The Inheritance of Resentment

There are stories we inherit that aren’t ours. Wounds passed down like heirlooms — silent, sharp, and often misunderstood. This is one of mine.

More Than Just Sibling Rivalry

Most middle children wrestle with identity. The eldest gets responsibility. The youngest gets protection. The middle? Often overlooked — floating somewhere between forgotten and blamed.

My stepfather was a middle child. But his struggle went far deeper than birth order stereotypes. He hated his older sister, Emma. Even decades later, the bitterness clung to every story he told about her.

"She pressed her rings into my chest."

"She left my clean clothes on a dirty floor."

"I threw a chair at her, and she called the cops."

To him, she was cruel. To him, his rage was justified.

But over time, I realized — he hadn’t left that pain behind. He brought it with him. And he projected it all onto me.

When Childhood Trauma Becomes Parenting Fuel

I’m his stepdaughter. I also have a half-brother — his biological son. We fought, like most siblings do. But to my stepfather, every fight felt like déjà vu.

Every disagreement triggered something old and unresolved.

And every time I stood up for myself, he snapped:

"You’re just like Emma."

I didn’t understand the venom in those words until the day I jokingly flipped it — called my brother Emma.

He exploded.

Suddenly, I saw it.

I wasn’t just his stepkid. I was a stand-in. A placeholder for his pain. The villain in a family drama I never signed up for.

I Carried His Grudge Like It Was Mine

No matter what happened, I was always the problem.

It didn’t matter who started the fight — I was the one punished.

Not because of what I did, but because of who I reminded him of.

As I grew, the resemblance deepened.

I loved books. I was sensitive, analytical, curious.

All things Emma had been, too.

All things he seemed to hate.

He couldn’t separate me from his past.

And I paid for a debt I never owed.

When Pain Is Inherited, Not Healed

Here’s the truth I’ve had to face:

Unhealed trauma doesn’t stay quiet. It echoes.

It spreads.

And too often, it lands on the next generation.

We think childhood pain stays locked away, but it doesn’t.

It creeps into our tone of voice. Our parenting style. The way we react — not to our child, but to a memory they accidentally resemble.

Parents don’t have to be perfect. But they do have to be self-aware.

If you haven’t looked at your own wounds, you might end up bleeding all over someone who didn’t cut you.

Your child isn’t your sibling.

They’re not your bully.

They’re not the parent who failed you.

And if you don’t know that — they’ll grow up carrying a shame that was never theirs.

Breaking the Cycle Starts Here

It’s hard to talk about this stuff. Family dynamics are messy. And when abuse is subtle — when it hides behind old hurts and “good intentions” — it’s even harder to name.

But naming it is the first step.

If you’re a parent, or hope to be, ask yourself:

Am I seeing my child clearly — or through the lens of my own trauma?

Am I reacting to them, or to someone they unintentionally remind me of?

Healing doesn’t mean pretending the past didn’t hurt.

It doesn’t mean forgiving people who haven’t changed.

It means refusing to pass the pain forward.

It means giving your child space to be themselves — not your scapegoat, not your second chance, not your unresolved story.

Because love without self-awareness isn’t love.

It’s projection dressed up in good intentions.

And children know the difference.