Abusive Father, Wounded Son

Abusive father – two words heavy with unspoken pain, shaping the lives of sons long after they’ve left his shadow. This article explores the deep and lasting impact of growing up with a violent, emotionally volatile, abusive narcissistic father. We delve into the inner lives of men who grapple with the impact of such a childhood, men who often develop an aversion to healthy masculinity, fearing they will become the monsters they loathe. This fear can manifest as suppressed emotions, an inability to assert themselves, and a pattern of troubled romantic relationships, where they may overcompensate or unwittingly repeat the unhealthy dynamics of their past. We will also examine the complex and entangled relationships these men have with their mothers, who may have sought solace and support from them during times of crisis. But it is entirely possible to process your trauma, embrace healthy anger, and develop a stronger sense of self-awareness. In the end, you will see that by embracing the divine yin/ yang, you can break free from the shackles of the past and build a life defined by authenticity and wholeness.

 

Being the Son of an Abusive Father

You know that feeling—the knot in your stomach when he slammed the door, the way your breath caught in your chest at the sound of his raised voice. As a child, you saw and heard things no child should ever have to witness. Your father’s violence has a haunting presence not just in your home but in your body and mind. The yelling, the hitting, the abusive words—you took it all in.

What happens to a boy when the man who is supposed to protect him becomes the source of his greatest fear? How do you grieve a childhood lost to immense injustice you did not deserve? This article is for the sons who grew up with an abusive father— be it physical, emotional, or verbal.

While abuse can happen in any family, regardless of gender, this piece specifically explores the complex impact of having an abusive father on men. This choice is not meant to suggest a rigid or binary view of gender—gender expression is undoubtedly fluid and dynamic. Yet, in today’s world, we cannot deny that our understanding of gender remains shaped by societal expectations. This piece aims to explore how the trauma of having an abusive father can cause one to internalize a rejection of even healthy expressions of masculinity.

“My dad had limitations. That’s what my good-hearted mom always told us. He had limitations, but he meant no harm. It was kind of her to say, but he did do harm.”
― Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl

 

The Secret Vows and Disowning Healthy Masculinity

Even as a child, you had an unnamed sense that families were not supposed to be like this. All through your childhood, a yearning for justice clashed with the crushing reality of your helplessness.  You wanted so badly, to stand up to your abusive father, to protect your mother, the woman you loved and felt loyal to as any young boy naturally would. But what could you do? You were trapped in a small body and tiny arms, weighted by immense powerlessness, forced to watch the pain inflicted on who you deeply loved.

In these torturous moments, a quiet defiance took root. You made a secret vow to yourself: “Never ever would I be anything like my abusive narcissistic father.” You promised yourself that you would never be consumed by rage, never hurt anyone, never be selfish like him. You assured yourself that you would treat all women with gentleness and care.

But as you grow older, these vows morph into stifling chains.  In your desperate attempt to never become your abusive father, you overcompensated.  You began to suppress your anger, terrified that any seeds of anger would turn into violent explosions. You silenced your voice, convinced that asserting yourself would make you seem aggressive. You shrink back from taking up space, as you unconsciously equate power with dominance and control that defined your abusive father.

In your determination to not become your abusive father, you have overcorrected so fiercely that you inadvertently pushed certain vital qualities into the shadows. You confused his toxic masculinity for the very essence of being a man, and in rejecting him, you rejected a part of yourself. You saw his aggression, his controlling nature, his complete denial of vulnerability—and believed that was all masculinity could be. In rejecting his harmful traits, you also suppressed potentially healthy masculine qualities: assertiveness, strong convictions, and the ability to claim your voice and your power.

Fearful of mirroring your father’s controlling ways, you might have overcompensated with a gentleness that verges on passivity. You silence your own needs and desires, mistaking any assertion of self for his suffocating dominance. Subjugation, suppression, and hiding become the ways to deflect conflicts. Silencing yourself is how you avoid being judged and punished. You might be overly humble, deflecting praise and downplaying your accomplishments, as claiming any space in the world reminds you of your father’s boisterous ego.

And yet, these disowned aspects of yourself did not disappear. They remained buried and squashed in the depths of your psyche, waiting for a chance to be seen. But without conscious awareness and integration, these repressed qualities might surface in unexpected or even explosive ways. 

“I wear bruises on both sides of my fist. I have wept “what am I doing” and I have cried “why did they do that”.

– Kalen Dion

The Past in the Present

The remnants of your past often reveal themselves in intimate relationships of your own. After all, your past with an abusive father has shaped not just how you are in the world but also your definition of love. You have learned to love by alleviating your mother’s pain, comforting her, and being her rock in a storm. You intuited her needs before she even said anything. You became the “good son,” the “good boy,” the one who was always obedient and loyal, who provided comfort and support, who protected her from a chaotic reality. Love, in your young mind, became synonymous with self-sacrifice and caretaking.

