When your partner frustrates you or your mum is on your last nerve, it’s natural to call a friend or talk about your feelings at the next wine night. But not all emotional unloading is created equal.

“Although they seem similar on the surface, venting and complaining are actually distinct phenomena that lead to different outcomes for your mental health,” Natalie Moore, a licensed marriage and family therapist, told HuffPost.

So what exactly is the difference? And when does talking to friends about your feelings about a person or situation go from a healthy outlet to an unproductive cycle of negativity?

Below, Moore and other relationship experts break it down.

“I think of venting as letting off steam about the annoying habits or behaviours that are inevitable in a relationship,” said Tracy Ross, a licensed clinical social worker specialising in couples and family therapy. “And more often than not it’s helpful to have a friend who listens, validates and just understands why you feel the way you do – without judgment.”

Having a little vent session with a close friend can be a healthy way to engage with something that’s bothering you.

“Venting typically involves expressing emotions and frustrations in a way that seeks understanding or relief,” said relationship therapist Joy Berkheimer. “It allows for an honest exploration of feelings and can facilitate personal insight or clarity when approached constructively. Essentially, venting can be a form of processing, providing a necessary outlet for emotional burdens.”

It feels good to get something off your chest and discuss how it’s been affecting you.

“Venting often sounds like, ‘I just need to talk this through – I had a moment, and I need someone to hear me out,’” said Sanah Kotadia, a licensed professional counsellor with Balanced Minds Therapy. “There’s usually emotion, but also a sense of release or clarity afterward.”

Getting to hear someone else’s perspective can also help you see the situation more clearly.

“Honestly, sometimes we need to talk to our friends when we’re confused, frustrated, or even just want someone to say, ‘Yeah, that would drive me nuts too,’” said April Davis, the founder of Luma Luxury Matchmaking. “It can be a way to process what you’re feeling in a safe, supportive space.”

A little venting can give you the chance to calm down and explore why you’re feeling strongly so that you can address the issue directly with the other person later with a cooler head.

“Venting can be a healthy outlet if it’s done intentionally, with self-awareness,” said dating coach Sabrina Zohar. “It’s about releasing tension, exploring feelings, and often includes self-reflection. It sounds like, ‘I’m overwhelmed and need to talk this through so I can make sense of it.’”

Maybe you had an argument with your partner over something small, like not getting to go to the beach for a weekend because you have to go visit your in-laws.

“Sometimes, all we need is the opportunity to let off steam and we’re ready to let the situation go,” Moore said. “Other times, the venting allows us to transition into problem-solving mode. Venting primarily indicates that there is an emotional release that needs to occur to avoid a blowup, much like relieving pressure on a pressure cooker so it doesn’t explode.”

“Complaining often carries a more negative connotation,” Berkheimer said. “It tends to focus on grievances without seeking resolution or understanding. Complaining may involve repetitive criticism that doesn’t foster growth, and it can lead to a cycle of negativity that detracts from the relationship.”

There’s a greater focus on blame in complaining, which has a critical edge to it.

“It’s more about being right than being real,” Zohar said. “It sounds like, ‘Can you believe they did this again?’ and usually doesn’t leave room for personal accountability or change.”

Rather than exploring and shifting your own thinking on the subject, you tend to circle the same frustration over and over.

“When someone engages in chronic complaining, they aren’t just releasing tension from the system – they’re actually subtly communicating that they aren’t ready to make the necessary changes to solve the problem,” Moore said.

“For example, someone who isn’t ready to face conflict head-on might complain to their friends about their partner as a way of expressing frustration without having to face their own fears.”

Ultimately, complaining feels like an attack rather than a way to blow off steam. There might even be a sense that you’re putting the weight of these issues on your loved ones and expecting them to solve the problem.

“Complaining goes more to the character of the person and can be detrimental,” Ross said. “It can be disloyal depending on the content and the intent behind sharing. It may backfire – if you have serious complaints about your partner that you want to address, the person to do that with is your partner, not your friends.”

Understanding the difference between venting and complaining can help people nurture healthier relationships.

“While both can emerge from a place of frustration, the intention behind venting is generally to seek support and empathy, whereas complaining often lacks this constructive purpose,” Berkhaimer said.

