There are certain experiences that a generation can share to varying degrees.
There’s one that has recently become clear to me.
I was born in 1995 and when I talk to American Millennials and Gen Z there’s a rhyme that has come up over and over again: anger towards parents. There’s an anger towards parents being unable to meet our needs, in particular, being unavailable to hold our emotions.
Conversely, when I talk to my parents’ generation, there’s a different rhyme: resentment. This resentment is multifaceted. Part of it originates in personal sacrifice, that as parents they had to give up their own dreams and their own needs to be parents. One refraction of this resentment is a feeling that their children are entitled and ungrateful.
These two generational experiences are two sides of the same coin. My generation’s anger originates in a feeling of our parents being emotionally unavailable, and our parents’ resentment originates in being overwhelmed and overextended, knowing that they were sacrificing and doing an imperfect job as parents, but still trying their best. Both are true, two sides of a joint suffering.
For my generation, we’re entitled and ungrateful Millennials or Zoomers. For our parents, they’re narcissistic Boomers. I see reflections of these generational narratives everywhere, and it tears me up. It tears me up that we’re mad at each other, that both our unmet needs cannot be true and valid at the same time. There seems to be an implicit assumption that for one generation to be valid in our experience, the other must be invalid.
I want a path where both generations can be valid in their experience, and an explanation that provides resolution.
To me the middle path that fits my own experience and others’ is this: nuclear family is not and never was enough.
It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough for parents, who had to sacrifice so much to make it work. It wasn’t enough for children, who were often forced into a parentified role themselves when their parents were panicked and overwhelmed, or weren’t held and accepted in their emotions. It wasn’t enough for anyone, and we all suffered as a result. There was no winner, just joint losers.
I don’t want my anger and sadness at my unmet needs to go to my father or mother. That’s to vent at a co-victim. But I need to put all that hurt somewhere else, and I know where to put it now: nuclear family was never enough.
It could not hold my hurt. It could not hold my needs. That little boy who couldn’t articulate what he needed, and that overwhelmed father who was panicking at him and forcing him into a parentified role — the nuclear family failed us, we didn’t fail each other. We could also show up so far. We could also hold so much. We did our very best, and we tried so so hard to make it work, and it wasn’t enough. But it wasn’t enough because we’re not enough. It wasn’t enough because the nuclear family inherently and structurally is not enough.
I’m done being angry at my co-victim, and I know where to put my anger: I’ll be damned if I pass this onto my own children. I’ll be damned if I put myself into the same terrible trap that my parents were put into where they had to sacrifice so much and be so unmet in their own needs. Nuclear family is out for me. I am deeply and absolutely convinced that it is unsalvageable. If a majority of bridges in the country were failing, we would face the facts and accept there was a bridge problem. But if a near majority of marriages end in divorce? Oh it must be a personal failure.
My only option is to find something else. I have ideas of what that looks like, but they’re ideas. I feel compelled to be a kind of pioneer on an open and unknown frontier because I have no other choice. My current option is a known trap, and I simply cannot sign up for it. I cannot step back into doomed ignorance.
Inspired by the name of the Supernuclear blog, the simplest and most pragmatic alternative to nuclear family is supernuclear family. Nuclear family plus some additional support. In my aspirational picture of a supernuclear home, both surrogate and blood relations are a vital part of the family. Where parents may be the bones of the family, the supporting relationships are soft tissue which help reinforce and lend slack and flexibility. Both roles are vital. The supporting roles are as vital as the core. We’ve lived through what it looks like to have bone without soft tissue: bones can shatter. Bones are strong, but brittle. Bones are inflexible, and when faced with too much change, can irreparably break. Bones are tough, but also abrasive. Soft tissue is what cushions the impact. Soft tissue is what refracts the blow. Soft tissue keeps the body supple and flexible. Soft tissue is gentle and tender. We need both, not one or the other in isolation.
In this picture of supernuclear family, there’s an inherent anarchy to it. When I picture it, for everyone to have their needs met, it feels like there would be a constant and unending process of checking in, talking, listening, realigning. A surrogate aunt may not stay forever. A young couple who wants to see if they want children of their own and get some hands on practice? A grandparent? A surrogate son who needs some space from their parents?
There’s sufficient complexity that one size will never fit all, and I think that’s beautiful. Nuclear family creates the false belief that one size can fit all our needs. Well, our joint suffering is the consequence. In supernuclear family, one size will never fit all, and that means we all have a responsibility to co-define and co-create something that serves all our needs. That’s on us. We never can opt out and fall back on narratives and platitudes. No. We own our own needs, and own that it’s on us to make our home. I put my trust into you, and you put yours into me. We’re on the same team, and if we don’t make this work, nobody will. We have to, and we will. That’s what forges a family.
In nuclear family, compromise is sacrosanct. The reason is because it was never enough and everyone had to give up something. In supernuclear family, alignment is the new sacrosanct. This opens up beautiful new options.
To the right person, one person’s burden is a gift. To one person you may be “needy”, while to another you give them a reason for being, a reason to live. Care and generosity are beautiful in that they’re a gift that keeps giving. They’re a renewable energy, where the very act of giving is the opposite of scarce, they’re self-validating and self-renewing. Care, when done right, is abundant. It’s a gift to both giver and receiver, not a debt.
This is the name of the game of alignment: who will see my “burdens” as gifts, and vice versa? This is a world of complementary needs and offerings, where the offering is in and of itself a kind of complementary need. In this world, the ledger-like transactionality of compromise is inadequate. A different logic emerges, one of radical nonfungibility where every relationship is unique and precious. Alignment is an expression of unique complements, but it requires flexibility and redundancy so that each relationship can honor its alignments while creating space for its misalignments.
In my ideal supernuclear family, every relationship can be aligned, and there’s sufficient capacity and flexibility (fat and slack) to give space for misalignments. This is promise of anarchy, a world where we all can bring out the best in each other and experience care as a gift, rather than a debt.
So how can I find these people who have these complementary needs and offerings? How can get there? My answer has been to start doing it. In my vision of supernuclear family, coliving is an inherent part. I’ve been coliving for the last decade, and it’s a daily practice of seeking alignment, and discovering and navigating a new kind of logic of living that exists in stark contrast to ledgers and compromise. Coliving is my path to supernuclear family. It teaches the skills to build a happy home, and I’m hoping to find my family along the way.
For me, this is a leap of faith, but I have no other options. This means I have to give it my all, there’s simply no other way. But it also means I have nothing to lose. All benefit, no risk, is a bet I’m willing to take.