“The greatest burden the child must bear is the unlived life of the parent.” — James Hollis

This line stopped me.

Because I’ve carried it. And now, as a father, I feel the weight of not wanting to pass it on.

When a parent hasn’t fully lived — hasn’t processed their own grief, rage, dreams, or regrets — it doesn’t just disappear. It seeps into the home. It becomes the air the child breathes.

I didn’t just grow up with rules or routines. I grew up with my parents’ emotional leftovers. What they suppressed. What they never dared to face. What they expected me to carry, without ever asking.

And I did carry it. For a long time. Trying to be the “good” child. Trying not to take up too much space. Trying to succeed, behave, fix, smooth over. Until I couldn’t anymore.

Now I see it for what it was: It wasn’t mine.

Their shame? Their avoidance? Their silence? Not mine to fix. Not mine to hold. Not mine to continue.

But here’s the thing — I’m a parent now, too. And I know I won’t be perfect. I know I’ll pass on some things unconsciously. But I also know this: I will not hand my son the weight of my unlived life.

I’m doing the work now. So he doesn’t have to carry what I didn’t have the courage to face. So he can walk into his life without dragging mine behind him.

And if that means I have to revisit old wounds? So be it. If it means I have to break cycles I didn’t start? So be it. Because my son deserves a chance to carry only what’s his.

That’s the sacred work of parenting. Not perfection. But taking back what was never meant to be passed on.