When survival advice gets mistaken for truth
A woman is making headlines right now. At seventeen, she was married off. Not to a prince. To a man old enough to be her grandfather.
Her mother brokered the deal. Her father objected. But the promise of financial security silenced the discomfort. This man was wealthy. Established. He could provide in ways her family couldn’t. I mean, what seventeen-year-old wouldn’t want stability?
And for a while, it seemed to work. Just last year, she was posting on social media about the $50,000 he gave her. Smiling. Grateful. Living a life most people only dream about.
But now she’s trying to leave.
And this man (affluent, connected, married multiple times before) is using every tool at his disposal to make her exit as painful as possible. Social media campaigns. Public gaslighting. Reminding everyone (and her) of every dollar he spent, every benefit she received. The full weight of his resources aimed at one goal: making her feel like she owes him her life because he paid for her lifestyle.
This is the fairy tale nobody puts in the storybooks. The one where the “good match” starts as a transaction and ends as a trap. Where a mother looked at her daughter and calculated: His money can give her a life I never had. Where “wisdom” sounded like: Security first. Love is a luxury. A man who can provide is a man worth keeping.
And the complicated truth is this, it did provide. The money was real. The lifestyle was real. For years, she enjoyed benefits most people will never access. She wasn’t pretending last year when she posted about that $50,000. That was her reality.
But nobody told her what else would come with it.
Nobody warned her that every gift would become leverage. That financial dependence would morph into emotional control. That the age gap meant a power imbalance she couldn’t see clearly at seventeen. That the very things that made him a “good match” (his wealth, his status, his influence) would become the chains he’d use when she tried to walk away.
She’s twenty-five now. Trying to untangle herself from a decision that was made for her when she was still a child. And the world is watching, debating whether she knew what she was getting into, whether she’s entitled to complain when she lived well, whether leaving makes her ungrateful or a gold digger who got what she wanted and now wants out.
But what nobody’s asking is this: What kind of wisdom told her mother this was the right move?
That’s the thing about inherited guidance. It doesn’t announce itself as broken. It comes wrapped in love, spoken by people trying to spare you from the poverty or instability they endured. It’s backed by generations of mothers who made impossible choices and called it protection. “At least she’ll never struggle as I did. At least she’ll be taken care of.”
And most of us never think to question it. We see the gifts. The lifestyle. The surface stability.
Until we can’t ignore what it costs.
The Advice That Kept Them Alive Is Keeping You Small
Our parents and grandparents survived things we can’t fully imagine. Poverty that made you grateful for a roof, even if what happened under it wasn’t safe. Marriages where divorce meant losing everything: your kids, your reputation, your livelihood. A world that told women their value was in how much they could endure in marriage, and told men their worth was in how little they needed anyone.
So they passed down what worked:
Don’t make waves.
Don’t ask for too much.
Don’t show weakness.
Keep the family together at all costs.
And it did work. For survival, anyway. Marriages stayed legally intact. Families looked functional from the outside. Bills got paid. Nobody talked about what was happening behind closed doors.
But let’s be honest about what “worked” actually meant.
Women who gave everything and felt nothing. Men who provided but were ghosts in their own homes. Kids who grew up watching their parents coexist but never actually connect. The structure held. The people inside it were hollowed out.
And what nobody tells you is that the advice that got them through their war might not be what you need for yours.
When Pain Gets Repackaged as Principle
I know a man (let’s call him Marcus) who watched his father work himself into an early grave trying to prove he was enough. His dad never asked for help. Never admitted he was struggling. Never let anyone see him as anything less than strong.
So when Marcus got married and started feeling the weight of providing, leading, holding it all together, he did what his father did—locked it down and pushed through. Told himself real men don’t need anyone.
Two years in, his wife sat him down and said, “I don’t need you to be strong all the time. I need you to be here.”
He didn’t know how to do that. Because the blueprint he inherited didn’t include “here.” It included “handling it.” And those aren’t the same thing.
This is how it works. Trauma doesn’t just live in what happened to us. It lives in what we were taught to do about it. And when we don’t examine those lessons, we end up passing them down, repackaged as wisdom, rebranded as strength, relabeled as “just how it is.”
Calling something wisdom doesn’t make it true. It just makes it harder to let go of.
The Serpent Also Had Good Advice
In Genesis 3, the serpent told Eve something that sounded brilliant: “God’s holding out on you. Eat this, and you’ll know what He knows. You’ll be like Him.”
Compelling. Logical. It promised something good.
And it led to separation, to hiding, and to everything breaking.
