Does My Trauma Make Me a Better Parent?

I wouldn’t be the parent I am without the life I’ve had…but is that a good thing?

I used to think of myself as a pretty laid-back person. I took things as they came my way without thinking too much about them. From a young age, I accepted I’d grow up, go to school, get a job, and have kids who would grow up to do all those things too. I didn’t question my path or my responsibility in the world other than to live my life and be kind to people.

And then I became a parent.

All of a sudden, I felt the need to question everything.

At first my questions were procedural. How often should the baby eat? How many times a day should she nap? What should her poop look like? By what age should she be crawling, talking, sleeping through the night?

As my first child got older, though, and as I added a couple more to the mix, my questions became broader and, in a way, scarier. I began asking questions whose answers I couldn’t just search up on the Internet. What can I do when my child is bullied? How can I help my girls know they’re beautiful without making them think their worth in the world depends on how they look? How do I help my children develop a positive relationship with food? How can I be sure they’re safe while also encouraging them to be independent?

Over the last two years, I have been on a journey through my mind. I’ve spent much of this time inspecting the current state of my mental health and the events in my past that led me to be who I am today. For me, this has meant a lot of introspection and untangling the mess that exists in my head from years of sexual trauma and psychological and emotional neglect.

Trauma affects our relationships with others, but also the lens through which we see the world.

As a part of that work, I’ve connected with countless people who, like me, write and talk about how their traumatic pasts have affected them into adulthood.

I also know just as many people for whom this is true, but who are unwilling or unable to acknowledge it or dig below the surface. It manifests in different ways. Some have dysfunctional marriages. Some struggle to connect deeply with their friends or children. Some grow insecure, untrusting or judgmental.

Trauma affects our relationships with others, but also the lens through which we see the world. And if we don’t acknowledge and work through it, life can be much harder and messier than it needs to be.

As I’ve gotten older and begun paying more attention to the world around me, and particularly the adults in it, I’ve come to realize the full existential weight of my responsibility as a parent.

Like most parents, I love my children and want to make sure they’ve got the best shot at living the life they want. I want them to have the opportunity to build upon themselves and to lift others in the process. I want them to not be jerks.

It’s all of that, but it’s also somehow more than that. These years that I live with my children, guiding them and teaching them how to be in the world, are the most formative years of their lives. It’s my job during this time, not only to not screw them up, but to help them grow into the kind of adults we need in the world right now.

I know from experience that even one traumatic comment or event, placed just at the right time, can linger for a lifetime. I’ve seen how dysfunction, left undiscussed, can fester and balloon out of control over years until we don’t know what it means to be functional.

I don’t want that for my children.

Much of the way I relate to my kids comes from my own childhood.

A lot of things have stayed with me from my own upbringing, without much consideration on my part.

For example, my eight-year-old daughter asked me if she could shave her legs. I said no without a thought. When she asked why not, I simply said, “Because you’re eight.” Eight years old is too young to shave your legs, according to the dogma I was raised with. There are plenty of such unconscious things I pass along to my children, for better or worse.

There are also conscious parenting decisions I make as a result of what I went through as a child.

I get to know my kids’ friends, for example. I check in on them when they’re playing rather than leaving them alone with friends or even cousins for hours at a time. I keep my eyes open for friends who are more mature than my girls and watch them more closely when they’re playing together. I watch how their friends treat them, and how they treat each other, and intervene and guide them through fixing unbalanced dynamics if necessary. I don’t drink to excess when I’m their sole caretaker. I try to encourage healthy habits like exercise and balanced diet without commenting on their bodies.

All this comes directly from my childhood. I was sexually abused by a cousin, so I make sure their cousins and friends don’t try anything inappropriate with them. I was hypersexualized at a young age, partially due to friendships with girls who were more mature than me, so I make sure the subject matter my kids are exposed to is appropriate for their age and maturity level. My parents didn’t connect with me as well as I wish they had because they were often under the influence, so I try to engage with my kids as much as possible. I was body-shamed when I was young and developed an eating disorder, and so I try to emphasize health and strength rather than how our bodies look.

I engage in the mental and emotional work required to raise children who both do not have to endure the trauma I did and who are able to identify and work through their emotions.

And then, finally, I base many of my parenting actions on the hours and hours of therapy that have helped me pick through the cobwebs, the thought distortions, the false correlations that formed my skewed view of the world. I only began therapy when my daughters were 4 and 6, and there is a definite difference in how I relate to them now versus how I did just a few years ago.

I ask myself for my children what I wish my caretakers had asked for me all those years ago. What are they feeling? What do they need from me? How can I help them feel valued in this moment?

I do for my children what I wish my caretakers had done for me. I listen to them. I answer their questions. I hug them. I validate and acknowledge their feelings. I find resources — videos, activities, books — to help them understand things they need help with.

I am for my children what I wish someone had been for me. Sounding board, crying shoulder, commiserator, pillow.

Most importantly, I have the difficult conversations and engage in the mental and emotional work required to raise children who both do not have to endure the trauma I did and who are able to identify and work through their emotions so they can have healthy relationships.

If my childhood had been different — if I hadn’t gone through the things I did — I wouldn’t be as keyed in to the possible social dangers my kids face as they grow. If I hadn’t been through therapy to address how I internalized the things I went through, I might be inclined to minimize their feelings, leaving them feeling like a burden or like they’re not understood.

Are there things I miss? Almost certainly. My lens focuses on preventing my kids from going through the things I went through, and so I’m probably missing things to which I am not particularly sensitive.

Is it possible I go overboard? Probably, with some things. I wonder all the time if I’m not giving my kids enough independence, if I’m being too strict trying to prevent things from happening that aren’t even on their radar.

I do the best I can, though, with what I know, how I was raised, and what I’ve learned from what I’ve gone through.

Parenting is not an easy job. Yet, it’s the most important one I’ve ever had. I know I won’t get it right all the time, but the more conscious I can be, the higher the ratio of successes to screwups will be.

I wouldn’t be the parent I am today if not for both the trauma I went through as a young person and the work I’ve done to unravel it. Even the most difficult experiences I endured have, in hindsight, increased my awareness of what could happen for my kids. Additionally, the deep healing work has influenced how I relate to them and taught me what it is to nurture someone from the outside in.

And this, I wish for all children and their parents.

Invisible illnesses are so difficult to manage, in part because it’s hard for others to understand what they can’t see. It can be even more difficult to understand the debilitating effects of trauma on the developing brain, because “trauma” is not a diagnosis. Yet it still manifests itself for a lifetime, a double-invisible influence, informing the beliefs we hold about ourselves and the world and guiding our behavior, especially in times of struggle. For, me everything started with childhood trauma.

Join me here every second and fourth Monday, where I explore the invisible influence of past trauma on current beliefs and behavior. Find all my past columns and subscribe for updates here.