“Venting is more of an emotional release and desire to fix the issue, whereas complaining is the same story, over and over, with no real intention to fix your relationship,” Davis echoed.

Emotional expression should ideally have a positive long-term impact on your personal well-being and your connections with others.

“One way to tell the difference is by noticing how you feel afterward – do you feel clearer and more grounded, or more stuck and frustrated?” Kotadia noted.

Experts see more nuance in venting, whereas complaining often flattens complex situations into black-and-white thinking.

“One is a step toward repair. The other is a step toward emotional gridlock,” Zohar said. “And when complaining becomes habitual, it reinforces powerlessness – it makes you the victim of a relationship you’re not taking ownership in.”

“Venting is often a healthy, normal, outlet for letting off steam that is inevitable in a relationship,” Ross said. “Venting about everyday annoyances like domestic chores, messiness or being late is normal and often helpful. There are things we just have to accept about our partners, yet they still annoy us and make us angry.”

Releasing the tension by talking to friends can feel validating, particularly if they sometimes get annoyed with their partner over similar things. By venting to a group, you also give everyone else permission to do the same.

“In groups of people, it’s common for themes to emerge and for friends to feel less alone in their frustrations,” Moore said. “If the group venting sessions lead you feeling seen, heard and supported, then it’s an overall positive experience.”

You might want to reevaluate your participation in the group venting sessions if the experience leaves you feeling demoralised or hopeless, however. The goal is to process your emotions and gain perspective in a positive way.

“Ideally, venting should be approached with intention,” Berkheimer said. “It’s beneficial when it fosters constructive discussions and deeper understanding, not just about our partner, but about our own needs and patterns. When we share in a way that seeks support and growth rather than merely complaining, it can strengthen our relationships with both our partners and our friends.”

Experts emphasise that venting about someone is not inherently “good” or “bad”. Life and relationships are complex and nuanced.

“When determining whether your behavior is healthy or not, look at the big picture,” Moore said. She recommended asking yourself questions: “Am I overall fulfilled in my relationship?” “Do I feel better after venting to my friends?” “Am I willing to look at my part in problems and address them with my partner head-on most of the time?”

If the answer to all three of these questions is yes, then you probably don’t need to worry. But maybe you’ll discover these vent sessions are your only coping mechanism and just keep you stuck in repetitive negativity.

“We can easily fall into this cycle of rehashing the same issues over and over because we aren’t addressing the root of the problem,” Davis said. “That might mean you need to have difficult conversations with your partner or consider couples counseling.”

Therapy provides a safe, supportive environment to discuss your frustrations with a trained professional, and with couples or family counseling, you and the other person can go into it with the shared goal of improving the health of your relationship.

“Repeated venting can sometimes be a sign that you don’t feel equipped to bring certain things up with your partner, or that you don’t believe anything will change,” Kotadia said. “That’s when it might be worth exploring those patterns more intentionally – either through self-reflection or with support from a therapist.”

She advised looking inward and examining what you’re seeking when you vent. Is it just a little support and perspective? Or are you feeling utterly unheard, underappreciated and overwhelmed in your relationship? Maybe you’re using these conversations as an avoidance technique.

“Venting should be a release valve, not a lifestyle,” Zohar said. “If you’re constantly bringing your relationship to the group chat instead of the person you’re dating, something deeper is going on – and it’s not just about them.”

Think about the tone and level of emotion you bring to these conversations. Look for negative patterns in your communication and whether you feel comfortable having an honest, open conversation with your partner.

“There is a difference between sharing, talking it through and figuring out what you want to do about it – and revealing serious issues and disturbing behaviours that are red flags,” Ross said. “If you have serious doubts or concerns about your relationship, be clear before you start the conversation, know whether you are venting so that you can then put your head in the sand and ignore the flags, or because you aren’t sure what to do and need a friend to talk it through.”

That’s why it’s important to consider your audience, the content of what you’re discussing and your priorities. Perhaps you know you need to accept your partner will never be as neat as you are, but you cope by occasionally complaining to a trusted friend. Or maybe you’re diving into serious problems that go into a partner’s character or the viability of your relationship.