Not all counsel that sounds wise actually leads to life. Some of it (no matter how convincing, or who gave it to you) pulls you further from who you were made to be.
So the question isn’t just “Does this advice sound good?”
It’s “Where does this advice lead me?”
What Happens When We Don’t Ask the Hard Questions
I’ve watched women avoid healthy relationships because their mothers told them, “Men will always disappoint you. Protect yourself first.” So they guard their hearts so well that they never actually let anyone in. And they call it wisdom when it’s really just fear with a Bible verse attached to it.
I’ve watched men refuse partnership and choose isolation because their fathers modeled control and called it leadership. So now they’re searching for a woman who won’t challenge them, won’t need too much, won’t disrupt their carefully managed life. And they call it discernment when it’s really just trying to avoid being hurt again.
And I’ve watched both build lives on foundations that were never solid to begin with, wondering why everything feels so fragile, why connection feels so impossible, why they keep repeating the same patterns they swore they’d never repeat.
Because we didn’t ask: Is this actually true? Or is this just what kept them safe?
Identity Changes Everything
Real wisdom doesn’t come from fear. It comes from knowing who you are.
When you know who you are in Christ, you stop making decisions based on what might go wrong. You stop performing. You stop defending. You start building.
That’s when women realize there’s a difference between helping someone and losing yourself in them. Between being supportive and being silent.
That’s when men realize leadership isn’t about control or distance. It’s presence. It’s “I’m here with you, not above you.”
That’s when both stop choosing between two bad options and start living in the fullness of how God actually designed them. Strong and soft. Confident and humble. Able to lead and able to listen.
Because when you know who you are, you don’t have to protect yourself from everyone. You can discern who’s safe without assuming everyone’s dangerous. You can trust again without being naive. You can ask for help without feeling weak.
Identity frees you to stop surviving and start living.
What It Looks Like to Break the Cycle
My friend Brad grew up watching his dad run the house like a business. Decisions made unilaterally. Emotions dismissed. Partnership nonexistent. His mom played her role, and nobody talked about whether anyone was actually happy.
When Brad got married, he started doing the same thing without realizing it. Until his wife asked him one night, “Do you want a partner or an employee?”
That question shocked him. In a good way, because then he started doing the hard work. Therapy, asking his wife what she actually needed instead of assuming. Learning that being strong enough to be vulnerable is different than being weak. It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t clean. But five years later, his kids are growing up watching a dad who apologizes when he’s wrong, who asks for input, who doesn’t mistake control for love.
He’s not perfect. But he’s whole. And that’s what his kids will inherit. Not a survival strategy disguised as wisdom, but an actual relationship with God that shapes how they see themselves and others.
That’s what breaking cycles looks like. Not perfect. Not spotless. Just honest. Rooted. Free.
So Where Do We Go From Here?
If you’re reading this and recognizing yourself, start here:
Ask better questions. Not “What did my parents teach me?” but “What did their pain teach me?” Not “What advice have I been given?” but “Where is that advice actually leading me?”
Relearn the real thing. Go back to Scripture. Not the verses weaponized to keep people in line, but the full story of what partnership, love, leadership, and service actually look like. It’s messier and more beautiful than the sanitized version you were probably taught.
Refuse to pass pain down as a principle. Just because “that’s how we’ve always done it” doesn’t mean it was ever right. You can honor your parents and still choose differently. You can respect their survival without inheriting their scars.
Get help. Therapy. Spiritual direction. A mentor who’s further down the road and doing it differently. You can’t heal in isolation what was broken in a relationship.
Give yourself time. You’re not just unlearning bad advice. You’re rewiring how you see God, yourself, and everyone around you. That doesn’t happen on a weekend. Be patient with yourself.
The People Behind You Are Watching
The truth is that the generation coming up isn’t just listening to what you say. They’re watching what you do.
They’re watching to see if healing is actually possible or if it’s just something we talk about but never live out.
They’re watching to see if you’ll have the courage to stop the cycle or if you’ll just keep it going because it’s easier than doing the hard work.
They need you to be proof (not perfect proof, but real proof) that you can inherit brokenness and still choose wholeness.
That you can come from dysfunction and still build something healthy.
That the patterns that shaped you don’t have to be the patterns that define you.
So I’ll leave you with this:
What lesson from your past came from pain instead of truth?
Where is God asking you to unlearn something before you teach it to someone else?
The lie we call wisdom only has power if we keep repeating it.
You get to be the one who stops it!
Rooted to Thrive isn’t about surviving. It’s about stepping into who God created you to be. If this resonates, share it with someone who needs to hear it.
Schedule your free consultation today! – You & Love: A Check-in
