When the System Stops Being a Parent

We live within many systems, even if we rarely call them by that name.

Family, business, a company, the state, tax and regulatory authorities, educational and medical institutions, migration services, professional communities — all of these are systems. Each has its own rules, boundaries, roles, language and ways of interacting.

And sometimes, when faced with a system, a person unexpectedly begins to feel small.

For example, an adult may have managed a company for years, made financial decisions and carried responsibility for employees. Then an official letter arrives from a government institution — and a few lines of formal language suddenly provoke an almost childlike anxiety: “I have done something wrong. There are going to be consequences.”

Or a person comes to a doctor having prepared questions in advance, but for some reason says nothing in the consulting room. The doctor speaks with confidence — and the person’s own doubts instantly begin to seem inappropriate.

Or an employee realises that a manager’s decision is mistaken, yet says nothing in the meeting. Afterwards, they spend hours mentally conducting the conversation they could not have in reality.

The system seems bigger, stronger and more influential. It appears to know what is right, while the person is left to comply, meet the requirements and try not to make a mistake.

But does the system always make us small? Or do we sometimes enter our relationship with it from a position that formed much earlier?

When the system becomes the “adult”

There are relationships in which hierarchy is natural: the relationship between an adult and a child.

The adult sets the rules, defines what is permitted, allows or forbids, and may reward or punish. The child lives inside this system and depends on it to a considerable degree.

But what happens when a similar model is quietly transferred into adult life?

Imagine someone who receives a request from the tax authority for an additional document.

The request itself does not indicate either a violation or a penalty. It may be an entirely routine procedure.

Yet the person reads the letter several times, feels anxious and thinks:

“What have I done wrong?”

They have not yet established the facts, but internally they are already in the position of a guilty child before an adult who has discovered their mistake.

Another person reacts to the same situation in the opposite way:

“They are picking on me again. I will prove that they are wrong.”

On the surface, the reactions are different. One person is frightened; the other is angry. But in both cases the system has already acquired a great deal of internal power.

A manager, government body, bank, doctor, tax authority, educational institution or any other structure may come to be perceived not simply as a system with specific powers, but as a figure whose permission must be obtained, whose approval must be earned, before whom one must justify oneself or prove one’s right.

Then the interaction is no longer only between a person and an institution.

An old internal hierarchy enters the relationship: there is a big person who decides and a small person who must measure up.

The first system in our lives

The first system a person encounters is the family.

It is here that we first learn about rules, power, belonging, safety, punishment, support and the right to have an opinion of our own.

In a traditional family structure, the father figure is often associated with order, boundaries, decisions and the outside world. For this reason, a person’s experience of their father — alongside the family structure as a whole — may influence how they later perceive authority and systems.

For example, a child may have grown accustomed to the idea that their father’s decisions were not open for discussion. They could try asking, explaining or persuading, but the adult always had the final word.

Thirty years pass.

That person is now a manager themselves. But when the owner of the company makes a decision with which they disagree, they fall silent.

Not because they have nothing to say.

A familiar structure is operating inside:

“He is in charge. Therefore, he decides.”

Only later that evening, in conversation with loved ones, do all the arguments emerge that could have been voiced in the meeting.

In another family, love and recognition may have been closely tied to good behaviour: study hard, do not argue, meet expectations — and you receive approval.

In adult life, a person carefully fulfils every requirement of an organisation and unconsciously expects that, if they have done everything correctly, the system should treat them well.

When a refusal arrives, the feeling is not merely disappointment.

It becomes an almost personal hurt:

“But I did everything right. Why are they treating me this way?”

If authority in the family was harsh or punitive, another pattern may emerge.

A person enters an official’s office already prepared to defend themselves. A routine clarifying question sounds like an accusation. A formal request for a document is experienced as pressure.

The struggle begins before it is even clear whether a conflict exists.

Of course, adult life is much more complex than these direct links. A single childhood episode does not automatically explain all our relationships with authority.

But it can sometimes be helpful to ask:

Who exactly am I interacting with now — the real system in front of me, or also my earlier idea of how power works?

From what position am I speaking to the system?

Perhaps one sign of growing up is the moment when this question becomes possible at all.

Not “why are they doing this to me?”, but:

What is happening to me in the presence of this system?

For example, you are asked to sign a contract.