“Venting can put friends in an awkward situation,” Ross noted. “In the heat of the moment, you may be very upset about an argument, and if that’s when you complain to your friend, it can come across as more serious than it actually is.”

Understand that what you say may well change your friend’s opinion of your partner and lead them to question your choice to stay in the relationship. Consider how you would feel if your friend shared something similar about their partner.

“Remember, venting is only one person’s side of the story and may be taken out of context,” Ross added. “The thing to ask yourself is, ‘If my partner knew I was sharing this, how would they feel?’ While they may not love it in any instance, there is a difference between things you can laugh off and things that feel like a breach of loyalty and confidence.”

Basically, you should give the other person involved a chance to work on big issues directly with you before you go off about them with your friends.

“Sometimes venting is a symptom of emotional self-abandonment,” Zohar said. “You’re not a bad partner for needing support, but if you’re outsourcing all your emotional expression to friends, you’re not in a full relationship with the person you’re dating. You’re managing perception, not building connection.”

That’s why it’s worth getting curious – without judgment – about why you aren’t saying these things to the other person. Do you feel emotionally safe? Are you worried that bringing it up would cause insurmountable conflict or rejection?

“Many people aren’t venting to gain clarity – they’re avoiding direct conflict,” Zohar said. “They’re using their friends to emotionally regulate, validate their side, or make sense of dynamics that feel unsafe to bring up in the relationship. If your friends know more about your emotional needs or resentments than your partner does, that’s not communication – that’s emotional outsourcing.”

My grandmother never stepped foot in a swimming pool. The closest she ever came was the afternoon I held my phone in front of her face, tilting the tiny glowing screen so she could see her great-granddaughters slicing through bright blue water at a swim meet. They were still little then, just beginning to race. Her eyes were tired but sharp.

“Shana,” she said, squinting at the screen, “what is that girl doing in that water?!” There was real fear in her voice; the kind that doesn’t come from ignorance, but from history.

“She’s racing, Grandma,” I told her. “That’s Zuri. Don’t worry – she’s safe.”

She leaned closer, watching those small arms churn. “Do they like swimming?”

She nodded slowly, and looked on. “I never did learn to swim, baby. Never even been in a pool.” I squeezed her hand. “I know. But we aim to change all that with Zuri and Amara.”

What I didn’t say was that this wasn’t just about safety. It was about rewriting something.

My grandmother never learned to swim, but my mother did. In her childhood, sparkling public pools were not invitations. They were exclusions.

During segregation, Black families had been barred from entry. When desegregation came, many towns chose to close pools rather than integrate them. Access to water – something so innocent and basic – became a quiet marker of who belonged.

The effects are still visible today. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, Black Americans drown at rates about 1.5 times higher than white Americans, and the disparity is especially stark for children. In swimming pools, Black children ages 10–14 drown at rates 7.6 times higher than white children. Public health researchers have linked these disparities in part to generations of unequal access to pools and swim instruction.

But in the late ’70s, my mama stepped into the water anyway. Two months after she gave birth to me – the first of her seven children – she signed up for swim lessons. If she learned, her children would not inherit fear as instinct.

When we were little, she made sure every one of us took lessons. We grew up in Charleston, where sometimes it feels like there is more water than land. Rivers stretch wide. Marshes wind through neighbourhoods. The ocean is never far. Every summer, we went to W.L. Stephens pool. The smell of chlorine. The echo of whistles. The sting of sun on wet shoulders.

Each year, we grew stronger. My brother and I kept up our lessons into high school – we were not racers, but continued swim education for safety: yardage, endurance, treading water until our legs shook. In our family, swimming was non-negotiable.

But “basic” has not always meant “accessible”. Many of our Black and brown friends didn’t take lessons. They came to the pool, yes, but they stayed close to the sides, where the waves slipped gently into the gutters and onto the deck. My siblings and I could go much farther out – not recklessly, but confidently. The water was our friend, not a stranger.

Years later, I found myself sitting in the bleachers at that very same pool – W.L. Stephens – but this time as a mother. Zuri was seven. It was her first swim meet. She stepped up for the 25-yard freestyle – tiny, serious, goggles slightly crooked. The buzzer sounded. She dove. She touched the wall first.

