Chapter 11: Family Roles We Learned

The One Who Always Organizes

Anouk is thirty-nine and the eldest of four children. Her parents are now in their late seventies, and her father has recently become frail. Somehow, without anyone deciding it, Anouk has become the person who manages everything. She arranges her father's doctor's appointments, talks with the care services, organizes the family rota for visits and keeps everyone informed through a group message. Her three younger siblings help when she asks, but they rarely offer.

Anouk has a demanding job as a hospital administrator and two teenage children of her own. She is exhausted. When she mentioned to her younger brother that she was struggling, he said, "But you are so good at this. You have always been the organized one." He meant it as a compliment. Anouk wanted to scream.

Later that week, at a family lunch, Anouk watched the old patterns play out around the table. She was the one who made sure everyone had food and that the conversation did not turn to difficult topics. Her sister, the second child, made sharp comments and seemed to be competing with Anouk for their mother's attention. Her younger brother told jokes and was treated, at thirty-two, as if he were still a boy. The youngest, her sister, was quiet and seemed to drift at the edges. They were adults, but the roles they had played as children were still in place.

Anouk realized that she had been the responsible one for as long as she could remember. As a child, she had helped look after her younger siblings, and she had been praised for being sensible and mature. That role had given her a sense of importance and belonging. But it had also become a cage. Nobody expected her to be tired, to need help or to fail. And she did not expect it of herself.

Adler was one of the first thinkers to pay close attention to the way the structure of a family shapes each child's view of themselves and their place in the world. This chapter looks at his ideas about family, the roles children take on and how understanding these roles can help us in our adult relationships.

The Family as the First Community

For Adler, the family is the first community a child belongs to. It is where the child first learns what it means to be among others, what earns attention and love, what causes conflict and how to find a place. Adler used the phrase family constellation to describe the whole pattern of relationships in a family: parents, siblings, their ages, their positions and the atmosphere of the home.

Adler believed that each child in a family experiences a different family, even though they share the same parents and the same house. A first child experiences a time when they are the only child, followed by the arrival of a rival. A second child is born into a family where there is always someone ahead of them. A youngest child may never experience being displaced by a newer baby. An only child grows up surrounded by adults. Each of these positions offers different challenges and different opportunities.

From their position in the family, and from the way they interpret it, each child forms conclusions about themselves and life. These conclusions become part of the style of life that we discussed in Chapter 2. One child may conclude, "I belong when I am responsible." Another may conclude, "I must compete to be noticed." Another may conclude, "If I am charming, people will look after me." These conclusions are not chosen consciously, and they are partly mistaken, as all childhood conclusions are. But they can last into adult life and shape how a person relates to others.

Importantly, Adler emphasized that the position itself does not decide anything. What matters is how the child interprets their situation. Two first-born children may respond very differently to the arrival of a sibling. One may become protective and helpful. Another may become resentful and try to win back the parents' attention. The position offers a situation; the child creates a response.

Adler also paid attention to the atmosphere of the family: whether it was warm or cold, cooperative or competitive, encouraging or critical. He believed that families where children are treated as equals in worth, encouraged to cooperate and allowed to contribute tend to help children develop strong social interest. Families where children are pampered, neglected or pitted against each other tend to make the task harder.

What Adler Said About Birth Order, and What We Know Now

Adler is well known for his ideas about birth order, the position of a child among their siblings. He described some typical patterns that he observed in his work. He suggested that eldest children often have a strong sense of responsibility and sometimes a respect for rules and authority, perhaps because they once had their parents to themselves and then had to share them. He suggested that second children often feel as if they are in a race, trying to catch up with the one ahead. He suggested that youngest children may be pampered and may either remain dependent or become very ambitious, trying to overtake everyone. And he suggested that only children, surrounded by adults, may grow used to being the centre of attention.

These descriptions have become very popular, and many people recognize themselves or their siblings in them. But it is important to be honest about what later research has found. In more recent times, large studies involving many thousands of people have looked carefully for links between birth order and personality. Most of these studies have found little or no reliable effect of birth order on personality. Any differences that do appear are usually very small, too small to predict anything about a particular person.

