One of the most threatening things we can experience growing up is sensing that our caregivers—those we rely on the most—have negative feelings toward us. Whether it’s envy, competitiveness, irritation, or even hatred, the idea that the people meant to love and protect us might also want to hurt us can be too overwhelming to fully face.

To cope, many of us learn to shut down a crucial psychological capacity called mentalizing.

What is Mentalizing?

Mentalizing is the ability to reflect on what’s going on inside someone else’s mind—what they might be thinking, feeling, or intending. It’s what helps us understand that when someone slams a door, they might be angry, or when someone avoids eye contact, they might be feeling shame.

But for some people, mentalizing doesn’t feel safe. When we grow up in environments where the minds of others (especially those close to us) are filled with hostility or unpredictability, imagining what they’re thinking can bring us into contact with painful truths we’d rather avoid.

So, what do we do instead?

Some people learn to block off that capacity altogether. They might freeze or change the subject when asked to consider why someone treated them the way they did—say, why a mother ignored them, or why a spouse was dismissive. It’s not that they don’t care. It’s that putting themselves in the other person’s mind brings them too close to something dangerous: the possibility that the other person meant to cause harm.

Others go in the opposite direction. They become hyper-alert—constantly trying to read minds, imagine others’ reactions, and predict feelings. This kind of hyper-mentalizing can look like a form of empathy, but at its core, it’s about self-protection: “If I can just stay one step ahead of what you might feel about me, I can keep myself safe.”

Both shutting down and hyper-mentalizing are strategies meant to cope with the terrifying possibility that others might want to harm us. And when early relationships actually did include aggression or malice—whether overt or subtle—it becomes even harder to trust the minds of others.

In therapy, I often hear clients say things like, “My mother didn’t know how to give love,” when what’s closer to the truth is, “My mother wanted to hurt me.” Not all caregivers who act hurtfully are being intentionally cruel—but some are. And for those who grew up with that reality, it’s incredibly painful to name it. After all, what does it mean for a child’s sense of self and safety to realize that the person who was supposed to protect them also wanted to hurt them?

But here’s the paradox: unless we’re able to see the truth of what happened to us—including the possibility that someone important to us had ill will—we stay trapped in old patterns. We may unconsciously seek out new relationships that mirror the old ones. We may tolerate passive-aggressive treatment, or find ourselves always trying to appease someone who, deep down, reminds us of someone from the past.

Healing begins when we dare to look into the minds of others—not to predict or control them, but to see clearly. When we can tolerate the pain of knowing what others felt, even if it was painful or aggressive, we begin to reclaim our ability to understand people more accurately. We can let go of the exhausting need to control their thoughts or shield ourselves from them.

Only by creating a clear, honest narrative about how others have behaved toward us can we start to feel safe enough to mentalize again. And with that, our capacity for empathy, connection, and trust begins to return.