Her coach ran up to me, wide-eyed: “Looks like her time was one of the fastest in the state for her age group.”

One of the fastest in the state. In the same pool where I learned to tread water. In the same water my mother insisted we master. I felt the past and future colliding in chlorinated air.

What I did not expect was that Zuri would fall in love with racing. At eight, she swam anchor at the 8 & Under State Championships. Her team was seeded low. The role of anchor, or the last team member to swim in a relay, is often filled by the fastest or most experienced swimmer. She dove and touched first. The tiny swimmers took first in the state.

Years later, at her final Age Group State Championship, she stood on the blocks again as anchor. Same pool, but she was older, stronger. The natatorium hummed. The starter beeped. She dove with quiet poise and remarkable strength. I didn’t breathe. When she touched the wall, the scoreboard flashed: 24.91.

Under 25. On a relay. At 14 years old.

Three other girls had already poured everything into that water before she dove in. Four bodies. One finish. They broke their team record and placed third in the state – less than a second from first.

I covered my mouth before I realised I was crying. It was not just her time. It was the inheritance, interrupted.

There were not many girls who looked like her in that heat. USA Swimming reports roughly 2% of its membership is Black. Two percent. Better than my grandmother’s day. Better than my mother’s. Still small enough to notice.

I do not let Zuri carry that weight. From me, she gets steadiness. Her dream is hers.

My grandmother passed away in March 2024. She never stepped into a pool. But she empowered the next three generations to step forward anyway.

In just four generations, a grandmother was barred from entry, a mother stepped in anyway and a daughter made swimming non-negotiable. Now a great-granddaughter anchors relays and breaks swimming records with her teammates. Four generations of unconditional love. Lifetimes of growth and development.

I miss my grandmother. But she saw the beginning of this change, and that matters more than I can fully explain. Water once represented exclusion. Now, in our family, it represents possibility. And that feels like victory.

Do you have a compelling personal story you’d like to see published on HuffPost? Find out what we’re looking for here and send us a pitch at pitch@huffpost.com.

Baby boomers and Gen-Xers, we know younger generations are giving you a hard time these days. Your millennial and Gen Z relatives don’t always understand where you’re coming from or what you’ve experienced, and their stereotypes about your generation may seem undeserved.

If you’re craving deeper relationships with your younger relatives, one powerful way to bridge the gap is to ask thoughtful questions to get to know what matters to them and how you can best show up for them. Questions like these can open up a more fulfilling way of relating to each other.

We asked three experts on family dynamics to suggest meaningful questions to ask younger relatives, which they’ll deeply appreciate. And they may lead to you learning some important things about your loved ones. Win-win.

It may seem obvious, but asking this question in a way that shows you truly care about the answer can help your loved one open up.

“Family members tend to assume they know everything about one another,” Everett Uhl, a licensed marriage and family therapist, told HuffPost. “Asking open-ended questions encourages detailed responses rather than a yes/no or simple (good, fine) answer.”

Engaged listening will make all the difference in how the conversation goes. “If one continues to listen, stays curious and makes neutral statements (‘I support your position here; I totally agree with you; you are making total sense’), there is opportunity for continued dialogue with depth,” Uhl said.

“This benefits both parent and child as there will be deeper understanding between generations and each will understand the other’s inner world more.”

Your younger relatives are in a different phase of their lives, which means that their days are very different, as are their goals for the short and long term. So asking about their hopes for the future can really help you understand where they’re coming from and figure out how you can support them no matter what stage they’re at.

“This question allows you as the parent to really see and be with your child in their life stage and understand what is important to them,” Uhl said. “This can lead to a back and forth about the life stage the adult child is in and if they are interested in moving to the next one, or if they are happy staying where they are a little longer.”

This question can replace more intrusive ones, such as “When are you getting married?” or “When are you having kids?” with empathy and curiosity. “This open-ended question lets the adult child share their wants, hopes and dreams about the future without the burden of pressure to be in a life stage by a certain age,” Uhl said.

All three experts suggested you ask your younger relatives some version of this question – it’s that important for a thriving intergenerational relationship.