And that, I am afraid, is the insidious heart of parentification. It’s a blurring of lines, a slow, subtle shift where a child starts taking on the weight of a parent’s emotions, sometimes even their physical needs. This happens quietly, often born not out of malicious attempts but through transgenerational trauma. Your mother, struggling with the loneliness of having a husband incapable of love, leaned on you. She needed someone—anyone—and she placed you in that role, a role far beyond what your young mind and heart should have to bear. You stepped in, as any loving and loyal boy would. Without even knowing it, you became the surrogate husband your mother needed you to be. A child, innocently wanting to save his mother, unaware of the cost to his future.

And now, years later, the echoes of that childhood dynamic with an abusive father and codependent mother reverberate in your adult relationships. You find yourself drawn to partners who underfunction, or partners who need “saving.” What they stir up in you feels familiar— the instinctive urge to step in and fix, to soothe and support. You might overextend yourself, giving and giving until your own well-being is compromised. You feel like you must ‘earn your love’ by helping, giving, and being the omnipotent protector. You become hyper-aware of your partner’s moods, constantly scanning for shifts, trying to anticipate their needs and prevent any potential upset. Your own needs, your own desires, fade into the background. You learned long ago that your happiness was less important, that needing too much was a dangerous thing.

This is not your fault; it was not ‘wrong’ that you have developed these protective, survival measures to survive. In fact, we all do it to a degree— we carry the imprints of our past into our present, our understanding of love shaped by the relationships that first defined it. Or, to put it another way, that was all you knew about love—the only “model” you had was the caretaker role you were thrust into— to “protect,” to be kind and gentle (like your father never was), to be soft, always to be available, to meet others’ physical and emotional needs at all times, to be the most responsible and earnest”boy/man” you could be.

Perhaps one day, you meet someone. They captivate you, stir something deep inside you and you fall in love. At that point, you hear a quiet hum, an inner vow: “I will take care of them. Very, very good care.” You did not know it then, but at that moment, you might have confused your current partner with your mother.

Sometimes, you interact with your partner not as the person that they are, but what you have projected onto them. You may smother them with a level of care they have not asked for or needed. You might interact with them as if they are incredibly delicate, needing constant attention and reassurance, perhaps much like you craved for your younger self. Even if your partner subtly (or not so subtly) signals they don’t need this level of attention, you might miss the cues, trapped in the trenches of your past where you confuse excessive caregiving with genuine love.

Here is a truth you can offer yourself with compassion: your partner likely does not need the same kind of care your mother needs. They are, after all, very different people with their own unique strengths and needs. While you may logically understand this, your unconscious, your deeper self, might still be living in the shadow of your childhood, reacting to ghosts long gone. This is where diligent introspection and training mindful awareness become essential. By gently acknowledging these ingrained patterns, and noticing when they emerge in your interactions, you can begin to disentangle your past from your present. You can create space for a love that truly serves both you and the person you are with, right here, right now.

More disturbing than hurt is love when it’s wrong.”
― Ali Land

 

Not all of who you are

You see, those patterns of caretaking were deeply entrenched because they were reinforced by years of accumulated praise and external validation. Your loyalty was admired, and your dependability was celebrated. The labels of being “good,” “kind,” “patient,” and “sensitive” became the total of who you are, a source of your self-worth, thus leaving little room for anything else.

But those labels, those imposed roles, are not the full picture of who you are. So much more lies within you, waiting to be unearthed. Your loved ones today—the friends who love you for who you are—and the world, will delight in these other facets of you, too. The playful and exuberant side of you, the one who owns his presence and asserts his needs with quiet confidence, the one who is powerful and passionate, unafraid to express the fullness of who he is—these deserve to be known and celebrated.

We are not seeking to change who you are at your core. Your deep sensitivity, your empathy, your gentleness—these are beautiful, intrinsic parts of you. Rather, we are inviting you to explore the unexplored territories within, embrace the fullness of who you are, and cultivate a more balanced way of being, both within yourself and within your relationships.This is not about erasing any part of you, but about creating space for all of you to shine, to break free from the lingering ghost of your father’s oppression. Remember, you are nothing like your abusive narcissistic father.

 

Seeing the Imperfect Mother

It’s highly likely that, for much of your life, you viewed your violent, abusive father as the “all bad” guy and your mother as “all good.” And while there’s truth in that, it was also a perspective born from a child’s limited understanding, a black-and-white simplification of a more complex reality.

Psychologist John Fairbairn, in his psychoanalytic work, highlights how crucial it is for a child with an abusive parent to maintain a connection with at least one “good” parent. In those vulnerable early years, utterly reliant on caregivers for survival, a child needs at least one source of unwavering love.

So, when faced with the complexities of a challenging family dynamic, like abuse and violence, a child’s developing mind often resorts to a defense mechanism known as splitting, which involves perceiving one parent as entirely good and the other as entirely bad, this black-and-white simplification, while not the full picture, serves the vital purpose of preserving some sense of safety and attachment. Even if this idealized image doesn’t capture the full reality, it safeguards the child’s developing belief that they are worthy of love and care.

As an adult, however, you have the capacity to hold more complexity. You can begin to integrate the “good” and “bad” aspects of both parents, recognizing their humanity and acknowledging how their own limitations and struggles might have impacted their parenting. This shift in perspective doesn’t mean condoning harmful behavior but rather allows for a more compassionate and nuanced understanding of the family dynamics that shaped you.