This does not mean that Adler's interest in family position was useless. In fact, his own emphasis supports the modern findings. Adler insisted that position itself does not determine personality; the child's interpretation of their situation does. A first child who feels secure may not feel dethroned at all when a sibling arrives. A youngest child in a family that does not pamper may become very independent. The number on the birth certificate is not what shapes us. The meaning we give our place in the family is.

So the useful question is not "What does my birth order say about me?" but "What role did I take on in my family, and what did I conclude about how to belong?" This question is much more personal, and much more helpful. It invites each of us to look at our own story, rather than fitting ourselves into a category.

For Anouk, the answer was clear. She had taken on the role of the responsible one, and she had concluded that she belonged when she was useful, capable and in control. This conclusion had helped her a great deal in life. It made her a reliable colleague and a caring mother. But it had also made it very hard for her to ask for help, and it had allowed her siblings, without meaning to, to leave the burden of their father's care on her shoulders.

Matías, Still the Baby at Thirty-One

Matías is thirty-one and the youngest of three brothers. He works as a sound engineer and lives with his partner in their own flat. But whenever he visits his family, he finds himself treated as a child. His mother asks whether he is eating properly. His brothers tease him about his job, which they do not consider serious. When he offers an opinion about family matters, they listen politely and then ignore it.

For years, Matías went along with this. In some ways, the role was comfortable. As the youngest, he had always been protected and indulged, and he did not have to carry the responsibilities his brothers carried. But now that he is an adult with his own life, the role feels small and frustrating. He wants to be taken seriously by his family. He also notices that he sometimes falls into the role himself, becoming playful and helpless when he is with them, as if he were still the boy they remember.

When Matías thought about the role he had taken on, he saw that he had concluded, as a child, that he belonged when he was charming and cared for. This conclusion was not wrong for a small child. But as an adult, it was keeping him from being seen as an equal. He realized that his family could not change the way they saw him unless he also changed the way he behaved with them.

At the next family gathering, Matías tried something new. When the conversation turned to their parents' plans for retirement, he offered to research some options and present them to the family. He did this carefully, with clear information. His brothers were surprised, and his father thanked him. When his mother asked whether he was eating properly, he smiled and said, "Yes, Mum. My partner and I cook together most evenings. I will make you my lentil soup next time." He did not become serious or defensive. He simply behaved as the capable adult he was.

It took time, but the family's view of Matías began to shift. His brothers started to ask his opinion. His mother stopped worrying quite so much. Matías says that the most important change was in himself. "I stopped waiting for them to treat me as an adult," he says. "I just started being one, even with them. They had to catch up."

Linnea, the Only Child

Linnea is forty-four and an only child. Her parents are both alive, in their seventies, and in reasonable health. Linnea lives about an hour away and visits every two weeks. She works as a librarian and has a close circle of friends, but she has never married and has no children of her own.

As an only child, Linnea grew up as the centre of her parents' attention. They were loving, but they also had high hopes for her. She was expected to do well at school, to be polite and to make them proud. She did all of these things. But she carries a constant feeling that she must be perfect, because she is all her parents have. When she makes a mistake, she feels that she has let them down. When she thinks about their ageing, she feels the full weight of being the only one who will care for them.

Linnea's conclusion, formed in childhood, seems to have been: "I belong when I meet expectations." This led her to work hard and to be very reliable. But it also left her with little room for imperfection, and with a fear of disappointing her parents that sometimes kept her from making her own choices. She once turned down a job she wanted in another town because she worried about being too far from her parents, even though they had encouraged her to take it.

When Linnea talked about this with a close friend, the friend asked a simple question: "Have your parents ever told you that you must be perfect?" Linnea thought about it and realized that they had not. They had praised her often, and they had high hopes. But the demand for perfection had come mostly from her own interpretation, the conclusion of a small child who believed that she must carry all her parents' happiness alone.