One person reads it, notices a clause they do not understand and asks:

— What does this condition mean? Could you explain it?

Another sees the same clause and does not understand it either, but thinks:

“This is probably standard. I do not want to look foolish.”

And signs.

A third person notices the clause and immediately suspects an attempt to deceive them.

In all three cases, the contract is the same.

What differs is the position from which each person enters into a relationship with it.

You can observe:

• Do I shrink?
• Do I begin to obey automatically?
• Do I immediately try to prove that the system is wrong?
• Am I waiting for permission?
• Do I start justifying myself before anyone has accused me of anything?
• Do I expect to be noticed, assessed, rescued or, on the contrary, inevitably punished?
• And who do I feel myself to be in that moment?

This is not a question of how “adult” a person is in general.

Someone may be professionally accomplished, make complex decisions, manage a business, a family and their own life — and still discover particular spaces in which their familiar adult position somehow disappears.

That discovery alone may become an important point of transition.

What changes in an adult position

An adult position does not mean that a person becomes stronger than the state, the law, a company or another large system.

Nor does it abolish hierarchy.

Imagine that a government body refuses a person’s request.

From a child position, the refusal can easily become a final verdict:

“They said no. That means there is nothing I can do.”

Or it can produce the opposite reaction:

“They have no right! I will make them change their decision.”

An adult position may look far less dramatic:

“My request has been refused. First I need to understand why this decision was made. Which rules were applied? Is it possible to provide additional documents? Is there an appeal process? Do I need professional advice?”

The refusal remains a refusal.

The system has not changed.

But the person’s place within what is happening has changed.

They are no longer necessarily the one who has been allowed or forbidden to continue living their life.

They are a participant in the situation who has a next step.

The internal formula gradually changes.

Not:

“They must give me permission.”

But:

“I want to understand what options are available to me.”

Not:

“If they have refused me, there is nothing I can do.”

But:

“My request has been refused. I can find out why and decide on my next step.”

Not:

“The system is stronger, so my voice means nothing.”

But:

“We have different levels of authority, but that does not remove my right to remain a participant in what is happening.”

Between submission and struggle

Interestingly, a child position before a system does not always look like obedience.

Sometimes it looks like an endless struggle.

Imagine two employees.

The first is told about a new rule by their manager. They think the rule is poorly conceived, but say:

— All right.

Inside, they think:

“What can I do? Management has decided.”

The second starts arguing before they have even heard the reasoning:

— Why should I have to do this at all? Who came up with it?

At first glance, the second person appears far more independent.

But both may still be operating inside the same structure.

The first automatically submits to authority.

The second automatically resists authority.

Only a third employee may ask:

— I understand the task. At the same time, I can see two risks here. Let me show you what they are, and then we can see whether the decision can be adjusted.

They do not have to win the conversation.

The manager may well keep the original decision.

But the person is no longer acting from a need to submit or a need to win.

They enter into an interaction.

In one situation, it may be possible to agree.

In another, to ask a question.

In a third, to suggest an alternative.

Sometimes, to state a boundary.

Sometimes, to appeal a decision.

And sometimes, to recognise that this system cannot be changed and decide whether to remain within it.

If I find myself outside an adult position

Another important question arises here.

What can I do if I notice that, beside a particular system, I become small again?

Suppose someone notices that they speak to colleagues with complete ease, but before meeting their manager they rehearse explanations in their head.

It feels as though every phrase must be worded correctly so that the manager will not think badly of them.

The first impulse after making this discovery may be very characteristic:

“Next time, I will act confidently.”

But the next meeting arrives — the body tenses again, the voice becomes quieter and the prepared questions disappear.

Here it is important not to turn the idea of an adult position into yet another demand placed upon oneself:

“I am already an adult. Why am I reacting this way again?”

Patterns of interacting with authority, rules and hierarchy form over many years. At one time, they may have been entirely reasonable ways of preserving safety, belonging or relationships.

That is why transition rarely happens through a single decision.

At the next meeting, a person may set themselves a much smaller task: not to become someone different instantly, but simply to notice the moment when the familiar reaction begins.

Next time, they may ask one question they did not dare to ask before.

Later still, rather than responding immediately, they may say:

“I need a little time to think about this.”

These are small actions.

But it is through them that a different experience of interacting with the system gradually takes shape.

Transition does not have to happen all at once

We often imagine development as a single point: I understood — therefore I changed.

