I’m Providing My Child with What I Never Had, Yet My Toxic Childhood Lingers

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My daughter, Lily, is a lively little girl full of energy. She’s also a bit clumsy and often lacks spatial awareness, which means she’s always tumbling over. Most of the time, she gets back up as if nothing has happened—after all, her busy toddler life demands playtime and running around. However, there are moments when she genuinely hurts herself and seeks comfort.

Today, she fell off the couch. It all happened so fast that I couldn’t catch her in time. She bumped her head and began to cry, tears streaming down her face as she babbled in distress. Although her vocabulary is still growing, I could tell she was trying to express how frightened she felt. Instinctively, I scooped her into my arms and held her close.

I allowed her to cry and express her feelings, singing “You Are My Sunshine” as she gazed into my eyes, eventually smiling through her tears. We cuddled while watching her favorite show, Teletubbies, and when she felt more at ease, she hopped off my lap to play with her toys.

It was a heartwarming moment, yet it reminded me of what I missed out on as a child. Memories of similar incidents from my own upbringing rushed back. Like Lily, I was a clumsy child, quick to express my pain with cries or yelps. However, I rarely received the nurturing response I desperately needed.

“Get up!”
“Don’t cry or I’ll give you something to cry about.”
“You didn’t hurt yourself.”

I was often called names like “weed”—a term used where I grew up to describe someone seen as weak or frail. I can’t recall ever being comforted when I was hurt. I tried to suppress my tears, but sometimes the pain was too much. Instead of compassion, I faced ridicule or disbelief.

I remember one time when my sister fell off a swing. My dad rushed to her side, comforting her without hesitation, treating her differently than he treated me. At just five years old, I couldn’t grasp why I was met with indifference while she received love and support. I cried, feeling unloved, and when I confronted my father, he snapped at me to stop being ridiculous. I ran to my mom, seeking reassurance, but she dismissed my feelings and made me feel foolish.

This memory intruded on the beautiful moment I shared with Lily, overshadowing it with painful recollections. More memories surfaced, like the time I sprained my wrist at seven. It was excruciating, and I thought it was broken. Instead of seeking help, my mother mocked my fears, offering a makeshift remedy with a sock.

Even as my wrist healed, I continued to play recklessly, jumping down the stairs and injuring myself again. When I cried in pain, my parents laughed instead of comforting me. Their mockery stung, especially since they made jokes that belittled me.

I shared these troubling memories with my husband, who validated my feelings. He emphasized that my parents’ behavior was cruel and that he could never treat Lily that way.

As I watched Lily engrossed in her books, seemingly unfazed, I realized that these intrusive memories, while painful, were also a sign of progress. They emerged when I was parenting in a way that broke the cycle of neglect I experienced. They remind me that I am pouring all the love I didn’t receive into my daughter.

These memories are just that—memories. They don’t define my present. What matters now is that I can provide the love and support I longed for as a child. When Lily has children of her own, I hope she will not carry the weight of past trauma but instead, live the loving example I strive to set for her.

Of course, I’ll make mistakes along the way, as all parents do. But Lily will never have to question my love for her. The trust in her big brown eyes fills my heart with a profound sense of purpose. She knows she can count on me, and that bond is stronger than any lingering shadows from my past.

This article was inspired by my journey as a parent and a reminder of the importance of love and support in a child’s life.

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In summary, I am committed to providing my daughter with the love and support I missed out on in my own childhood, breaking the cycle of toxicity. While memories of my past may intrude, I focus on nurturing the bond we share and ensuring she always feels loved.