It’s a painful truth, but sometimes, without realizing it, a codependent mother struggles to embrace her independence fully. This is not malicious or intentional; it often stems from her own unmet needs and fears. For years, your beyond-age-appropriate maturity, your unconditional love, and your constant attention provided her solace—perhaps even a lifeline. Now, as you rightfully seek to individuate, she might unconsciously cling, fearing the loss of the love and support she felt she had in you.

You might sense this resistance when you assert your independence. Perhaps she expresses anxieties about you moving out, subtly undermining your confidence in being self-sufficient. Or she frequently asks for help with tasks she can easily manage, implying that you are indispensable to her well-being. When you pursue your own goals, you might encounter a wave of her anxiety or overwhelm as she tries, subtly or overtly, to pull you back into her orbit. She might even offer seemingly appreciative comments like, “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” knowing they’ll kindle a sense of obligation.

This isn’t to say your mother is “bad.” She is undoubtedly strong and has done her best to protect and care for you, especially while navigating the challenges of living with an abusive father. However, like all human beings, she is not perfect. As you step into your own wholeness, recognize that she no longer needs your absolute loyalty and protection in the same way she might have during your childhood. You are both allowed to grow and evolve.

“We are healed of a suffering only by experiencing it to the full.”

— Marcel Proust

The Courage to Feel

As you navigate the bittersweet journey of healing from the pain inflicted by an abusive father, a myriad of complex emotions may surface—shame, grief, regret, even relief followed by guilt for feeling relieved. Please be kind to yourself. You did what you needed to do to survive, to adapt, to love. Life is an ongoing process of learning and growing, and simply allowing yourself to have these insights about your past today is a moment worth celebrating.

You’ve likely spent a lifetime justifying, rationalizing, and finding excuses for the dynamics in your relationship with your mother. It’s become a default reaction, a way to protect yourself and maintain a sense of peace. But those “demons” you might fear facing—the resentment, the anger—are raw, unprocessed emotions yearning for acknowledgment.

Allow yourself to feel them, without judgment or self-criticism. These emotions, while often uncomfortable, are not dangerous. They don’t make you a ‘disloyal son,’ a ‘violent man’, or a ‘bad person’. Instead of rationalizing or making excuses for your mother’s actions, simply sit with the discomfort. This willingness to experience and process these often-suppressed feelings is a sign of a more mature, nuanced, and ultimately healthier perspective. It’s a necessary part of healing, of disentangling from old patterns and reclaiming your emotional experience.

The moment you can state, with unwavering clarity and confidence, “I do not like being coddled or used by my mother,” marks a profound shift toward health and wholeness. This act of self-respect does not shatter your relationship or condemn her. It simply acknowledges the reality that, in her pain and isolation, she may have unconsciously sought in you what was missing in her life.

Embrace the anger that arises, and do not confuse healthy anger with aggression. You are not your father and you will never be. Healthy anger or resentment is a benign messenger. It is a signal that your boundaries have been crossed and that your needs and well-being matter. This resentment, when met with compassion, becomes a catalyst for change, guiding you toward greater authenticity.

Remember, you are not “bad” for experiencing these emotions. By embracing your full emotional range and developing a more nuanced understanding of your family dynamics, you are stepping into a more complete and authentic version of yourself—a “better” man and human being, not through perfection, but through the courage to face the complexities of love and loyalty with open eyes and an open heart.

 

“You are not the darkness you endured.
You are the light that refused to surrender.”
― John Mark Green

 

From ‘Good Son’ to ‘Whole Self’

This journey is understandably hard. You have held onto the identity of “the good one for so long, to the point of drawing your self-esteem and security from fulfilling that role. Yet, this often unconscious sacrifice has kept other vital parts of you hidden—the vibrant, assertive aspects of your personality that deserve space to breathe and express themselves.

Disentangling from these ingrained patterns takes time and courage. There will be moments of self-doubt, perhaps even guilt. You might question whether you have a right to your real feelings, whether asserting your needs makes you somehow”bad” or “selfish.” You might even fear that embracing your power and strength will somehow corrupt you, and turn you into the very thing you loathe.

Here is the truth: healthy masculinity is not about aggression or dominance. It is about embracing the serene balance of yin and yang within yourself—something you are fully capable of doing. Reclaiming this divine balance of healthy masculine energy and your innate feminine qualities of sensitivity and empathy will bring you strength– A strength that empowers you to stand up for yourself, protect your well-being, and pursue your passions with confidence and purpose.

As you begin to express your needs and desires more openly, you might be surprised by the liberation you feel. The very act of asserting yourself can be a powerful antidote to years of silencing your own voice. It is in these moments of courageous authenticity that you begin to reclaim the fullness of who you are—not just “the good son,” but a complex, multifaceted man with his own needs, desires, and dreams.  You are free to define manhood for yourself, to embody it in a way that honors your values and aspirations, not those imposed by a painful past.

This journey won’t be linear, but with each step you take toward self-discovery, with each boundary you set, and with each emotion you allow yourself to feel, you inch closer to a more authentic and fulfilling life.