“You know, Marcus, we don’t really… well... do therapy.” My mom dropped this line on me one Sunday evening in the middle of one of her legendary oxtail dinners, her words carrying the finality of a seasoned nurse delivering a prognosis. In her mind (and let’s be real, in many West Indian households), family problems were the kind of thing you talked about once, swept under the rug by the second course, and pretended never existed by dessert. Therapy, self-help books, or even sitting with your feelings? Nah. Unnecessary luxuries, like a beachfront house in Kingston or AC blasting all day in August.

But here’s the kicker. For the longest time, that made complete sense to me. Why would you need a professional to help sort out family stuff when every adult in your life had already declared themselves an expert? I mean, I grew up in a house where uncles spat reggae lyrics as life lessons, and the familiar aroma of jerk chicken in the air always came with unsolicited advice. On its surface, that belief—that family can sort itself out—sounds comforting, even admirable. A little DIY therapy, right? But as I got older, I realized that sometimes the myths we grow up with are the hardest ones to challenge.

The Myth of Family Superpowers

In my family, the myth was simple enough: our bond could fix anything. Disagreements? A big pot of curry goat could dissolve tension the way a good Netflix episode fixes a bad day. Heartbreaks? Someone always had a proverb or Bible verse to share before moving on to the next topic. It was like an unspoken rule: tough emotions stayed at bay, humor softened the edge, and problems stayed safely within the family circle.

And wow, was that narrative loud growing up in northeast D.C. Surrounded by the pulse of go-go beats and my dad’s cassette tapes of Yellowman, I marinated in this belief that we were a fortress—impenetrable, able to protect each other from the outside world. And truthfully, there were a lot of tough moments we endured together. My dad’s construction gigs weren’t always steady; my mom worked endless shifts at the hospital. But they leaned on each other, and on extended family, in ways that felt like proof of the myth: our family could weather anything.

But cracks always show, don’t they? The myth started to falter in little ways, like when my parents had disagreements that could turn icy for a week or two. Everyone pretended to ignore the tension. Sure, my siblings and I could joke about it under our breath, but when it came to actually acknowledging the issue? Nope. We kept moving like nothing happened. In hindsight, we were like that scene in every action movie where the hero doesn’t realize the floor’s collapsed until the plummet.

The Reality Check: Cracking the Myth

It took years (and yes, therapy, sorry Mom!) to unlearn the idea that love alone is always enough to work through every challenge. I started noticing cracks in the family myth in my own life—first in relationships, then in broader friendships. For example, back when I first started dating seriously, I assumed communication happened telepathically. If something hurt my feelings, I’d just wait—the other person should instinctively know, right? (Spoiler: they didn’t.)

I began realizing how deeply this “keep-it-in, fix-it-inside” mindset affected me, especially when navigating romantic relationships. My default setting was grit through the discomfort. I treated conflict like a dentist appointment—just bite down, pray it’s over quickly, and don’t ask too many questions along the way. Like I said, love alone should be enough, right?

Wrong.

There came a moment where it all came to a head. I’d been dating someone for close to a year. Things felt solid… or so I told myself. Whenever they hinted at wanting to talk about some lingering resentment or miscommunication, I’d instinctively mini-panic and tell them, “Let’s just focus on what’s working.” What I was really saying was, “I don’t know how to handle hard stuff because I grew up thinking love magically solves it all.” It wasn’t fair to them—or me, for that matter.

What I Learned About My Own Story

Eventually, I did something no self-respecting “we-don’t-do-therapy” Jamaican American kid ever thinks they’ll do: I booked a therapy session. (Cue the soundtrack scratch and collective side-eye from my hypothetical ancestors.) And look, I expected to be judged, praised, roasted even, for daring to dissect the myth. But it wasn’t about blame—it was about understanding what I carried with me.

Turns out, I had two huge realizations:
1. Some beliefs, even ones rooted in love, can hold us back. My parents tackled adversity in ways I still deeply admire, but foundationally it didn’t always set me up to handle emotions openly. They gave me structure, but healing? That’s work I had to do myself.
2. Vulnerability isn’t weakness—it’s a superpower. The more I started intentionally talking about my feelings, the more I noticed how closeness grows when we let ourselves be seen. I saw my friendships deepen; I learned that love—be it family or romance—is kind of like Washington traffic patterns. You’ve gotta actively choose the smoother route—even if it takes a little longer to get where you’re going.

Breaking the Family Myth—Without Breaking the Family

If any of this resonates with you, you’re not alone. Every family has its myth—whether it’s “we don’t do conflict out loud” or “we put others before ourselves.” It’s about realizing that stepping outside these beliefs isn’t betrayal. It’s evolution.

Here’s how I started unpacking our family myth without dismantling what kept us close:

  • Start small. Challenge myths gently, especially if you know they’re deeply ingrained. For me, this meant casually bringing up my therapy experience at family dinners. (Did my dad give me a side-eye between bites of rice and peas? Absolutely. But by the third or fourth mention, he softened enough to say, “Well, maybe you’re onto something.”)

  • Set an example. When I started naming emotions out loud—“Hey, I felt hurt by this comment, and I wanted to talk it through”—it surprised everyone, including me. But over time, it worked. My younger cousins started calling me for actual deep conversations instead of light chats.

  • Be patient. I’ve gotten farther with empathetic dialogue than confrontation. Family doesn’t adapt to change overnight, but consistent effort gets noticed. (And yes, food helps! A good dish can still be an emotional icebreaker.)

Rewrite, Don’t Replace

At its core, dismantling a family myth isn’t about rejecting everything you grew up believing. My parents taught me resilience, generosity, and the importance of staying connected to culture, even half a world away. These are tools, bedsrock values I’ll always cherish. But they also didn’t teach me how to sort out internal storms—or at least not in the way I’ve found necessary as an adult. And that’s okay. Evolving your story doesn’t erase the one before it.

Now, whenever my mom tells me we don’t “do” therapy, I smile and remind her, “Yeah, but we improvise pretty well.” The family myth served us for a while, but rewriting parts of it? That’s the new tradition I’m passing down.