Resemblance by Resistance

On becoming our parents in another font.

I've always been drawn to family dynamics. The psychology of it. The patterns. The way things repeat across generations. The quiet inheritance. The loud ones too.

I've written before about how I am a product of everything I received. But I don't think I've spoken enough about the other side: how I am also a product of everything I was starved of.

And I think most of us are.

We are mosaics of what we were given, what we accepted, and what we rejected. Or at least, I know I am.

Whether we are conscious of it or not, our parents shape us profoundly — sometimes by example, sometimes by contradiction.

I know I resemble my mum in many ways. But I am almost as much a product of who she is not as I am of who she is.

I am helpful, quick to irritate, a giver, a smiler, a good cook, witty, handy, strong, and a good conversationalist — because I am her daughter.

But I am also not a people pleaser. I am selfish. Feminist. Low on tolerance for nonsense. Irreligious. Reflective. Occasionally lazy — because I am her daughter.

The first set of qualities transferred quietly. I didn’t notice them forming.

The second set came from observation — and careful avoidance. I saw traits that did not fit the narrative of who I wanted to become, so I resisted them.

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Recently, a friend told me he never gets angry because he grew up as the emotional punching bag for his father’s rage. Having experienced that, he consciously chose the opposite path.

You’d think that’s great, right? Choosing differently.

And yes — it is good to choose differently. But I think we need to pause and ask: how far should resistance go?

Anger is often labelled negative, and sometimes it is. But it is also a signal. A boundary alarm. A way of knowing when something is wrong.

To never express anger (especially in Nigeria 😭) is to invite quiet accumulation. I’m not saying it should become violence. But it should be felt. Acknowledged. Released.

In trying to escape one edge of a sword, you might run straight into the other.

Some people break cycles. Some simply swing to the opposite extreme — and call it healing.

So maybe I’m writing this for myself. Or for someone else. To ask: are you becoming your parents in another font?

Or are you resisting wisely?

Maybe breaking a cycle doesn’t always look like rebellion. Maybe sometimes it looks like integration. Discernment. Balance.

Align yourself not only in reaction to who your parents are or aren’t, but in response to who you needed.

Maybe breaking a cycle doesn’t always look like resistance.

Maybe it looks like coexistence — honouring what shaped you without letting it define your existence.

(That rhymed🤭)

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This is the first post I'm releasing directly from my drafts, I might mess around and release more (if I feel like).

Now, have you ever caught yourself becoming your parent in a way you swore you wouldn't?

Talk to me in the comments.