I Refuse to Let My Childhood Trauma Shape My Parenting

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I was just a small child, around five years old, standing in a park in the South Bronx, eagerly waiting for the Independence Day fireworks show from Yankee Stadium. My dad was heavily intoxicated, as was the norm, but this time he was particularly loaded because the fireworks triggered his PTSD, reminiscent of the explosions he faced during his military service. His equally inebriated friend, in a twist of irony, brought along some fireworks for us to set off, which would typically have terrified my father, but the booze seemed to dull his nerves just enough.

We lit what looked like long incense sticks, shoved them into an empty soda bottle, and scurried a few feet away before they exploded. A couple of times, the bottle tipped over, and I dashed back to upright it, oblivious to the potential danger. Looking back, I realize how reckless that was; those moments could have ended badly. My father and his friend laughed like two drunken clowns, completely unaware of the chaos that could have unfolded.

This was a common theme in my childhood, shaped by my father’s struggles with alcohol and PTSD. There were countless times I found myself in risky situations, yet I also remember occasions of joy, like lighting fireworks. However, my childhood was a rollercoaster of fear, and I vowed to do everything differently when I became a parent. I aimed to create a bubble of safety for my child.

In my quest for the perfect parenting blueprint, I poured over books, attended classes, created lists and charts, and sought advice from everyone I knew. I even considered investing in a device that detects metal toxicity in our home—my husband looked at me like I’d lost my mind! Thankfully, I came to my senses on that one.

When our little one arrived, I compiled detailed lists for the pediatrician about every aspect of his health. I even decided against getting a Christmas tree that year because I read somewhere that tiny bugs could trigger allergies—talk about overthinking!

New parenthood can be anxiety-inducing, especially with so much conflicting advice out there. My fear of becoming like my father drove me to eliminate anything deemed dangerous. It was during a moment of clarity, sparked by an article about “lawnmower parenting,” that I recognized my overprotective tendencies. This term refers to parents who clear obstacles from their child’s path, and I realized I was doing just that, perhaps a bit too much.

One evening, my husband played a video from a block party where I was constantly reminding our child to stay close and not wander off. At the time, I genuinely felt we were near the road, but after watching, I saw that we were actually quite far from any traffic. It hit me hard—I was smothering him with my worries.

Admittedly, distancing myself from those instincts is a work in progress. I still find myself obsessing over what he eats or if there are harmful chemicals lurking in our home. However, I’m much more aware now and committed to breaking free from the chains of my past.

As I navigate my way through parenting, I’m learning to balance caution with freedom, striving to give my child the space he needs to grow. And that’s a journey worth taking.

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In summary, I’m on a mission to ensure my past does not dictate my parenting. By recognizing my tendencies and allowing my child the freedom to explore, I’m raising him to be independent while embracing the lessons of my upbringing.