7 boomer parenting tactics that were actually emotional manipulation, according to psychology

We didn’t call it manipulation back then.

It was just “how things were done.”

Boomer parenting came with a particular flavor of control—drenched in good intentions but often lacking in emotional awareness. We were told to be grateful, obedient, and quiet, even when something didn’t feel right. The message was clear: your feelings are negotiable, but your behavior better not be.

Only now, as adults who’ve done some serious inner work, do we start seeing certain parenting “tactics” for what they really were: emotional manipulation.

I’m not here to point fingers or stir up resentment—but I do think it’s important to name what happened so we can stop the cycle and give ourselves the compassion we didn’t always receive growing up.

If you’ve ever found yourself struggling to trust your own emotions or wondering why boundaries feel so hard, these patterns may sound familiar.

1. Withholding affection to control behavior

“If you don’t stop crying, I’ll give you something to cry about.”

Sound familiar?

This tactic wasn’t always shouted—it could show up in subtle ways too: a cold shoulder, silence at the dinner table, or a sudden shift in mood that made you feel like love was conditional. And often, it was.

Withholding affection taught kids that emotional connection was a reward to be earned, not a constant presence. It sent the message: You’re only lovable when you behave the way I want you to. That’s classic emotional manipulation—and it leaves a lasting imprint.

As adults, many of us now find ourselves questioning whether it’s safe to express how we feel or whether conflict will lead to rejection. We tiptoe. We people-please.

Psychologists have long studied this pattern, labeling it a form of coercive control. It doesn’t look like punishment—but it feels like exile. And when you're a child, exile feels like the end of the world.

2. Labeling emotional expression as “dramatic” or “disrespectful”

Children cry. Children yell. Children get overwhelmed. That’s not disrespect—it’s development.

But in a lot of boomer households, normal emotional expression was framed as defiance. Crying was “manipulative.” Anger was “rude.” Sensitivity? A weakness to be corrected.

This didn’t just invalidate our feelings. It trained us to disconnect from them. We learned to perform stoicism, to brush things off before they could be judged.

As noted by psychologist Dr. Nicole LePera, “When emotional expression is punished, the child learns to repress. Repressed emotions don’t disappear—they resurface as anxiety, shame, and chronic self-doubt.”

I’ve seen this play out in clients, in friends, and in my own life. You end up struggling to ask for help, say how you feel, or even identify your needs—because somewhere along the way, you were taught that your emotions made you a problem.

3. Guilt-tripping instead of setting clear boundaries

“You really hurt my feelings when you didn’t call.”
“After all I’ve done for you…”
“I guess I’m just a bad parent then.”

Oof. That heavy, emotional tug? That’s guilt—not communication.

Boomer parenting often relied on guilt to steer behavior. But guilt isn’t a boundary. It’s a manipulation tool dressed up as vulnerability.

This tactic creates a sense of obligation rather than genuine connection. Instead of saying, “It’s important to me that we stay in touch,” the message becomes, “You’re a bad person if you don’t meet my emotional needs.” Big difference.

As Rudá Iandê notes in Laughing in the Face of Chaos, “Their happiness is their responsibility, not yours.” That line hit me hard. Because when you grow up managing everyone else’s feelings, you forget you’re allowed to prioritize your own.

Naming this helps us parent differently—whether it’s our kids or our own inner child we’re trying to support.

4. Forcing apologies and forgiveness to maintain control

Say sorry. Hug it out. Let’s not talk about it again.

The intent might have been to teach manners or restore peace, but the outcome? Emotional gaslighting.

Being forced to apologize—or to forgive someone—before you’re ready teaches one thing: your feelings are less important than keeping the peace.

This short-circuits emotional processing. It skips the part where you sit with what happened, explore how it made you feel, and come to a resolution organically. It prioritizes appearances over understanding.

This is manipulation masquerading as morality. And if you’ve ever found yourself offering fake forgiveness just to avoid more conflict, now you know where it came from.

True repair involves choice. It involves time. And it involves the emotional safety to say, “I’m not ready yet.” You deserved that safety, even if you didn’t get it.

5. Using comparison as motivation

“Why can’t you be more like your brother?”
“She gets straight A’s and never causes trouble.”
“Other kids would be lucky to have what you have.”

This one stings. It teaches you that love, approval, and belonging are earned through outperforming others. Suddenly, your worth isn’t just tied to who you are—it’s tethered to who you aren’t.

Comparison was often used as a motivator, but it rarely motivated in the way parents hoped. It made kids feel inadequate. It turned siblings into competitors. And it built the foundation for a lifelong inner critic.

I once had a client who realized she wasn’t proud of her own achievements—she was only relieved not to disappoint. That’s the residue comparison leaves behind.

According to developmental psychologists, repeated comparison in childhood can lead to perfectionism, low self-esteem, and even anxiety disorders in adulthood.

You’re allowed to be your own person. You always were.

6. Demanding obedience instead of encouraging dialogue

“Because I said so.”
“Don’t question me.”
“That’s just how it is.”

Growing up in a home where authority couldn’t be questioned might have kept things quiet—but it didn’t foster understanding.

This parenting style taught kids to suppress their opinions, needs, and instincts in favor of compliance. It prized obedience over autonomy.

And here’s the tricky part: as an adult, you might still feel that same freeze response when someone in authority says no. You might avoid asking for clarification, advocating for yourself, or setting boundaries with “strong personalities.”

Rudá Iandê’s book reminded me how much of this is inherited. “Most of your ‘truths’ are inherited programming from family, culture, and society,” he writes. Untangling obedience from respect is a huge part of reclaiming your power.

You can be respectful and curious. You can question and care. It’s okay to unlearn the script of silent compliance.

7. Shaming curiosity, creativity, or sensitivity

“Don’t be weird.”
“Stop asking so many questions.”
“You’re too sensitive.”

This one breaks my heart the most.

Whether it was your love of drawing, your habit of asking “why?”, or your tendency to feel things deeply—if those qualities were dismissed, mocked, or punished, that’s emotional manipulation in disguise.

It’s a slow erosion of self-trust. You learn to keep your magic to yourself, to hide the parts of you that don’t fit the mold. And in doing so, you start to forget who you are.

As Rudá Iandê writes, “We live immersed in an ocean of stories… the personal tales that define our sense of self.” If your childhood story taught you that certain parts of you were “too much,” then part of your healing is rewriting that narrative.

Because here’s the truth: your curiosity is sacred. Your sensitivity is strength. And your creativity? It’s not just welcome—it’s needed.

Final thoughts

If you recognized one—or all—of these tactics, you’re not alone. Many of us are just now realizing how much of our emotional landscape was shaped by manipulation disguised as discipline.

And this isn’t about blame. It’s about awareness. As we grow, we get to choose which patterns we carry forward and which ones we set down.

The book Laughing in the Face of Chaos reminded me that “being human means inevitably disappointing and hurting others.” And that’s okay. What matters is whether we keep choosing awareness, honesty, and repair.

You’re allowed to grieve what you didn’t get—and to give yourself what was missing.

That’s not weakness. That’s healing.