For so many years, I only remembered the worst of the worst. Words that sliced. Confusion around feeling unseen and unheard. But most of all, there was this unmanageable feeling of not being tethered to anything or anyone. That kind of untethered childhood doesn’t just hurt in the moment—it shapes the kind of mother you become, too. And if you don’t work at healing your inner child, you pass those wounds on to your kids.
The work of looking at inner child wounds has a way of softening the lens through which we see the past. It doesn’t mean rewriting the past. But we can no longer wish the past was different.
It means allowing space for the full, messy truth—and beginning to see not just the damage left behind by a mother, but the complex, woman underneath it all, including her pain.
“Forgiveness is giving up the hope that the past could have been any different, but we cannot move forward if we're still holding onto the pain of that past and wishing it was something else.” – Oprah Winfrey
The Myth of the Perfect Mother
The world loves a simple story—especially when it comes to women. And, specifically, when it comes to mothers.
The simple story goes something like this: She was my rock. My safe place. My everything. She always knew what to say. She loved me unconditionally.
But our relationships are so much messier than these cliches. My story, and I suspect yours, doesn’t look like the cliche.
As a child, I saw my mother only as a function of her relationship to me. Mother. Because I only saw that one piece of her, I focused hard on the pain she caused me. I clung to that because it was how I knew her. I didn’t see my mother as a full person.
As I started examining my own childhood trauma, I began to think differently:
She wasn’t only my mom. What if she was a woman carrying more than she could bear, doing the best she could with tools she didn’t have, shaped by wounds a child could not yet understand?
That shift was my first step toward understanding her better and forgiving her.
The Card Aisle Confessional
Before that? I was struggling every time I needed to get a card for her.
Finding the right card has always been hard work.
I’d flip through the rows:
“I wouldn’t be who I am today without you.” Nope.
“Thank you for always being there.” Not quite.
“You taught me about [fill in the blank].” Definitely not.
“I could always count on you to listen to me.” Said Karen never.
“I’ve always known that you loved me no matter what.” That could work… if we agreed on your definition of love.
So I’d keep scouring the shelves, hoping to find the one that nailed the perfect thought—words written by someone else, but somehow still true to my relationship with my mom.
Sometimes I wished I could work for Hallmark and write the cards myself.
I kept thinking – there have to be other people like me—people who hope that finding the right card isn’t hopeless. People who are done pretending their pain didn’t happen. People who are ready to fully embrace all of the grief, laughter, and rage, and who want to write new stories instead of stuffing down the old ones.
Where’s the card that says:
“Dear Mom, thank you for teaching me that my skinned knee wasn’t cancer, so it wasn’t worth your concern or empathy.”
“Dear Mom, thank you for constantly referring to me and my friends as the ‘lowest common denominator.’”
“Dear Mom, yes, thank you for noticing. I am fat and lazy. I know that because you've mentioned it before so.”
It’s dark. But I carried that truth for a long time.
And if you’ve ever walked that card aisle feeling like you might throw up, desperate to know that you’re not alone – know that you are not. I'm here, too.
Being Mom is Hard. Pinning Makes it Easier 😉
If this doesn't resonate now, it might later.
Tweens and teens tend to circle back, so go ahead and save this one. 🤭🥰
Memories Can Be Painful and There Can Still Be More To The Story
Eventually, mom, you began forgetting the small things. And then bigger things. And with the forgetting came a kind of gentleness that I almost didn't recognize.
You forgot a lot. But you remembered and shared the most beautiful thing.
I was wearing those cushy grape-colored sticky socks and pacing across the hard antiseptic floor, making my feet feel miles away from the warm chubby slobbery newborn only inches away in my arms. I could not stop that deliciously scented bundle of chub from crying.
It was then you looked up at me and said, very matter of factly, “Sing to him. Babies like that.”
So I sang. Hush, little baby…
And in that moment, I recalled the warmth and safety I felt when you sang the same song to me. That was the moment I realized: even pain-encrusted memories can carry bits of love. And when we choose to, we can use those bits to create something better for ourselves and by extension our own children.
During my pregnancy, you hadn’t shared any stories. No wisdom, no excitement.
But you offered that one tender simple piece of advice. And somehow, it felt like you had finally returned from a long voyage to the other end of the world.
Healing our inner child traumas doesn’t mean remembering or defining every experience as bad—or good. It means that two things can be true at the same time: To me, these truths used to feel like either/or. But not anymore. My healing has meant embracing the reality of both, to better understand myself and to respond to my boys instead of reacting.
- You left me in silence, and you also sang to me.
- You hurt me deeply, and you also loved me fiercely.
- You passed down pain and you gave me strength.
- You missed the mark so many times and yet I know you tried your best.
- You didn't always protect me, and the resulting scars made me who I am.
You broke parts of me and through those cracks radiated the most beautiful motivation and understanding of how to mother differently. You were a mother. But you were so much more than just a mother. I understand now. You loved as hard as you knew how. And what you gave me was survival.
My strength was forged in the molten steel of emotional distance. And my ferocity and independence were birthed from grit—not guidance.
The Thing That Makes Me a Better Mom
I used to think I became a “good” mother because I did all the right things: read the right books; joined the right mommy groups; or chose the right pre-school. *patting myself on the back* That’s what “people” said would make me a good mom and “break the cycle.” But healing an inner child is so much more than chasing the “right” thing. It means learning how to heal your inner child while you’re actively parenting your own kids. 😱
But now I know that there was space created once I began a journey of healing.
But now I know:
I became that “good” mom because I am doing the emotional work to heal that untethered child within me. Actively creating space to invite in a new way of parenting feels refreshing. I am working so that I feel tethered to something sturdy. So that I will be sturdy for my children.
I work to be that mom because you couldn’t. And because you couldn't, I need to. Thank you for that.
And that’s what healing your inner child looks like. And for me, it's been the beginning of a journey that may last a lifetime.
My version of motherhood is much closer to what you desperately wanted. But this new motherhood? It still has your fingerprints on it.
The First Steps to Wholeness
We’re taught to see our mothers in a single dimension—as caregivers.
But healing childhood trauma requires that we widen that lens.
We cannot turn away from the vision of the mom who hurt us, or loved us imperfectly. When we lean into that vision, we will be able to see the whole woman underneath the veneer of “mom.” A woman shaped by her own wounds, and her own history.
Leaning into that vision, shifting that lens can't erase the pain—but it will no longer be as jagged. It won't feel as dangerous. And that will make us less reactive with our own children.
That's how we end generations-long cycles. It's not being the perfect mom. It's looking at the whole truth and beginning to believe that maybe there is something we can do to make things different. Better. We can face the pain with open eyes and refuse to hand it down to the next generation.
Ready to Begin Healing Your Inner Little Girl?
If my sharing this resonates with you and you're wondering – do I have some healing to do? Maybe that's why I flew off the handle the other day… If you want to take another step down this path, I'll be right here with you. Learn more about what healing your inner child in your day-to-day life looks like:
Other Posts to Help With Healing Your Inner Child
👉 How Inner Child Work Absolutely Makes You a Better Mom
👉 How to Heal Your Inner Child When You’re Already a Devoted Mom
It’s full of practical tools, personal reflections, and small but powerful steps you can take to keep moving forward.
Motherhood brought back the little girl in me — the one who waited to be seen, soothed, and understood. Healing my inner child didn’t start in therapy. It started the first time I held my son and knew I wanted to love him differently.
Because healing your inner child isn’t just a gift to you. It’s a gift to them.
You deserve that. And your kids deserve that.
