You are doing amazing Sweetie because my rage and compassion can live side by side
The other day, I saw a comment on a video about the Boomer generation that made me reflect on how there seems to be a common thread running through their behavior. In my previous newsletter, I talked about what it’s like to be raised by a narcissist, but today I want to talk about what appears to be their wound—one that clearly passed down to many of us. At the same time, I find myself feeling compassion toward it. Because we can feel rage and disappointment, but also compassion and love, all at once.
The comment pointed out how the Boomer generation is deeply insecure and carries a big need for affirmation. That made me think—perhaps in order for us to become a generation that finally got in touch with our feelings (to some degree), Boomers had to be shut out of theirs. It seems they didn’t have space to feel or acknowledge their emotions, and were likely constantly compared to siblings and shut down by the adults in their lives.
From the Boomers I know personally, I see both a need for validation and a fear—or undiscussed shame—around wanting that validation. They didn’t receive it, and no one told them they were enough or that it was okay to be exactly who they were. If we pay attention, it’s not so subtle: I can see an inner child who was never given space for their feelings. In a way, they are emotionally depleted—while also being part of a generation that was shamed for sharing fears or being vulnerable. And when I look at it like this, I can feel a certain love for them. If they never had the space to feel or be themselves, they ended up projecting onto us their own sense of not-enoughness.
For the longest time, I said, “Ah, but that’s no excuse—they could have worked on themselves.” But now I wonder: could they, really? I mean, yes—but I also know how difficult it has been for me to face my shadow, even in a time when the internet has connected so many of us and shown that we’re not alone in our pain. As a Millennial, I also remember how, in the early 2000s, we were going through things no one around us knew how to talk about—because we didn’t know how to, either.
As much as I sometimes fall into the trap of saying the internet is the root of many evils, the truth is, it also helped me find freedom and a sense of self through the bravery of others who shared their stories, making me feel seen and understood. I don’t think many Boomers had that chance. And this week, I felt a sense of compassion (even while parts of me still feel hurt) toward the fact that they were actually doing their best with the prejudices and limited information they had.
Yes, some people are now taking it upon themselves to overcome what wasn’t possible back then—but for those who aren’t, wasn’t I being just like them by pointing a finger and saying their healing wasn’t enough? Wasn’t I also lacking compassion, even though I know firsthand how hard healing is? How painful and terrifying it can be to face our shadows?
So maybe, as much as I wish I’d grown up in a different emotional environment, my healing lies in forgiveness and understanding—the same understanding I longed to receive for myself. Because at the end of the day, no matter how old you are, healing is hard as hell. It requires facing our shame and meeting it with love—like a patient, caring parent would.
All of this to say: after last week’s purge, where I let myself feel the rage, grief, and pain over what could have been, this week I’m finding the space within myself to look at it all with gentler eyes. To say, “You’re doing great, sweetie.” And that applies to both myself and my parents—even though I still need to set boundaries, I can now look at them with affection, even from afar. Even if they never become who I needed them to be, I can still say, “I hope you heal from the things you don’t talk about,” the same way I’ve found space to begin forgiving them.
Have a great week!
Francisca