In real life, it is rarely so linear.

For example, someone may always have felt anxious in relation to official institutions.

The first step may not involve ceasing to feel anxious at all.

They simply notice:

“When I receive an official letter, I automatically experience it as a threat.”

The next time, they notice the reaction sooner.

Then, instead of avoiding the letter for several days, they open it straight away.

Later, they separate the facts from their own interpretation:

• What is actually written here?
• What is being asked of me?
• Has a decision already been made, or is this only a request for information?

Then they ask a clarifying question.

Then they discover that they can hear a refusal without falling apart.

And one day they notice: the system is still large, the rules still exist, but the former sense of helplessness is no longer there.

This is transition.

It does not have to look beautiful.

It does not have to be linear.

Sometimes a person returns to the old reaction.

They become frightened again.

Angry again.

Wait for permission again.

But now they at least know what is happening.

And between the event and the familiar reaction, a space for choice gradually begins to appear.

What you can observe in your own life

You can choose one system that creates tension for you: your workplace, a government body, a bank, a medical institution, a professional community — any system.

And for a while, make no deliberate attempt to change anything.

Simply observe.

For example, your manager writes:

“Come and see me tomorrow morning.”

What happens in the first few seconds?

Do you calmly think, “I wonder what we will discuss”?

Or does your mind immediately begin searching for a mistake?

“What happened? What did I do? Are they unhappy with me?”

Another example: a doctor proposes a particular treatment.

Do you feel that you now simply have to follow instructions?

Or does it remain possible to ask:

“What are the alternatives? Why are you recommending this option? What would happen if I took some time to decide?”

One more situation: a bank declines an application.

What appears first?

“I am not good enough”?

“They are idiots”?

Or:

“All right. Which criteria informed the decision, and what options are available to me?”

You can observe more than your words.

Sometimes the body notices our position before the conscious mind does.

The voice changes.

The shoulders tense.

There is an urge to smile and agree.

A desire to explain too much appears.

Or, conversely, irritation arises before the conversation has even begun.

Then you can ask yourself several questions:

• What does this system seem like to me — punitive, supportive, indifferent, unpredictable?
• Who do I become beside it — a petitioner, a child, an offender, a rebel, an adult participant?
• What do I expect from it before the interaction even begins — refusal, punishment, permission, recognition, help?
• What do I do automatically — submit, avoid, justify myself, attack, try to be liked?

And finally:

What might one small step from my present position towards a more adult one look like?

Not the perfect adult response.

Not a demand to change everything immediately.

Just one next step.

Instead of an automatic “all right” —

“I would like to understand this first.”

Instead of a long justification —

“What exactly do you need from me?”

Instead of immediate conflict —

“Help me understand the grounds for this decision.”

Instead of feeling “they refused me, it is all over” —

“What options remain after this refusal?”

And sometimes the first step is smaller still:

“Beside this system, I feel small again.”

And nothing more.

For now, simply seeing it is enough.

When the system stops being a parent

We cannot live outside systems.

But we can gradually change our place within our relationships with them.

A system may set rules, limit possibilities and make decisions with which we disagree. Sometimes it truly possesses far greater power and resources.

But it does not have to remain our internal parent.

And we do not have to remain its internal child.

Between submission and struggle lies a space for adult interaction: a space of questions, responsibility, boundaries, choice and dialogue.

The path towards it does not have to be abrupt.

Sometimes it is a gentle transition.

Today, a person merely notices that they begin justifying themselves in front of authority.

After a while, they manage to pause.

Then they ask a question.

In another situation, they withstand a refusal.

In the next, they offer an option of their own.

Gradually, a new experience appears:

• I can be beside someone more powerful than me without becoming small;
• I can take account of the rules without losing my own voice;
• I can receive a refusal and continue looking for a solution;
• I can disagree without turning the relationship into a war;
• I can be part of a system and remain myself.

Perhaps this is how the system gradually stops being a parent.

Not because the system has changed.

But because, step by step, the person takes their adult place beside it.

Author’s note

I deliberately used ordinary situations here — a letter from a government body, a conversation with a manager, a visit to a doctor, a bank, a contract. They ground the idea and at the same time express an important idea for Project Perehod: development is visible not so much in what a person has understood, but in how their way of acting in a specific situation gradually changes.