The Long Shadow of Conditional Love: How Old Patterns Can Resurface Decades Later

by Dr Shuna Marr

This blog post is a reflection on how the way we are parented as children can continue to affect our thoughts, emotions, and actions—even sixty years later.

Every week, I have the joy and privilege of looking after my two grandchildren—one on a Tuesday and the other on a Thursday. With the Christmas holidays approaching, I was arranging with my daughter Roslyn what the plans would be, as this year the Tuesday and Thursday in question fall on Christmas Eve and Boxing Day (a UK term for the 26th December).

As we sorted out the days, I casually remarked that we needed to find a balance between looking after the children and me not becoming a “babysitter.” It was a throwaway comment, and Roslyn didn’t seem to notice, but I felt that familiar niggle of discomfort about what I’d said.

Over the years, I’ve become sensitive to these inner prompts, so I took some time to sit with the feeling and explore it.

At first, I recognised a sense of guilt. Because the children would be off nursery and school, part of me wondered if I should offer to take on more to help Roslyn get a break. But another part knew that I needed my own time too. It brought up the familiar tug-of-war between wanting to support and knowing it’s not my sole responsibility.

And that’s okay—it’s human to feel that. However, I know that loving and supporting others doesn’t mean giving until we’re depleted. To truly give, we need to do so from an overflowing cup, so I need to protect my boundaries. However, I felt there was something more. 

Projections and Patterns

At this point, I shared my thoughts with Roslyn, explaining that I felt something deeper was coming up and that I had been projecting my internal conflict onto the situation. With her usual empathic perspicacity, she gently pointed out something insightful: perhaps the part of me feeling guilty was the same part that has never felt good enough, no matter what I do.

Roslyn also observed that when this part of me surfaces, it’s usually accompanied by a fear of consequences.

This resonated deeply. As a child, my parents often focused on what I didn’t do right, rather than praising what I did well. This led me to always feeling that no matter what I did, it was never 'enough' to stop the love going away, because the consequences of me not doing what was desired or expected was that I was 'frozen out'. My mum would be cold and unloving until I did what was desired and then I was rewarded with love.

This kind of emotional manipulation shaped my understanding of relationships as fragile and love as conditional. It planted a seed of fear that if I didn’t do enough or meet expectations, I’d be rejected or left behind.

Recurring Family Separation

When I reflected further, I began to connect it to a conversation I’d had recently about generational patterns of separation in my family.

In the past, family members falling out and not speaking for years was a recurring theme—not just in my extended family but in my immediate family too. I've spoken before in other posts about how I and my parents and brothers stopped speaking for ten years after my separation from my first husband 26 years ago.

Although those fractures have since been healed, the fear of the consequences of 'doing or saying the wrong thing' still remains. 

Healing the Fragile Relationship Wound

When I tuned into this part of myself, I released a flood of tears—a clear sign we’d hit the heart of the issue.

That belief that relationships are fragile runs so deep.

As a child, I often had to walk on eggshells around my mother, making sure I didn’t upset her. With my brothers, there was always the risk of offending them if I said the 'wrong thing'.

But my relationship with Roslyn has never been like that. We’ve had our share of robust arguments in the past, but we’ve always been able to talk them through. These days, we’re both able to openly acknowledge our feelings, recognise when we’re triggered, and support each other in processing our emotions.  

This dynamic is a testament to how love and understanding can rewrite the scripts of the past, showing that we can choose a different way of being with those we care about.

That said, this old fear has been waving its arms recently, because I've caught myself a few times worrying that if I say or do the wrong thing, Roslyn and her family might change their minds about moving in. It reminds me that some outdated beliefs are still holding on.

A Beautiful Opportunity for Rescripting

In the early days of my awakening, it often took a major push for me to see these patterns. Now, after years of internal work, my inner pond is still enough that I can notice the smallest ripples and follow them back to their source.

What I'm seeing reflected is how guilt and fear of not doing enough—or the fear of rejection—can connect back to those childhood experiences and generational wounds.

That deep-seated belief of “not being good enough” is such a powerful thread, and it’s no wonder that old fear of consequences would resurface now, just as we’re preparing for an even closer family dynamic when Roslyn and her husband and my grandchildren move into the house next year, when we create our multigenerational home.

What’s truly significant, though, is that my relationship with Roslyn is living proof that those patterns are shifting. She respects boundaries, listens without judgment, and has no expectations of me beyond what I freely offer.

It’s healing in action.

Now I've seen that the part of me that fears rejection is still operating from an outdated script—one that says love and approval are conditional - the next step in rewriting that narrative is meeting this part of myself with compassion and reassurance.

There’s no need to rush to “fix” it, though. I'm not broken. I'm just releasing what no longer serves me. 

I’ll give myself time to sit with this fear and let it arise naturally. When the time is right, I’ll meet that part of myself gently and say:

“I see you. I know you’re scared and worried that things could go wrong. But look where we are now—this is a new way of being. It’s safe to let go of those old fears when you’re ready, - and I’ll be here when you are.”

The Ripple Effect of Parenting 

This experience has reminded me how profoundly our childhood experiences can shape us.

If you have children in your care, love them unconditionally—not based on how well they “get it right” or whether they obey. The effects of conditional love can linger for decades. I’m living proof of how deep these patterns run — and (thankfully) also how they can be healed. 

Through love, awareness, and compassion, we can rewrite the scripts of the past and create a legacy of unconditional love that ripples through generations. 

Love