Your Family Isn’t Toxic. Your Perspective Is.

Let’s talk about family, the real version, not the curated holiday Instagram version.

Every year, around the holidays, people start airing out the same tired narratives about how “toxic” their families are. And listen… some families truly are.

But sometimes, what we call toxic is really unhealed people doing the best they know how to do.

That’s the story in my family.

The women who raised me weren’t perfect. They weren’t soft, delicate flowers who had the privilege of growing up with gentle men and stable households. They weren’t taught emotional intelligence. They weren’t given therapy. They weren’t protected.

They were survivors.

They lived through a drug-addicted, abusive father who beat their mother and terrorized them.
They survived men who cheated, lied, disappointed them, and abandoned their commitments.
They carried trauma on their backs while raising children and still showing up for everybody else.

So yes, they’re a little harder.
A little rough around the edges.
A little “don’t play with me.”
A little defensive.
A little guarded.
A little emotionally unavailable at times.

But they’re also the same women who show up, every holiday, every emergency, every life event.

They host.
They call.
They check in.
They do the emotional labor nobody acknowledges.

And yet the judgment they receive from the younger generation?
Oh, it’s loud.

“My family is toxic.”
“They’re messy.”
“They’re dramatic.”

“They don’t communicate.”
“I don’t fool with them.”

Meanwhile…
These same people haven’t hosted a single gathering, never open their homes, barely call, barely show up, and treat their own parents like obligations instead of blessings.

They grant themselves endless grace but extend none to the women who raised them.

Not one ounce of humility.
Not one ounce of perspective.
Not one attempt at understanding.

And what frustrates me most is this: You cannot judge people’s present without understanding their past.

These women survived things that would’ve broken most people. And they did it without therapy, resources, support systems, or the “self-care culture” we love to quote today.

Do they have flaws? Absolutely.
Are they perfect? Not even close.
But neither are the ones pointing the fingers.

What I’ve learned is this: The loudest critics in a family are usually the ones who contribute the least. And the most judged family members are often the ones who carried everyone through the hardest times.

I love my family.
With all their flaws.
With all their quirks.
With all their history.

Because when life hits?
It’s not the friends who show up.
It’s not the cousins who stay away because they’re “over it.”
It’s the same women they talk about.

So here’s the truth: You don’t have to excuse behavior, but you do need to understand it.

Grace doesn’t mean letting people trample you. But humility requires acknowledging that some people weren’t broken, they were damaged by forces they never asked for and still chose to live.

And honestly? They deserve more compassion than criticism.

This year, I’m choosing to see my family clearly, not through judgment, but through context.

And maybe that’s what more people need to do.