In the flickering light of history, there are moments when the cruelest of truths lie buried beneath layers of survival, ambition, and the desperate need to control. Much like the coral reefs at the bottom of the sea—once vibrant in their swampy origins—they now serve as silent witnesses to the erosion caused by a changing world. In the distant past, when humanity first began to settle and form communities, there were swamps, bogs, and deep recesses in nature’s design. These waters, teeming with life, once provided a cradle for these magnificent reefs, but as time passed, the world shifted, leaving these creatures buried beneath sediment, forgotten in time. The stories of the swamped coral reefs remind us of something equally painful: the slow and steady suffocation of one’s sense of self when the environment around you is toxic and neglectful.

Such a state is not uncommon. There are many who, like the coral, have been thrust into environments where they were meant to flourish but found only darkness, decay, and abandonment. Just as the swampy waters receded, so too did the promises made by the very people who should have cared for and nourished. This, too, is the experience of children raised in toxic households. Those who are never fed emotionally, who are left wanting, gnawing on scraps of affection and care, will forever bear the hunger of that neglect. In the darkest of times, they will even lick the butter off knives, as Kafka so chillingly alluded to in his work—forever searching for sustenance that may never truly arrive. And this hunger is not merely for food—it is for love, validation, and a sense of being seen. This hunger never quite disappears, gnawing relentlessly throughout their lives.

Take, for example, the tumultuous rise of Adolf Hitler, a man who, in his pursuit of power, did not merely manipulate the masses; he began by targeting his own home, creating an insurgency within his own nation. He knew that to assert control, to make his reign feel like an inevitable rise, he must first poison the roots, even within his own ranks. Much like an abusive parent who erodes the very foundation of their child’s identity, Hitler’s manipulation began with the destruction of what should have been familiar and safe: the bonds of loyalty within his own nation. The toxic seeds of control spread from within, poisoning not just the nation but the world.

Yet, in the context of family, this phenomenon isn’t confined to the political. In every corner of history, we see the damaging effects of toxicity within the home. It’s well said, and I echo it now to make your ears free of blood, by those who have studied the great tragedies of mankind that “you can’t fight other people’s demons until you have fought your own.” The sooner you walk away from such toxic relationships, the better. Staying in such an environment, where manipulation runs rampant and cruelty is disguised as love, is akin to stepping into a battle that has already been lost before it’s even begun. The damage isn’t just to the body—it is to the soul, to one’s sense of self-worth and perception of reality.

Let’s delve further into the human psyche. There are two types of people in the world, as Nietzsche might have put it—the predators and the prey. And often, the predators prey upon those who are already wounded, those who have yet to recover from the trauma inflicted by others. The result is a cycle, perpetuated by both natural instinct and learned behavior. The predators of the world are not always the ones who wear fangs or claws; sometimes, they are the subtle forces—the fathers, mothers, or figures of authority who claim to nurture yet leave their children to fend for themselves in a world that is already too harsh. In this world, we are all familiar with the hunt. But who among us can truly say they are untouched by it?

Yet, this metaphor of predator and prey carries with it an important question: How do we escape the cycle? Can we redefine our understanding of family when the very structure that once held us has become a cage? The answer is simple and tragic: sometimes, you must walk away, just as the refugees do. They leave their homes, their families, not out of a choice, but because the bonds that once tied them have been severed by the forces of circumstance. History has shown us that those who walk away—whether it’s the Jews fleeing the ghettos or the survivors of genocide—are often those who find the strength to rebuild. It’s not about abandoning one’s roots; it’s about survival, and sometimes, survival means cutting ties with what is killing you.

When we talk of survival, it is essential to mention those who have transcended this familial toxicity and found peace. Take, for instance, the words of Virginia Woolf, whose own life was riddled with familial strife and internal conflict. In To the Lighthouse, Woolf explored the tenuous relationship between parents and children, the distortions in love, and the consequences of emotional neglect. Her own struggle with her family and her eventual mental breakdown is a poignant reminder of how even the brightest minds can be shattered under the weight of toxic family dynamics.

But there is also hope. The possibility of redemption is not simply about leaving; it is about transformation. Just as natural forces reshape the landscape, we too can reshape ourselves. Those who face the brutality of familial betrayal must remember that healing begins within. We cannot change others, but we can change how we respond. In confronting the truths of our own emotional scars, we gain the power to break free. As the idiosyncratic and expressive poet Rainer Maria Rilke put it, “The work of love is to lift up the soul.” The work begins with us—when we see the toxicity for what it is, and when we refuse to allow it to define us.

So, to those who are caught in the web of family toxicity, take solace in this: even in the darkest of history’s chapters, there are those who have risen above, who have redefined what it means to be whole. Your story is not the last word in tragedy; it is only the beginning of something much greater, much more profound. The question is not whether to stay or leave, but whether you are willing to take the journey of self-discovery, to confront your inner demons, and to rise above the ashes of a broken past. Like the coral reefs, buried yet still alive, you too can survive the tides of neglect and emerge stronger than before. The choice, as it always has been, is yours.

Citations:

Kafka, Franz. The Trial. Translated by David Wyllie, Project Gutenberg, 2017.

Nietzsche, Friedrich. Beyond Good and Evil. Translated by Helen Zimmern, Project Gutenberg, 2007.

Woolf, Virginia. To the Lighthouse. Harcourt, 1927.

Rilke, Rainer Maria. Letters to a Young Poet. Translated by M.D. Herter Norton, W.W. Norton & Company, 1934.