They Can’t Be Bad, So They Must Be Good

A cracked mirror. Public domain image.

With sensitivity and care, I want to talk about a painful topic today. Then I want to apply it to political realities we are facing. If this rings too close to home, it’s okay to close this and not read it.

It’s this: When children are harmed by adults early in their lives, they can grow into adulthood accepting, tolerating, and even justifying harm that continues to come their way.

In these situations, harm can become normalized. It can sink into narratives that a person has carried for a very long time. Or it can take the form of repetition compulsion, a pattern that trauma and post-trauma can create. A therapist I follow online says, “We repeat what we have not resolved.” If we haven’t had the opportunity or the tools to work through these experiences of harm, we may be at a disadvantage in seeing them clearly and avoiding them.

This is not the only way this can unfold, of course, and it should never be assumed across all people or situations. And even when harm toward the self has become normalized in someone’s thinking, no one enduring that harm should be blamed for experiencing it. Ever. That is important to name clearly.

But here’s where I’m going with this: I want to explore the connection between dynamics that can form in childhood and the ways those dynamics might shape how some people relate to authority later in life. More specifically, I want to consider how this might be playing out, for some people, in their support of our current administration. This is not a universal explanation, but one possible way that such support can emerge and remain intact.

When children are harmed by adults they should be able to trust — through mistreatment, bullying, neglect, or abuse — they often blame themselves rather than those adults. Even though self-blame in childhood leaves deep scars, we can understand why it happens. It is harmful, yes, but it can feel more survivable than believing that the adults they depend on are unsafe.

It is psychologically intolerable for a child to believe that the people they rely on for care are dangerous. So instead, the narrative becomes: “I shouldn’t have done that, so I deserved it,” or “I must be bad.”

In other words, this logic takes root: “I can’t handle them being bad, so they must be good.”

Journalist Stacey Patton describes it this way:

A young child’s brain is not built to evaluate whether a parent or caregiver is fair, cruel, or abusive. A child’s brain is built to protect the attachment relationship at all costs.

From a developmental perspective, the parent or caregiver is the child’s food source, shelter, safety system, and emotional regulation system. If that relationship breaks, the child’s survival is threatened.

Because of that, the developing brain performs a very specific psychological maneuver when harm comes from that adult. Instead of concluding “the adult is wrong,” the child’s brain concludes “I must be wrong.” This is a neurological survival strategy.

Developmental psychologists call this “defensive attribution.” The brain assigns blame to the self because blaming the caregiver would create unbearable terror. If the adult who feeds you, houses you, and keeps you alive is dangerous and unpredictable, the world becomes psychologically unlivable for a child.

She goes on to say:

Once the brain builds a narrative that links love with pain and authority with violence, it can shape how someone understands discipline, relationships, and even justice. What began as a survival explanation can become a whole worldview: that people in power have the right to hurt those beneath them.

Again, whether children or adults, no one being harmed or abused deserves it. Not if they have internalized this logic. Not if they stay. Not if they blame themselves. Not if they try to justify what is happening to them.

And yet, we can see how this pattern forms. It often takes deep awareness and meaningful support to move in different directions. This worldview can persist, extending into workplaces, spiritual communities, romantic relationships, and friendships.

And increasingly, I find myself wondering… could this also shape how some people relate to our current administration?

I’ve had conversations with people I know personally, and in those discussions, I’ve discovered we share common ground. They’ve said Medicaid should not be defunded. Racism is evil. Lying about elections is wrong.

And yet some of these very same people, people I care about, still believe that leaders in our administration are patriotic and genuinely care for the American people. They say things like, “He never sleeps. He’s always working for us,” and they believe this administration can be trusted.

I find myself wondering: could this reflect that same internal logic?
“I can’t tolerate the idea that those in authority might be harmful, so they must be good.”

Or perhaps:
“I can’t tolerate the idea that I voted for this three times, so it must not be harmful.”

I don’t know.

And of course, there are plenty of people who genuinely do believe Medicaid should be defunded, that white people are superior, and that the 2020 election was stolen.

But I wonder if, for some people, there may be something deeper at play. It is still totally complicit. This harm does not only wound the self. It is actively harming and traumatizing many people, especially those who are most vulnerable.