“This question does something quietly radical: It assumes that support is wanted and that the older relative is willing to provide it in whatever form is actually useful, not just the one they’re most comfortable with,” Saba Harouni Lurie, marriage and family therapist and founder of Take Root Therapy, told HuffPost.

“By asking rather than assuming, the older relative opens the door for the younger relative to be explicit, which is itself a form of respect. And for younger generations who have often felt like their needs were either invisible or inconvenient, simply being asked can be meaningful before a word of the answer is even spoken,” she continued.

Whatever the answer is – whether it be financial or emotional support or something else entirely – try your best to be open to it and to find ways to provide that support in a way that works for both of you.

This is a winning question because it invites your child or younger relative to share what has perhaps felt difficult in your relationship or simply what’s important to them in life right now, and it demonstrates that you’re willing to look at your “blind spots” (because we all have them), said Harouni Lurie.

“The conversation that follows might surface moments the younger relative felt misunderstood or hurt and never knew how to bring up,” she added. “Or, it might open into bigger territory: the political climate, evolving values, the ways the world has changed in ways that aren’t always visible from the outside.”

Your family member will be grateful for your curiosity and open-mindedness.

We all grow up in families that have specific expectations of us in one way or another, whether these are explicit or implicit. Depending on our individual personalities and trajectories, though, some of these expectations can start to feel heavy – even if it’s totally unintentional.

“Expectations are the dirty word in parenting adult children,” said Catherine Hickem, a licensed clinical social worker. “They ruin relationships, damage trust, hurt a child’s self-worth, and place a burden on them that is not theirs to carry. They can put a child in the position of choosing between keeping peace with their parents or fulfilling their own needs, dreams, and desires.”

Knowing this, you likely want to help free your relative from any inadvertent expectations they may be living with, which is where this question comes in. When you ask, try your best to avoid getting defensive and listen with an open heart.

We are all shaped by our family histories in big ways, and chances are your younger relatives have many questions about the values, events and traumas that have made up the generations before them.

“Younger relatives are often deeply curious about, and are being shaped by, family history that they were shielded from or handed down in incomplete or distorted form,” Harouni Lurie said. “Asking this question signals something important: that the older relative is willing to be honest, even about the hard things.”

Where previous generations might have preferred to leave the past in the past, younger generations are often highly introspective and want to better understand their family history.

“And with this question, the older relative becomes someone who wants to reckon with the past rather than guard a particular version of it,” Harouni Lurie added.

You love your children (or nephews or nieces, etc.). For you, that’s a given. But for them, they may need more hard proof than you think.

“Listen carefully to how your child responds to this question. Do you notice hesitancy? Defensiveness? Nervous laughter?” Hickem said. “Whatever their response, reinforce that nothing could change your love for them. But let me caution you on this: Do not say this if you are not certain you mean it. It is better to leave this question alone than to offer words you cannot stand behind.”

Loving your child or younger relative is one thing, but liking them for who they are is another.

“This may sound elementary, but when people are asked what their parents like about them, there is often a puzzled look or a joking response like, ‘I was the kid who didn’t keep them awake at night,’” Hickem said.

When asking this question, “parents should have a list ready in both their head and their heart of what they genuinely like about their child,” Hickem said. “Even if you have to reach back into childhood or adolescence to remember qualities you may not see clearly right now, look for the unique features that make them who they are.”

Asking this question and engaging in the conversation that ensues can help your loved one feel seen and valued, which in turn will naturally deepen your relationship.

The socio-political climate today creates a huge rift between older and younger generations, something that has a significant effect on families. “We no longer know how to disagree without taking it personally or making the other person wrong or bad,” Hickem said.

Asking whether these differences between you and your younger relative cause them any fear gives “a parent the opportunity to clarify the difference between disagreeing about social issues, political concerns, or personal values and loving their child for who they are,” according to Hickem. “The relationship always matters more than the issue.”

Disagreeing on particular issues can feel really difficult, but it doesn’t mean you can’t have a healthy relationship that also includes disagreement. “Respect, compassion, sincere curiosity, and love can bridge differences,” Hickem said. “Parents may need to say, ‘I may not understand how you landed where you did, but I know you, I respect you, and I trust that you take these things seriously.’”

