Watching Elon Musk testify in an Oakland courtroom this week, I couldn't shake one image: two children fighting over a toy, running to a substitute parent figure to settle the score.
Only here, the "children" are billionaires. The "toy" is the future of artificial intelligence. And the "parent" is a federal judge and jury, asked to decide who played fair and who cheated.
It's sad. It's absurd. And if you understand childhood trauma, it's heartbreakingly predictable.
"He's Not Playing Fair!"
The testimony reads like a child's diary, not a CEO's deposition.
Musk refused to answer simple yes-or-no questions.
He "forgot" things he'd said only hours earlier.
He scolded the opposing lawyer, accusing him of trickery.
He lost his temper openly, despite later claiming, "I don't lose my temper" and "I don't yell at people."
In a particularly tense moment, Musk tried to object to a question from OpenAI's lawyers himself. The judge had to remind him, "Mr. Musk, let’s remind everybody, you are not a lawyer" [
]. Musk’s response—that he took a "Law 101 class"—was quickly dismissed by the court [00:51 ].00:55
The jurors exchanged glances. One woman rubbed her head in visible discomfort. Even Judge Gonzalez Rogers said, after the jury left, that Musk "was at times difficult."
This is not a man rationally defending his business interests. This is a wounded child crying out: "It's not fair! He broke the rules! Make him stop!"
The Real Issue Was Never OpenAI's Structure
OpenAI changed its corporate structure, yes. But the lawsuit isn't really about nonprofit vs for-profit.
The defense showed emails proving Musk didn't leave OpenAI over principle. He left because he couldn't control it.
He demanded:
Four board seats (the other co-founders would share three)
51% of shares (absolute majority)
CEO control for himself
When the other co-founders refused, Musk stopped his quarterly payments, poached OpenAI's second-best engineer for Tesla, and later launched a competing AI company (xAI).
OpenAI's own filing states: "The breakup with Musk was due to his quest for absolute control rather than its nonprofit status."
Another statement from OpenAI: "This case has always been about Elon generating more power and more money for what he wants. His lawsuit remains nothing more than a harassment campaign that's driven by ego, jealousy, and a desire to slow down a competitor."
But even that framing misses the deeper truth.
The Courtroom as Symbolic Parent
Here is what I see that the legal commentators miss:
Musk is not suing OpenAI. He is suing to be seen.
The judge and jury represent his parents — the ones who finally will listen, who will see the injustice, who will punish the wrongdoer, and who will finally, finally tell him: "You were right. They hurt you. I am making it right."
But as Alice Miller wrote in The Drama of the Gifted Child:
"If symbolic revenge for maltreatment received in childhood were effective, then dictators would eventually stop humiliating and torturing their fellow human beings. As long as they choose to deceive themselves about who really deserves their hatred, however, and as long as they go on feeding that hatred in symbolic form instead of experiencing and resolving it within the context of their own childhood, their hunger for revenge will remain insatiable."
No courtroom can give Musk what he truly needs — because no external verdict can fill an internal wound.
The Man-Child Inside the Billionaire
Walter Isaacson's biography paints a picture of the childhood Musk has rarely spoken about directly, but which shaped everything he became.
His father, Errol Musk, was emotionally abusive, volatile, and cruel. He would:
Side with Musk's school tormentors instead of protecting him
Force young Elon to stand silently for hours while being berated
Call him worthless
Isaacson writes that Musk became:
"a tough yet vulnerable man-child with an exceedingly high tolerance for risk, a craving for drama, an epic sense of mission and a maniacal intensity that was callous and at times destructive."
His occasional girlfriend Grimes named his dark state "demon mode" — an anger-fueled unleashing of insults and demands, during which, she said, he becomes his father.
One of his ex-wives, Jessica, had a code phrase she would whisper when his rage spiraled: "You're turning into your father." That was the signal: he was entering the realm of darkness.
Now, in an Oakland courtroom, the world is watching that darkness play out — not as abuse directed at a child, but as a lawsuit directed at a competitor. It looks different on the outside. But inside, it's the same wound.
Two Wounded Children Fighting Over AI
Sam Altman grew up in a different world — upper-middle-class St. Louis, private schools, Stanford. He is not a wounded child in the same way. But he is also fighting for control of something neither of them can truly own.
And so we have two men, both brilliant, both driven, both shaped by radically different childhoods — one starved for love, one fed just enough — now locked in a battle over the future of intelligence itself.
But the fight is not really about AI.
It's about betrayal: "You promised."
It's about exclusion: "You left me out."
It's about control: "If I can't have it, I will destroy it."
These are the languages of children, spoken by men in suits, in courtrooms, with billions of dollars and the future of humanity at stake.
What This Means For Us
When wounded people gain power — especially unchecked, astronomical power — they don't just hurt themselves. They build systems, companies, and now AI that reflect their wound.
Elon Musk is not a cartoon villain. He is a child who never got what he needed, now acting out that original pain on the world stage.
And the rest of us? We watch billionaires fight over the direction of AI, unaware that the fight is not about AI at all. It's about something much older, much sadder, and much more human.
A Mirror, Not a Verdict
I don't share this analysis to humiliate Musk or to claim I am above such patterns. I share it because I recognize them — in myself, in my family, in the decades I spent chasing approval from parents who could not love me.
Most people would rather kill and be killed and hold on to the illusion of love than face and feel the pain and shame that they were born to parents who could not love them. I know this because I lived it.
Musk is suing OpenAI not to save AI for humanity. He is suing to be seen, to be validated, to finally be right.
But no judge, no jury, no billion-dollar verdict can give him what he actually needs: to feel the pain he has spent a lifetime avoiding, and to grieve the love he never received.
Until then, the reenactment continues — on X, in Grok, in courtrooms, and across every company he touches.
The Only Way Out
As Alice Miller taught us, creativity — including lawsuits, companies, and AI — helps us channel pain, but it does not resolve it. Only consciously feeling it — directly, without symbolism, without scapegoating others, without revenge — can do that.
So perhaps the most radical act any of us can take, whether we are billionaires or not, is to stop asking the world to fix what only we can feel.
To sit with the shame of not being loved.
To grieve what never came.
And to finally, mercifully, stop recreating the wound in everyone around us.
This post is dedicated to anyone who has ever looked at a powerful person acting out and thought: "That's not anger. That's a child crying for someone to finally see him."
You're not wrong.
Further reading: Alice Miller, The Drama of the Gifted Child (revised edition, 1994).
Related: Silencing Grok: Elon Musk's Unconscious Reenactment of Childhood Trauma
Related: From Family Tables to the World Stage: Elon Musk and the Legacy of Unfelt Pain






