Recently, I’ve found myself confronting the impacts of my own childhood trauma, not just as a woman but also as a mother to a daughter.
“Mom, can I try wearing some make-up?”
I tell my little girl that she’s stunning just the way she is and respond with, “Of course, sweetie, what’s the harm?” But inside, I grapple with thoughts about beauty, sexuality, and safety, and how these will influence her life. My instinct is to say no, to shield her from anything that might sexualize her. I’m driven by a fierce desire to protect her from potential predators—even though I know that the reality is far more complicated. Most often, these individuals lurk in familiar environments, waiting for the right moment.
At her age, I became an object of someone’s unwanted attention. I’ve learned enough to understand that it wasn’t about my appearance, but rather an opportunity seized by someone lacking self-control. It’s not what a child looks like that matters, but how defenseless she may be.
Do other women feel a pang of fear when they hear men compliment their daughters? It takes me back to being a frightened ten-year-old, wondering if this man could also inflict harm, like others I once trusted. But this isn’t about me anymore; it’s about my daughter. It’s about my overwhelming urge to shield her from ever becoming a target, just as I was.
I could be mistaken. Perhaps the man at the barbecue who complimented my daughter poses no threat. Still, that unsettling feeling I experienced around him made me cautious. It doesn’t happen every time I’m around men—just occasionally. So, I remain vigilant, ensuring that whether it’s her best friend’s dad, the local pastor, or a family member, I will never allow her to be in a position where she could be groomed.
I need to teach my daughter to trust her instincts, to recognize that innate “uh-oh” feeling. It’s a concept I learned from a school social worker during my internship at an elementary school. That “uh-oh” feeling resonates with me because it’s what kept me silent for years. I want my daughter to embrace this feeling, to understand it, and to respond to it without fear.
The hardest moments are when I feel that unease during normal activities, like when my partner helps our daughter shower or plays “tickle monster” with her. I must remind myself that, despite what statistics may say, I will not perpetuate the cycle of abuse—neither as a victim nor as an abuser. I have to pull myself from the depths of irrational fears that arise in these innocent situations.
After struggling to find relatable narratives about motherhood from the perspective of someone who has survived childhood abuse, I realized how silent many survivors remain. Shame plays a significant role in this silence, but it’s crucial to address how past traumas can resurface when we become mothers. This conversation is vital for raising healthy, resilient daughters.
“Mom, if a boy kisses you, does that mean he loves you?”
Perhaps now I understand the phrase “everything happens for a reason.” It sheds light on the harm caused when we tell our daughters that a kiss equates love. Love is so much more than a single act; it involves choice and consent.
“Sweetheart, a boy may choose to kiss you, but that doesn’t always mean he loves you. And remember, no one should kiss you unless you want them to. If someone does this without your consent, I encourage you to stand up for yourself.”