Many people end up dreading family gatherings because of their complex relational dynamics, but it doesn’t have to be that way. In fact, why have family gatherings at all if the guests don’t enjoy them? This question can encourage some beautiful dialogue about how to make family get-togethers occasions everyone looks forward to.

“We might not be able to take a family trip to Disney World anymore, but creating quality time and fun memories matters,” Uhl said. “This could allow for flexibility around who hosts during the holidays, roles that members play and/or contributions that family members provide. Sharing what would improve the overall experience or motivate family members to have more quality time together can strengthen the connection between generations.”

Most people sign their names on forms, emails and notes without giving it a second thought, but every time I write my name or introduce myself, there’s a twinge of hesitation.

Last week, I stood in a small art gallery in the East Village and stared at a list of names spelled out in black vinyl letters and affixed to a wall near the entrance. As people moved through the space looking at the actual artwork, I stood with my eyes locked on my own name, slowly analysing each letter. I was simultaneously proud and disgusted because I couldn’t shake the fact that my accomplishments are linked to the name of a man who assaulted my grandmother, refused to acknowledge my father’s birth and doesn’t even know I exist.

In the latter years of World War II, as part of the WAVES (Women Accepted for Volunteer Emergency Service) program, my grandmother Josephine Jovino, born and raised in Sunset Park, Brooklyn, was shipped out to the Naval Air Station in Jacksonville, Florida, where she worked as an aviation mechanic. While living there, she met Cecil. They went on a single date, he sexually assaulted her, and they never spoke again after that night. My grandmother had not only experienced a great trauma, but she soon discovered she was pregnant with her abuser’s child. She sent a letter to Cecil telling him about the pregnancy, but he never responded.

My father, William Jovino, was born later that year, and together, Josephine and baby Billy, as he was affectionately called, returned to Brooklyn to live with Josephine’s parents. It was 1947, and being a single mother was not necessarily unusual because of the vast number of fathers who died in the war, but openly having a child outside of wedlock was not socially acceptable. Due to fears about how my father would be received in the neighbourhood, my great-grandparents firmly encouraged my grandmother to change not only my father’s name, but also hers, to Short, Cecil’s surname, thereby giving the impression that she was previously married and that Billy was born legitimately.

Seventy-nine years later, Short has been passed to my older brother, my mother, my brother’s wife, my 4-year-old nephew and me.

I never gave much thought to my last name when I was growing up. I was more preoccupied with having to constantly correct the pronunciation of my first name, Ciarán (“KEER-awn”), which was a battle I slowly abandoned in elementary school, when I dropped the accent and went by the still-difficult-to-pronounce but more familiar “KEER-an,” like Kieran Culkin. As I grew accustomed to answering to everything from “Karen” to “Syrian” in the cacophony of mispronunciations of my name, I gained a greater sensitivity to the meaning and power of names. When I discovered the origins of my family’s last name, I was dumbfounded.

My grandmother was a social worker for the majority of her life, a devout Catholic and fluent in French. These are facts I learned from reading her biography on a paper handout at her funeral when I was 7 years old. I also learned she was born with a different last name than mine: Jovino. I innocently inquired about this and was met with an intensely disproportionate amount of animosity from my father, which made me even more curious.

I knew my dad grew up without ever meeting his father, and from the ferocity with which he spoke of my absent grandfather whenever I asked, I learned early on not to bother him with questions about this mysterious figure in our lineage. Instead, I directed all sensitive inquiries to my mom. When I asked her why Grandma’s whole family had the last name Jovino and we didn’t, she didn’t dismiss me, but coolly said, “You’ll understand when you’re older.” I asked my brother, who was five years older than me, and he said Short must have been our grandpa’s last name. “But we don’t have a grandpa,” I asserted.

Six years later, when I was taking a computer research class in middle school, I was tasked with making a family tree. I grew up using the internet, so even at 13, I was able to find birth records, marriage certificates and other details to fill out a thorough tree on the maternal side of my family by starting a seven-day trial on Ancestry.com. I came across very little information about my dad’s side — until I remembered the name Jovino. However, I realized I didn’t even know my paternal grandfather’s first name.

