African Parenting Through the Lens of Therapy

Because someone has to break the cycle, and apparently it’s us

Jun 29, 2025

Let’s start with a disclaimer.

This is not a piece designed to throw shade at your mother, your father, your auntie that raised you, or the grandfather who believed that emotions were Western propaganda. This is not a rebellion against tradition. This is not “therapy vs culture.”

This is a love letter to African parents; past, present, and in-progress; seen through the complex, sometimes awkward, often tearful, deeply eye-opening lens of therapy.

Or as I like to call it: “talking to a stranger so you don’t scream at your child for breathing too loudly.”

The Pain That Wears Aso-ebi

There’s a growing buzz in our communities. You’ve heard it. Healing. Generational trauma. Inner child work. Attachment styles. Emotional literacy.

Suddenly, people named Oluwasegun and Chidinma are sitting in therapy, talking about how they were raised to fear slippers, silence, and side-eyes. We are unpacking things we didn’t even know were packed in the first place.

And you know what? It’s not because we’re ungrateful. It’s because we’re tired. Not just physically tired (which we are), but tired of repeating patterns we barely understand.

We are now parents ourselves. Some of us are doing it in the diaspora, with multicultural children who call us out for raising our voice at volume three. Children who ask for "space" when they’re upset. Children who want to know why they’re being corrected and not just how hard the punishment will be.

And sometimes, when they ask those questions, we freeze. Because the only answer we know is,

“Because I said so, and that should be enough.”

But therapy teaches us that it isn’t.

Things Our Parents Did Not Have

Let’s be clear. Our parents did not fail us (well, not really, cos some did), but they parented with what they had. And often, what they had was pressure, survival instinct, and a prayer life so strong it could hold a family together with one Bible and half a bag of rice.

They didn’t have:

Books about “emotional regulation”
Podcasts about “gentle parenting”
Group chats where people share PDFs on healing the inner child

They had instincts. They had fear. They had love that sometimes wore the mask of discipline. And they had no safe space to ask,

“Is it possible I am parenting from my own unhealed wounds?”

We do. And with that privilege comes the pressure.

When You Are the Bridge Generation

Here’s what therapy tells me.

We are the bridge generation.

We are translating trauma while raising children who speak fluency in emotional nuance. We are holding the past in one hand and trying to shape the future with the other. And most of us are doing it while barely sleeping and running on caffeine and guilt.

We are trying to explain to our children why Grandma is loving but also slightly terrifying. Why Grandpa believes boys shouldn’t cry and girls shouldn’t talk back. Why silence at the dinner table used to mean peace, not disconnection.

And it is hard.

But it is also holy work.

What I Told My Therapist

I told her I didn’t want to shout. I didn’t want to pass on the fear. I didn’t want to see my child flinch when I raised my voice, even by accident.

She asked, “What do you want them to feel when they think of you at 35?”
I said,

“I want them to feel safe. Seen. Loved. Even when I messed up.”

She nodded. And then gave me homework.

That’s when I created something I now share with other parents like me; the Affirmation Cards for African Kids printable pack. Small but mighty. Simple notes that tell our kids: I love you. I see you. I believe in you.

Because sometimes, healing starts with saying what you never heard but always needed.

🖤 Download the printable cards here
🖤 Or gift them to another parent who’s trying to raise soft, strong children

Therapy is Not Un-African

Let me say this slowly. Therapy is not un-African. Healing is not rebellion. Crying is not weakness. And asking for help is not shameful.

There were always elders who listened. There were always village aunties who noticed when something was off. We just didn’t call it mental health. We called it “go and talk to Mama Nkechi” or “that boy is not himself.”

Now we get to do it with language, tools, and yes, therapists.

If you’re ready to explore this, here are a few places to start:

What Healing Might Look Like

Maybe healing looks like apologising to your child.
Maybe it’s choosing to pause before reacting.
Maybe it’s breaking a generational rule that never served anyone.
Maybe it’s choosing softness even when your upbringing taught you that softness was dangerous.

Maybe healing is simply trying again tomorrow.

So …

To every African parent who is in therapy, considering therapy, praying their way through, or just reading this and thinking, “Maybe I do need to unpack that,” I salute you.You are doing what many before you could not do because they were too busy surviving.

Keep going.
Even if you need to cry, whisper “Holy Spirit help me,” and go hide in the bathroom for five minutes.

You’re not alone.

With love, a tiny bit of emotional spiraling, and a side of jollof.

- The African Parent