But when it comes to the underlying logic, for some people, perhaps this is connected to something formed long ago. It is a way of making sense of harm that once helped them survive.

Is this showing up now, like this?

Increasingly, I wonder.
And I hope that what has been learned can also be unlearned.

Renee Roederer

Spaghetti Wall

A spaghetti noodle on the wall. Public domain.

When brainstorming or trying things out, we often talk about “throwing spaghetti at the wall” to see which ideas will stick.But I bet there are plenty of noodles that were actually pretty great, even if they didn’t quite make it.

Do you have one that comes to mind? A good idea that didn’t materialize, at least at the time?

Could it be time to bring it back?

Renee Roederer

Walk Out Songs

What is your walk out song?

I remember someone asking this question to a group. If you were a baseball player today, and you were coming up to bat, what song would play as you walked out to home plate? What peps you up or sums up something about you? What mood do you want to be in?

To mix sports for a moment, I was blown away by Alysa Liu’s gold medal performance on the ice during her free skate. Ever since then, nearly daily, I’ve been listening to the song that accompanied her. It’s Donna Summer’s MacArthur Park Suite. I had never heard it until Alysa Liu’s free skate.

But I think I’d like that to be my walk out song as of late, especially the jamming disco sections in the middle.

What about you?

Renee Roederer

Goodbye

A phone lying on a nightstand. Public domain.

I talked with one of my loved ones last night, and I was telling her stories about David, one of the people who formed me most deeply.

I shared, “When we used to end our phone conversations, he would say, ‘Now remember, you’re loved as strange as you are.’ And then I would add, ‘And you’re loved as strange as you are.’”

Then not long after, she and I were ending our own conversation, and we gave each other this benediction, too.

“Now remember, you’re loved as strange as you are.”

“And you’re loved as strange as you are.”

The people we love — even those who have died — can show up in a variety of ways. Even a familiar rhythm of goodbye can return nearly twenty years later.

Renee Roederer

The Love of Thousands

A tree with exposed roots. Public domain image.

At one point in time, a part of ourselves was carried inside our maternal grandmother.

When a female baby is forming inside her mother, she is already carrying all of the eggs she will have in her lifetime. One of those eggs contained genetic material that eventually became a part of us. Our grandmother carried a part of us, too.

Many parts of our lives begin long before we do. And this is true beyond eggs and DNA. Our great-grandparents, grandparents, or parents settled somewhere, and that place shaped our lives, allowing us to become who we are in a particular way that would not have been the case otherwise. Someone’s family moved next door, and that child became our best friend. We started that job. We picked up the phone. We boarded that plane. We met people we loved, and we formed families, creating more particular forces that will shape other people, too — those born into our lives and those we encounter.

Our lives have gifts attached to them that were decades in the making, long before we knew them or could share them.

I also love what author Linda Hogan writes:

Suddenly, all my ancestors are behind me.
“Be still,” they say.
“Watch and listen.
You are the result of the love of thousands.”

That’s true.

We are also born of the struggles of thousands. The visioning of thousands. The hopes of thousands. The failures of thousands. The desires of thousands.

We are who we are in and through one another.

Renee Roederer

Enjoy Being Imperfect

My dress. With coffee rings.

I hate to break it to you, but you’re imperfect. And you’re going to be imperfect today. Me too. We might as well enjoy it.

I was driving to lead a service for Parables when I glanced down and noticed a coffee stain at the top of my dress. And not from that day, I have to admit. Oops. I had also worn this dress the day before when I attended a Celebration of Life in memory of my friend’s Mom. I had not seen this stain before leaving the house.

Then a few minutes later, I glanced down again and saw another coffee stain. This one had actual coffee rings. What am I, a coaster? I had not noticed this either.

But this was all fitting. At the Celebration of Life service, it became clear that my friend’s Mom had a hallmark laugh. She laughed hard and often. And many people shared that she enjoyed laughing at herself — especially if she made a mistake, was clumsy, or had misunderstood something. She also loved to dance, and her family had created a dancing playlist in her honor.

Here I was, listening to these songs, noticing my coffee markings, and laughing at myself, too. I hope she would have approved.

We are going to be imperfect — today and every day. Rather than chiding ourselves, can we laugh? Or at least give ourselves a little grace?

Renee Roederer