I went home and presented what I had discovered at school that day. I didn’t have to do much after that to get my mom to tell me the truth. I had no delusions about my paternal grandfather being a war hero or secret rock star, but I wasn’t expecting him to be a monster.

My maternal grandmother was the gentlest person I ever met. She spoke at a volume barely above a whisper, smiled and said hello to everyone we passed on the street, and spent hours of her days volunteering at her church. I was heartbroken knowing that she was not only assaulted by this man, but also had to take his name and be constantly reminded of him. I was also filled with rage on her behalf. From that point on, I constantly pleaded with my parents to change our last name to my grandmother’s original surname. I printed forms, found articles with detailed instructions, and one year, I even created matching shirts for everyone with “Jovino” printed on the backs.

My enthusiasm was met with somber indifference. My parents also hated what the name represented, but they didn’t see the point of changing their name after so many years. The harder I pushed, the sadder my dad seemed to get, so I gave up that fight when I was 17 and began to concentrate on a new goal: finding Cecil and forcing him or his family to acknowledge my family’s existence.

The only things I had to aid me in my search were his name and his military record. It turns out more than one Cecil Short was enlisted during World War II, which made things more complicated than I expected. I tried messaging a couple of relatives of the various Cecil Shorts I found online, but none of them responded. Rather than continuing to grope in the dark and jump down every online rabbit hole I found, I tucked my feelings away. After some time had passed, my animosity receded into a silent discomfort that I was able to tolerate.

Things came to a head again in 2021 when my nephew was born. It felt completely unnecessary to have this brand-new, innocent baby be anchored down by a legacy of trauma and shame due to his last name. I was 23 at the time and equipped with a liberal arts post-grad moral superiority complex that gave me the skills and passion to make a far more convincing argument than I had in the past, but, once again, it fell on uninterested ears. I had become politically active during my college years, which coincided with Donald Trump’s first term, the start of the MeToo movement and George Floyd’s murder. I spent hours and hours organizing protests and going to marches, sit-ins, and demonstrations on behalf of strangers, yet in my own family, it felt as though the ghost of a genuine villain was perpetually haunting us, and there was nothing I could do about it.

The current Short family is composed of my father, who was raised in a very stereotypical working-class Italian-American household in Brooklyn during the 1950s, my mother who was born and raised in the Bronx by her parents (two Jamaican immigrants), myself and my brother (two Upper West Siders who are mixed race but identify and visually present as Black), my brother’s wife (a Chinese immigrant), and now my nephew, who is Chinese, Black, Italian, and whatever Cecil is. My family’s complex cultural heritage has been completely flattened into the generic surname of a white man, who, based on my calculations, was born in the South in the early 1920s.

I know nothing about Cecil’s lineage or what his feelings were about identity politics, but his surname enduring through various generations of racial amalgamation is hardly unique. Through forced assimilation, slavery, prejudice faced by immigrants, and various other forms of colonisation that have shaped our country, cultural erasure via altering or completely changing names is nothing new in America.

I’m now 27 years old, engaged to be married, and facing the question of whether I want my fiancée to share my last name. When considering the broader context of my family’s name, I’ve come to realise that my biggest issue with our surname is what it conceals and, in turn, who it celebrates. Beneath every last name are hundreds of ancestors whose impact on a lineage gets a little bit dimmer and more obscured with every passing generation. One can only have so many hyphens in a name.

While I still feel a deep-seated unease about having Cecil Short’s last name, I cannot escape the fact that I’m his descendant, and I’ve realised that to change my name would be to abridge my family’s story. What feels far more resonant for me is to embrace and acknowledge the peaks and valleys in my lineage. Rather than running away from a shameful family secret, I believe facing it head-on and chronicling it will allow me to finally move forward and give a new context to my name. I now believe that my surname doesn’t represent shame but instead honors what my grandmother endured. By embracing her perseverance and maintaining a record of where my family has been and how we got to where we are now, I hope our story won’t be forgotten, even when the names of my descendants inevitably change.

Ciaran Short is a multidisciplinary artist and writer born and raised in New York City. His work explores New York culture and often tackles issues of race and masculinity. He is a cofounder of All Street Gallery, an art collective and gallery with two locations in Manhattan’s Lower East Side, which exhibits work by emerging and underrepresented artists. He holds a master’s degree in media studies from The New School.

