The Incredibles: A Family with Superpowers, but Also Needing Therapy

Think about it: Bob Parr isn’t depressed, he’s just bored with the routine. Helen isn’t a resilient mom; she’s a mom who stretches herself emotionally to make things work. Violet isn’t just invisible because she can disappear; she’s invisible because she doesn’t know how to be seen. Dash doesn’t run for speed; he runs because no one lets him be himself. And Jack-Jack… well, Jack-Jack is pure chaos, the kind that comes when the family system is on the verge of combustion

The Incredibles isn’t just an action story about a family saving the world. It’s, in fact, a profound reflection on modern family dynamics. It’s an exploration of how we deal with the passage of time, the loss of purpose, parental frustration, childhood autonomy, and the roles that bind us. It’s, in short, a family psychology film disguised as a Pixar film.

When Bob experiences his identity crisis, he’s not far from what Erik Erikson calls the «generativity vs. stagnation» stage. He was once a hero; now he’s an office worker who represses his strength and lives off glorious memories. He feels useless, wasted, and this pushes him to live a double life that doesn’t hide an affair… but rather a search for meaning.

Helen, on the other hand, becomes an emotional contortionist: she sustains the household, regulates tensions, and mediates between the children, between her husband and his reality. Her flexibility isn’t just physical; it’s mental, social, and psychological. And like many real mothers, she carries the silent burden of making everything work, even if she buckles in the attempt.

Violet and Dash are, each in their own way, examples of how children express their emotions through behavior. Violet disappears because she doesn’t know how to cope with her own existence, her growth, her insecurity. Dash can’t stay still because no one allows him to be powerful, to run, to shine. They are both asking for the same thing: validation.

And Jack-Jack, the shape-shifting, burning, disappearing, and lightning-shooting baby, represents something very real: when everything in the family goes haywire, the little ones express it with intensity and chaos. In systemic terms, we could say that Jack-Jack is the visible symptom of the emotional imbalance in the family system. His power is emotional dysregulation in the form of a baby.

But the powerful thing about The Incredibles isn’t just that each character has their own conflict. It’s that they all learn, little by little, to recognize each other not by their powers, but by how they care for each other, listen to each other, forgive each other, and rebuild themselves. It’s not the suit that makes them incredible; it’s the teamwork. It’s stopping running away from each other. It’s talking. It’s looking again at the person in front of you and remembering that the true feat is surviving a family dinner without anyone firing a laser beam.

And in the finale—that beautiful chaos where the Parrs face the Omnidroid together—what is truly defeated isn’t just an external threat. The fear of trusting others is overcome. Helen allows Bob to be vulnerable («I’m not strong without you»). Violet, for the first time, uses her power to protect, not to hide. Dash runs with permission, without reprimands, without imposed limits. And Jack-Jack… well, Jack-Jack explodes as a symbol that the family no longer represses what it feels, but channels it.

After that battle, the scene on the sports field is no less important: Violet removes her hair from her face, Dash learns to compete without destroying, and the entire family is present, no longer anonymous, but united. That everyday epilogue is worth more than any victory. Because what truly saves the world isn’t power, it’s the emotional connection that allows you to use it well.