Linnea began, slowly, to loosen this conclusion. She talked openly with her parents about their future, and they made plans together that included outside help, so that Linnea would not carry everything alone. She also began to allow herself small imperfections: arriving late for a visit without apologizing at length, telling her parents about a mistake at work, sharing her own worries instead of always appearing fine. Her parents responded warmly. "I thought I had to be their perfect daughter," Linnea says. "It turns out they just wanted their daughter."

Kojo, the Peacemaker in the Middle

Kojo is thirty-seven and the middle child of three. His older sister was a high achiever and his younger brother was often in trouble at school. Kojo found his place by becoming the peacemaker. When his parents argued, he tried to calm them. When his siblings fought, he made jokes to break the tension. He was the easy child, the one who never caused problems.

As an adult, Kojo is still a peacemaker. At work, he smooths over conflicts between colleagues. With friends, he avoids disagreement. In his marriage, he gives in quickly whenever his wife is upset, even when he disagrees with her. He is well liked. But he has noticed that he rarely says what he really thinks, and that he sometimes feels invisible, even to himself.

Kojo's conclusion, formed in childhood, was something like: "I belong when I keep everyone calm and happy." This made him kind and diplomatic, valuable qualities in any relationship. But it also meant that he had learned to put his own feelings aside, and to avoid conflict at almost any cost. Like Eszter in Chapter 5, he had become someone who could not say no, and like Dev in Chapter 7, he had placed himself below others in many relationships.

Kojo began to change by practising small honesty, first with his wife. When she suggested a plan he did not like, he said, gently, "I would prefer something different. Can we talk about it?" She was surprised and, at first, a little annoyed, because she was used to his easy agreement. But she also said that she was glad to know what he really thought. Over time, their conversations became more honest and more equal.

Kojo still values peace, and he is still good at helping others resolve conflicts. But he no longer keeps the peace at the cost of his own voice. "I used to think that being a peacemaker meant never disagreeing," he says. "Now I think it means disagreeing kindly, so that the peace is real." This is a mature version of his childhood role: the same strength, but without the cage.

Kojo's siblings noticed the change too. At a family gathering, his older sister and younger brother began to argue about their parents' house, as they had argued about many things for years. Kojo did not make a joke this time. He said, "I think you both have a point, and I have my own view too." Then he gave it. There was a surprised silence, and then the conversation became calmer and more practical. Without his jokes to soften every conflict, his siblings had to listen to each other, and to him.

Practical Steps: Understanding Your Family Role

The first step is to think about the role you took on in your family as a child. Were you the responsible one, the competitor, the charmer, the peacemaker, the rebel, the quiet one, the clever one or something else? You may have had more than one role, or your role may have changed over time. Write down a few words that describe the part you played.

The second step is to ask what you concluded from that role. What did you learn about how to belong? "I belong when I am useful." "I belong when I am good." "I belong when I am funny." "I belong when I am the best." These conclusions are often unspoken, but they can be found by looking at what earned you attention, praise or safety as a child.

The third step is to notice how the role shows up in your adult life. Does it appear in your work, your friendships, your relationship with a partner? Like Kojo, you may find that the same role you played at the family table now shapes how you behave in meetings or in your marriage. Notice both the strengths and the costs of the role.

The fourth step is to keep the strengths and loosen the cage. Your childhood role probably gave you real strengths: responsibility, diplomacy, creativity, independence. You do not need to throw these away. The aim is to use them by choice, rather than being forced into them by an old conclusion. Anouk can still be organized without being the only one who organizes.

The fifth step is to behave as the adult you are with your family. Families often hold on to old roles, because they are familiar. If you want your family to see you differently, you may need to act differently with them, as Matías did. Do this calmly and kindly, without demanding that they change. Over time, many families adjust.

The sixth step is to ask for what you need. Anouk finally did this. She called a family meeting and explained, without blame, that she could not continue to carry their father's care alone. She asked each sibling to take responsibility for one part of it. To her surprise, they agreed, and her younger sister said she had always wanted to help more but had not known how, because Anouk always seemed to have everything under control.

