I Thought I Had to Be Strong. Now I’m Just Real, and That’s Enough for My Kids
For a long time, I believed that being strong meant being composed, stoic, and emotionally unshakeable. That’s what I saw growing up, strength equated to silence, control, and never letting your guard down. Especially in parenting, where the dominant message seemed to be: “Hold it together, no matter what.”
But as a parent myself, that version of strength started to unravel. Not because I wanted it to, but because it wasn’t sustainable. And more importantly, it wasn’t what my kids actually needed.
The Version of Strength I Grew Up With
I learned early that vulnerability wasn’t safe. That emotions made people uncomfortable. That parents were supposed to model composure, not humanity.
So when I became a mother, I tried to embody that model. I held my breath through hard moments. I swallowed tears. I thought parenting meant shielding my kids from the full truth of who I was because I didn’t want to scare them, burden them, or be too much.
But slowly, I realized: what I thought was protection… was actually disconnection. I wasn’t offering my children safety, I was showing them that feelings should be hidden.
My Kids Didn’t Need a Perfect Mom, They Needed a Present One
The turning point came in a moment that didn’t look like much. I was overwhelmed, truly overstimulated and instead of pushing through, I said, “I’m feeling really frustrated right now. I just need a minute.”
And my child didn’t fall apart. They nodded. They understood. They waited.
That’s when something shifted for me. Because in that moment, I wasn’t strong in the way I was raised to believe. I was something else: real. And real, it turns out, is what my kids respond to.
Parenting from a trauma-informed lens doesn’t mean offloading or oversharing. It means making room for feelings, yours and theirs. It means modeling regulation, not repression. And it means trusting that your kids don’t need perfection, they need repair, presence, and truth.
What I’m Unlearning as a Parent
Being a trauma-informed parent means noticing the scripts I inherited and choosing which ones to keep, and which ones to rewrite.
Some of the hardest things I’ve had to unlearn:
That my child’s behavior reflects my worth as a parent
That calm means control
That love needs to be tough to be real
That making mistakes means I’ve failed
And what I’m choosing instead:
Naming my emotions out loud, “I’m feeling overwhelmed,” not “You’re making me upset”
Pausing when I can, repairing when I can’t
Letting my kids express big feelings without rushing to fix them
Trusting that softness is a form of strength, not weakness
Each time I choose regulation over reactivity, connection over correction, I create a little more space for my kids, for myself, and for something healthier than what I grew up with.
Parenting With Softness Is Still Brave
Even now, there are moments when I hear that old voice, the one that says, “Get it together,” or “Don’t let them see you cry.”
But more and more often, I hear a different voice: my child’s. Saying, “It’s okay, Mama,” or “Do you need a break?”
And when I hear that, I know we’re doing something radical. We’re building a relationship based on empathy, not fear. One where feelings are welcome. One where it’s safe to be human.
Trauma-informed parenting isn’t about being calm all the time. It’s not about being endlessly patient or emotionally perfect. It’s about choosing presence over performance. Repair over shame. And connection over control.
Start Where You Are
You don’t have to unlearn everything overnight. You don’t have to parent perfectly. You just need to be willing to pause. To notice. To try again.
Maybe you didn’t grow up with this kind of care. But you’re learning to offer it now. That matters. And your kids will feel the difference, even when you don’t have the words yet.
You don’t have to know how to fix every moment. What matters most is that you keep showing up with honesty, with care, and with a willingness to repair when things go sideways. That is the heart of trauma-informed parenting.
Ready to Take the Next Step?
You don’t need to have it all figured out. You just need a space where you can reflect, recalibrate, and reconnect with yourself and your kids.
If you’re navigating parenting while healing your own past, we’re here to support you.
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You’re human. Losing your temper doesn’t erase all the good you’ve done. What matters most is how you repair. Owning your reactions and making space for your child’s experience teaches emotional accountability and builds trust.
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Use simple, clear language. “I feel sad.” “I’m a little tired and cranky.” Modeling emotional vocabulary teaches kids that feelings are normal, and that they can name theirs too.
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Yes, with care. Crying shows that feelings are part of life. What matters is not making your child responsible for your emotions but showing that it's safe to feel and move through them.
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Absolutely. Trauma-informed parenting starts with self-awareness. You don’t have to have had this kind of parenting to offer it now. Every small shift you make is part of breaking generational cycles.
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It’s common for caregivers to be at different places in their parenting journey. You don’t have to align on everything but clarity, compassion, and boundaries about your own choices can go a long way.
Disclaimer: The content on this website is for informational purposes only and does not constitute medical, psychological, or mental health advice. It is not a substitute for professional care. Always consult a qualified healthcare provider for diagnosis and treatment.