How My Childhood Experiences Shaped My Journey as a Parent

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When I was 17, I was helping a teacher gather materials for a presentation on personal safety at an elementary school. I thought little of it at the time; her topics seemed like the typical D.A.R.E. lectures I’d endured as a kid, covering bullying, good touch vs. bad touch, and abuse. I figured abuse was something that happened to others—kids who were starved or beaten in horrific ways. I never thought it applied to me.

While waiting for the teacher to return from a meeting, I picked up a children’s book and mindlessly flipped through the pages. To my shock, I discovered that what I had been experiencing at home wasn’t typical. It took time for that realization to sink in, but it forced me to reflect on my life.

Throughout my childhood, I was terrified of returning home after school. The punishments I faced were often puzzling, disconnected from any wrongdoing on my part. I would find myself soaking in a cold tub, confused about why my father would hit me with a belt or toss me across the room. I desperately craved his love and approval, which always felt just out of reach.

Naturally, I started to believe there was something inherently wrong with me. No matter how kind or obedient I was, I never managed to elicit a positive response from him. To my father, I was merely a burden, and I began to think perhaps I didn’t deserve love or acceptance.

Staring at the last page of that children’s book, I felt a wave of emotions I couldn’t quite articulate, and tears began to flow. Was I relieved to realize my feelings were normal or angry at my parents? Perhaps a bit of both. Suddenly, I saw glimmers of hope—possibilities I had never considered before. I had always told myself I would never get married or have children. Why would I want to? I envisioned a life filled with a partner who was unfaithful, demanding, and abusive. Who would want that? I figured I was incapable of love, so staying single seemed like the best option.

My father’s violent temper had driven wedges in our family. He alienated relatives and friends, creating a sense of isolation that led me to believe everyone was abandoning me. I felt rejected by those I cared about, not understanding until much later that they were distancing themselves from him, not me.

From a young age, I never saw myself as a mother. I thought that role was definitely not for me. But that innocuous children’s book changed everything. Gradually, I began to warm up to the idea of parenting. My boyfriend, who would later become my husband, insisted I would be a wonderful mother. I never believed him, but secretly, I started to wonder what it would be like to have children. Could I really nurture and love them?

After avoiding the topic of having kids for as long as possible, my husband and I began to make plans. I was still scared I was too damaged to be a good parent. I feared becoming an abuser myself, or worse, overcompensating and raising spoiled children. I had no clear idea of what effective parenting looked like.

Things accelerated when I became pregnant just a month after we started trying. I had hoped for more time to prepare mentally, but it was clear that Mother Nature doesn’t always work on our schedule. I was excited but also terrified. I dove into research, devouring parenting blogs and books. I even watched countless episodes of parenting shows to gather tips and tricks. I learned about various parenting methods, from the Ferber method to techniques for managing my own emotions while being nurturing. My husband kept quiet during this whirlwind, but I could tell he thought I was a little over the top.

As I learned more, my anxiety grew. What if I accidentally hurt my child while trying to discipline them? What if my methods didn’t work? I began isolating myself, feeling like everyone around me was celebrating our new arrival while I was drowning in self-doubt.

At night, I would touch my belly and feel my daughter moving. Sometimes, I felt optimistic about the journey ahead. Other times, I simply felt pity for the child who would have me as a parent.

Then, something remarkable happened. The impending arrival of my daughter opened a door to reconnecting with family and friends, many of whom I had distanced myself from over the years. I realized the most important thing I wanted for my daughter was to be surrounded by love and support—something I had longed for myself.

Reaching out to loved ones was scary. I feared rejection, but to my surprise, many expressed their concern for me, worried that I didn’t want them around. This realization helped me understand I needed to let people back into my life.

Having my daughter changed everything. Long-standing feuds among family members began to dissolve, and those around me surprised me with their willingness to be better. I had no idea how lonely I had been until people started showing interest in being part of my life again.

Though I still battle anxiety and depression, I look at my daughter’s smiling face and see how she has already impacted our world. She has brought together families and inspired change in those around her. I can only imagine the incredible things she will accomplish as she grows. Where I once felt lost, I now see a future filled with possibilities.

I share my story not because I think everyone will feel the same way, but rather to remind those who have faced similar struggles that there are more options available than they might realize. Being a parent isn’t for everyone, but a difficult past doesn’t mean it can’t be a possibility.

In Summary

My journey from childhood trauma to parenthood has been transformative. Initially fearful of repeating the patterns of my past, I discovered that love and connection are possible. My experiences have taught me that embracing my vulnerabilities can open doors to healing and create a nurturing environment for my daughter.