the next values authenticity. One generation prioritizes collective wellbeing; the next emphasizes individual fulfillment. Neither side is entirely right or entirely wrong. They are simply operating from different realities.
The result is often misunderstanding. Parents see independence as rejection, while children see control as love with conditions. Parents interpret boundaries as disrespect, while children interpret expectations as emotional pressure. Both sides may genuinely love each other while simultaneously feeling profoundly disconnected.
What makes this particularly painful is that both generations are often grieving something. Parents grieve the loss of the traditions that shaped them. Children grieve the emotional connection they wish they had. Parents mourn the sacrifices they made, while children mourn the acceptance they never fully received. Everyone is carrying loss. Everyone is carrying longing. Everyone is trying to be understood.
The healing begins when we stop viewing these dynamics through the lens of blame. Blame keeps us stuck, while understanding creates movement. Understanding does not mean tolerating harmful behaviour, abandoning boundaries, or pretending painful experiences did not happen. It simply means recognizing that two truths can exist simultaneously. Our parents may have done their best, and their best may not have been what we needed. Both statements can be true.
The goal of healing is not to convince ourselves that our childhood was perfect, nor is it to spend our lives condemning those who raised us. The goal is to understand the forces that shaped them, acknowledge the impact those forces had on us, and consciously decide what we want to carry forward. Because every generation receives an inheritance. Some of it is beautiful, some of it is painful, some of it deserves preservation, and some of it deserves transformation.
Our parents gave us what they knew. Our responsibility is to learn what they did not, to build where they could not, to heal what they could not access, and to love ourselves in ways they may never have learned. And perhaps that is the most meaningful expression of gratitude possible—not becoming our parents, and not rejecting our parents, but taking what they gave us, understanding it fully, and creating something healthier from it. That is how generations evolve. That is how healing becomes legacy.
