By Julie McAlexander
It’s time to confront the truth about family dynamics and the impact they’ve had on me, my husband, and our kids. Growing up, I was indoctrinated into a toxic belief system that demanded unwavering loyalty to the family. I was taught that family is everything, that they are my primary support system, but this so-called support came with strings attached and sometimes what looked like support was actually control. It was dictated by a narrow set of expectations that allowed for individuality only if it made the family look good. Those who dared to step outside the box were perceived as traitors, mocked, and ostracized for pursuing their own paths.
When Alan, the kids, and I planned our farm nine years ago, I vividly recall the questions from my parents and other family members. Those questions were not out of genuine interest; they were rooted in disbelief. It appalled many that we would raise animals and then eat them. The hard work involved was emphasized in every conversation, overshadowing our genuine commitment. I felt their judgment, that air of “you’re weird and crazy,” and I refuse to let that perspective affect my children. Our choices to raise animals for food are not just logical; they are ethical. Hard work is imperative to personal growth, and I won’t allow my kids to internalize the toxic views of our family.
I grew up spoiled, never being pushed to tackle challenges or set meaningful goals. I was allowed to quit whenever things got tough. Chores and tasks would simply be done for me by someone else. This didn’t instill a sense of love or support; instead, it left me with a profound sense of failure. I became terrified of trying anything new, of failing in front of others. I took classes in high school that I knew would be easy. I quit playing guitar when it became challenging and never really learned to play. I even walked away from college just a few months away from a degree because I was no longer interested in automotive design. My parents didn’t even question me. I squandered so much of their time and money with no consequences for doing so. With no foundation to build strength, competence, resilience, or self-esteem, I learned to compensate by inflating my accomplishments, turning trivial achievements into grand victories.
In our family, men are treated as servants, expected to cater to the needs of women at the expense of their own well-being. I watched both of my parents work full-time, but I remember my mom having far more downtime than my dad. She watched TV, read, and was always in bed by about 8 PM. My dad spent his evenings doing dishes and tidying up and would usually relax sometime around 7:30 or 8, going to bed by perhaps 10. He maintained the yard and cleaned the house, often navigating piles of clutter left strewn about by both my mom and me. I vaguely remember him asking me to pick up after myself, but I don’t recall ever doing it. He would gather my mess and put it on the stairs, and I would eventually drag it to my room at my convenience. On the occasions my mom tried to reinforce my dad's requests for me to clean up, it was often implied that my failure to comply would make my dad mad. So, I didn’t learn to respect him; I learned to just “avoid his wrath.”
I projected this dynamic onto Alan, and was shocked that he stood up to me. He resisted my entitlement and held me accountable for my actions. He is not tolerant of excuses, and this has forced me to look very closely at my motivations and intentions. My ego has fought hard not to be disassembled. That piece of me that simultaneously puffs up every little accomplishment while telling me to do only the bare minimum because someone else should do the hard work for me is a real bitch. A stubborn, selfish bitch. I listened to that part of me for years, decades, because that voice tells me exactly what I want to hear, feeding me every excuse. I used all of those excuses against Alan. He has fought valiantly against my ego and bullshit because he knew that letting me slide, letting me carry on with the habits I learned, were not just holding me back but actively damaging our family. If I don't break these habits, our kids are trapped too! This pushback has taken a devastating toll on him—physically and emotionally.
Alan’s health has deteriorated dramatically. He spends most of his days lying inverted, desperately trying to relieve the pressure on his spine. Whenever he attempts to sit or stand, he’s met with relentless symptoms: back pain, cold and tingling sensations, crippling migraines, dizziness, and more. His body is failing him, and every day is a battle against pain. Even lying down doesn’t really bring relief; it merely dulls the agony to a more manageable level. This is his reality, and I struggle knowing how much I have failed—not only to support him but also to manage my own problems so that the stress wouldn't fall on him.
Through all his suffering, Alan continues to hold tight to his values and standards. He has always believed in our daughter’s potential, seeing the remarkable person she could become if she could escape the suffocating void of excuses and entitlement I dragged her into. I recognized the damaging patterns of my upbringing and the influence I had on Gwyn much too late. I know how much hurt I've caused her and how hard she has to fight against these beliefs and habits. Alan knows our son deserves far more than to be treated like a servant; he deserves to be loved and respected for who he is, not confined to a role that diminishes his worth. Our son has so much to offer the world, and it’s my responsibility to ensure he finds his voice so the world can know him.
Realizing and accepting that I have perpetuated the same generational trauma that held me back for so long—and that I still battle daily—has been costly. My sense of entitlement has been so deeply ingrained that I refused for far too long to see the drastic harm it caused to my husband and kids. I can’t undo the stress Alan has experienced or the resulting toll it's taken on his health. I am here with him, and I will remain so for as long as I'm lucky enough to be his wife. I made my wedding vows as a spoiled, careless kid. By holding me accountable, he's allowed me to grow into a woman who can finally respect those vows and who has the strength to face our reality—“in sickness and in health.”
I am eternally grateful to Alan for every time he refused to back down and for every time he threw my bullshit in my face. Had he not been so determined, I would not be the person I am now. I still feel fear and anxiety when I face new challenges. I have that visceral reaction that I'm all too familiar with, but I recognize where it came from and I know that I have a choice. I welcome challenges because that's where growth happens. I no longer want someone else to do the hard work for me, and I don't need to over-inflate minuscule accomplishments because I'm working toward goals that genuinely matter to me. And I can show these skills to our kids. I can encourage them to push their limits and try new things. I can hold them accountable when they make excuses. I can support them as they confront their own versions of the trauma we're all facing, so hopefully their future families won't have to fight for them the way Alan fought for me.