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This article features parenting and relationship advice from counsellor Aimee Righton and psychotherapist Debbie Keenan.

Counsellors and therapists are noticing a trend among blended families where stepparents will take on more of a ‘nacho parent’ role.

Per Pop Sugar, in very basic terms it means “not your kid, not your problem” – so if someone’s stepchild is acting out, the stepparent would take a step back and not get involved with disciplining them or asserting authority, leaving that instead to the child’s biological parent.

“In many cases this is not even a formally agreed parenting strategy but rather something that evolves naturally within the family dynamic as adults attempt to reduce conflict or tension between the stepparent and the child,” says Counselling Directory member Aimee Righton.

While she is noticing the trend more and more in her work – “this is something that is appearing more often in my private practice and increasingly within wider society,” she tells HuffPost UK – she acknowledges it can be “a rather non-committal approach” that carries both positive and negative consequences for wider family relationships.

Let’s dive into why this might be…

Connection is hugely important for children – and by taking a step back, stepparents can focus on this during what will probably be quite a tricky time for kids.

Activities centred around shared interests, and everyday interaction, can all help to allow the child to become familiar with the new adult without feeling that their existing family structure is being replaced or overridden, suggests Righton.

Conversely, if a stepparent were to move too quickly into a disciplinary or authoritative role, it might feel intrusive or threatening to the child and may lead to resistance or resentment. “In many cases this can damage the possibility of developing a trusting relationship in the future,” adds the counsellor.

Like Righton, psychotherapist Debbie Keenan, who is also a member of Counselling Directory, sees nacho parenting as a “useful initial approach for stepparents entering blended families” because it allows the stepparent to focus on building trust and connection with the stepchildren.

“The positives are that the stepparent isn’t seen as the ‘bad parent’,” she tells HuffPost UK. “It allows the stepparent to embed compassion and empathy into the relationship, while supporting the biological parents’ authority.”

But while it might help reduce conflict early on, both experts don’t necessarily recommend ‘nacho parenting’ as a long-term strategy.

When this approach isn’t openly discussed or consciously chosen, it can create confusion around roles and emotional responsibility within the family.

“From a child’s perspective, the presence of an adult who does not respond in ways they typically expect from adults can be confusing or unsettling,” says Righton.

Kids might say/think: “I really act out in front of my stepdad and he doesn’t care – I can do whatever I like.” Or, “My stepmum hates me, she is always leaving the room whenever anything big is going on in my life.”

Righton continues: “A child will question why this adult in their home does not correct behaviour, enforce rules, or respond to situations in the same way other adults do. This can lead to feelings of uncertainty, bewilderment, or even rejection.”

Children might also try to play parents off against each other, and Keenan adds there is a danger that the stepparent’s role/authority becomes undermined, especially if they are not putting boundaries and consequences in place for bad behaviour.

While nacho parenting might initially reduce tension in the romantic relationship; over time, cracks may start to show.

“When implemented without open conversation and thoughtful discussion, this style of parenting can have a detrimental impact on the romantic relationship between the adults,” says Righton.

“The biological parent may perceive the stepparent’s withdrawal from parenting responsibilities as a lack of commitment to the family unit. In some situations it can feel as though the message being communicated is that ‘your children are not my responsibility’.”

Obviously this can cause emotional distance between partners, particularly if one parent feels they are doing the lion’s share of parenting, while the other doesn’t get involved. This is when resentment can creep in thick and fast.

If ‘nacho parenting’ occurs unconsciously or without reflection, “the doubt it creates can place strain on both the couple’s relationship and the developing bonds within the blended family, often causing irreparable rupture in family systems,” concludes Righton.

Unsurprisingly then, communication really is the key to getting it right. “For blended families to navigate this successfully, ongoing dialogue between both the adults and children is essential,” she continues.

“When the approach is discussed openly and adapted to the needs of all, it may serve as a temporary framework while relationships develop. Family meetings (even blended family meetings) are key to this.”

Over time then, as trust develops, stepparents might want to naturally take on more responsibility within the family, without the relationship feeling forced.