Birth Order Is Not Destiny, and Understanding Is Not Blaming

Two misunderstandings are common when people learn about family roles. The first is to treat birth order or family role as destiny: "I am the eldest, so I will always be responsible." "I am the youngest, so I will never be taken seriously." As we have seen, research does not support the idea that birth order determines personality, and Adler himself insisted that the child's interpretation matters more than the position. Your role is something you learned, and what is learned can be changed.

The second misunderstanding is to use this understanding to blame parents. It is true that our families shaped us, and some families do real harm. But most parents do their best with the knowledge, resources and difficulties they had. Understanding your family role is not about deciding who was at fault. It is about understanding yourself, so that you can make new choices now.

It can even help to remember that our parents also took on roles in their own families, long before we were born. A mother who expected her eldest daughter to be responsible may herself have been the responsible eldest. A father who could not show feelings may have grown up in a home where feelings were never shown. Seeing this does not excuse real harm. But it often softens our view, and it reminds us that each generation has the chance to understand its patterns a little better than the one before.

For some people, family memories are very painful. If your childhood involved neglect, abuse or other serious harm, exploring these memories alone can be distressing. In that case, it is wise to do this work with the support of a qualified professional, who can help you go at a safe pace. You deserve that support, and you do not need to face old pain alone.

A Short Exercise: Three Early Memories

Adler used early memories as one way of understanding a person's style of life. In What Life Should Mean to You, he wrote that the memories a person chooses to keep from early childhood often reflect the way they see themselves and the world now. He did not mean that these memories are always accurate. He meant that the fact that we remember them, and the way we remember them, says something about our present outlook. This exercise invites you to look at your own early memories in this spirit. It takes about twenty minutes.

Find a quiet time. Think back to the earliest memories you can find from your childhood, ideally from before you were about eight years old. Choose three memories that come easily. They do not need to be important events. Small memories are often the most revealing. If a memory is very painful, choose a different one; this exercise is not meant to bring up deep distress.

For each memory, write a few sentences describing what happened, as you remember it. Then answer three short questions: Who is in the memory? What am I doing? What is the feeling? For example: "I am four. My little brother has just been born, and everyone is looking at him. I am standing in the doorway holding a drawing I made. Nobody notices. I feel invisible."

Read your three memories together. Look for themes. Do you appear as active or passive? Alone or with others? Helping, competing, watching, being looked after? What feelings repeat? You may notice patterns that connect with the role you took on in your family, and with how you behave in relationships now.

Finally, write one sentence about what these memories might say about your conclusions on how to belong. Then write one sentence about what you might choose differently now, as an adult. Be gentle with yourself. These memories belong to a child who was doing their best to understand the world.

Anouk did this exercise and found that all three of her memories showed her helping someone: carrying her baby brother, setting the table for a family meal, comforting her crying sister. In each memory, she felt proud and important. She wrote: "I learned that I belong when I take care of others." Then she wrote: "Now I would like to learn that I also belong when others take care of me." She showed the page to her husband, who said it was the truest thing she had ever written.

Chapter Summary

Adler saw the family as a child's first community and paid close attention to the family constellation: the whole pattern of relationships, positions and atmosphere in a home. Each child experiences a different family and draws their own conclusions about how to belong. Adler described typical patterns of birth order, but large later studies have found little or no reliable effect of birth order on personality, and Adler himself stressed that the child's interpretation matters more than the position. Early memories can help us see the conclusions we formed.

Anouk the responsible eldest, Matías still treated as the baby, Linnea the only child who felt she must be perfect and Kojo the peacemaker in the middle all found that understanding their family roles helped them keep their strengths and loosen the cage. Family roles are learned, not destined, and understanding them is not about blaming parents. Painful family memories are best explored with professional support.

In the next chapter, we will look at conflict, and at how to step out of power struggles in which someone must win and someone must lose.