Parenting While Breaking the Cycle
Motherhood is layered. For me, it’s not just about raising my children – it’s about raising myself, too. I was brought up by a covert narcissistic mother, a relationship that fractured beyond repair. Today, I have no contact with her, but her shadow lingers in the background of my parenting journey.
The truth is, I wasn’t given a good example of what motherhood should look like. And yet, here I am, mothering with careful intent. Healing my own wounds while trying to give my children what I never received. It’s not easy – but it’s sacred work.
The Fear of Repeating Patterns
Many people who grow up in abusive or neglectful homes are terrified of becoming parents. The fear of repeating patterns can feel paralyzing. I felt that fear too. But when I decided to have children at 26, deep down in my soul I knew one thing for certain: I was not capable of intentionally harming my children.
I didn’t fully grasp just how hard motherhood would be. The sleepless nights, the mental load, the unrelenting pressure – those were things no one could have prepared me for. But I knew that my children would never suffer at my hands the way I had suffered at hers.
Closing the Door for Good
When I was pregnant, family members begged me to let my mother back into my life. “For the baby,” they said. But I knew pregnancy itself was already heavy, and the timing wasn’t right. Part of me thought the door was still slightly open.
But the moment my daughter was born, everything changed. I couldn’t even see her yet – she was on the other side of the curtain – but I heard her first cry and something deep inside me shifted. I knew with absolute clarity: I would never speak to my mother again.
That door slammed shut, forever.
Grief and Pride in the Same Breath
Motherhood has been both my greatest pride and my deepest grief. I am proud of the children I’ve raised, the safe environment I’ve created, and the intentional choices I make every day to nurture them.
But alongside that pride lives grief. Grief for the childhood I never had. Grief in realizing that the cruelty I endured wasn’t an accident – it was a choice. My mother had opportunities to change every single day, and she chose not to.
The ache runs deep when I look at my daughter at certain ages and remember how I was treated at the same age. Watching her simply be a child forces me to reckon with how I was never allowed that freedom. I wasn’t mature – I was robbed of childhood.
Parenting Without a Map
There’s a unique ache in giving someone what you never received. Unconditional love. Respect. Consideration. It’s not hard because I don’t want to give it – it’s hard because every act of love I pour into my children reminds me of the absence I once lived in.
That said, it also fuels me. It drives me to choose differently, over and over again. Some of my parenting choices confuse others. Some may even disagree with the way I parent. But they don’t know what I’ve lived through.
I talk to my children. I let them talk back. I don’t see them as possessions – I see them as human beings worthy of being heard and considered. I want them to grow up knowing that respect isn’t something you earn, it’s something you deserve simply by existing.
The Bond That Lasts Beyond Childhood
I’m not a perfect mom. I don’t believe such a thing exists. But every day, I work on my bond with my children. Because long after they stop needing me for food and shelter, I want them to want me in their lives.
Breaking the cycle is not easy. It means grieving what you never had while giving it away in abundance. It means parenting without a map, but still finding your way with love as your compass.
It means surviving, healing, and slowly – intentionally – rewriting the story.
