I’m a mom—and I’m healing.
That sentence alone feels like a weight some days. Like I’m trying to pour out of an empty cup that I’m still asking God to fill. The truth is, healing and motherhood don’t always go hand in hand smoothly. I’m currently walking through the pain of father wounds, and the lingering effects of being raised by a mother whose emotional immaturity made me feel unsafe, unseen, and unheard. Her lack of nurturing left deep wounds. She often dismissed my feelings, controlled my voice, and parented from her own brokenness. I learned to shrink. To silence my needs. To question my worth.
Add guilt to that, and some days I feel like I’m barely holding on..
Being in this space means I parent differently. I’m more protective of what my children get into and who I let into their lives. I overthink every decision. I constantly ask myself, “Am I doing the right thing by them?” And honestly, most days I feel like I’m failing. I try so hard not to project my triggers and frustrations onto my children. I fight the urge to let my anger or pain bleed into how I respond to them. It’s a battle between who I was raised by—and who I’m asking God to help me become.
There’s rarely a moment where I can just breathe. It feels like there’s no space to process my own wounds because I’m constantly pouring into my kids. I love them deeply, but I’m also exhausted. My oldest daughter often triggers the broken parts of me the most⸺she holds up a mirror I sometimes don’t want to look into. And yet, I try with everything in me not to become the mom I had.
There was a moment not long ago when my daughter questioned who I was as a mother. She didn’t mean it maliciously⸺she’s just a child, but it hit a nerve. In that moment, I didn’t see it as her acting out because she didn’t get her way. I took it personally. I internalized her words and felt like a failure. I yelled. Actually I blew up. I walked away. And I hated myself for it. I wish I could say that only happened once.
But here’s where the grace comes in: I apologized.
I sat down with my children and admitted I got it wrong. I told them I’m still learning. That I need grace too. And you know what? That matters. I want my children to see that adults can own their mistakes, that we’re not above correction. I want them to know that humility is holy⸺and that their mom is human, but she’s growing.
“Apologizing to your child doesn’t weaken your authority; it strengthens your integrity. It teaches them that humility is holy and healing.”
— Dr. anita phillips, trauma therapist & minister
God meets me in these moments. He doesn’t scold me⸺He convicts me from a place of deep love not only for me, but for my children as well. He reminds me that I don’t want my children healing from me one day. So He challenges me, reshapes my mindset, and reassures me that everything my children need is already inside of me. I’m equipped— even when I don’t feel like it.
This past Christmas, my daughter got me a pen that says “Best Mom Ever.” And as a prophetic act, the Lord nudged me to use it every time I write. That simple gesture has become a powerful weapon against shame. My son also speaks such deep and profound words of encouragement that I know could’ve only come from the Holy Spirit. God is constantly showing me what a real parent looks like. I didn’t have a healthy model growing up⸺ but He’s become that for me.
So to the mom reading this while wiping tears behind a locked bathroom door, I want to say this:
Sis, I see you.
I feel your pain.
I’ve cried those same tears.
I know what it feels like when people tell you you’re a good mom, and you can’t even receive it because you don’t believe it about yourself. But let me remind you: your Father in Heaven is constantly speaking life over you. He chose you to mother your children. He did not make a mistake.
You are not what was done to you.
Your childhood trauma does not have to be your children’s story.
Lean into God. Let Him parent you so you can parent from a healed place. The Holy Spirit can teach you what no one else showed you. You don’t have to figure this out alone. You are not alone. You are not behind. You are not broken beyond repair.
You are a mother and a daughter being restored. And God is faithful to complete the work He started in you.
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