Updated: Aug. 21, 2015
Originally Published: Sep. 17, 2013
As a mother, I find myself navigating the complexities of my past experiences with childhood trauma while raising a daughter. The question, “Mom, can I wear make-up?” is a moment filled with both pride and concern. While I affirm her beauty without embellishment, I grapple internally with the implications of beauty, sexuality, and safety, and how these factors will shape her journey.
My instinct is to say no, to shield her from anything that could sexualize her. The fear of exposing her to predatory behavior looms large in my mind, even though I recognize that danger often lurks within familiar environments rather than in the open. Reflecting on my own childhood, I remember becoming an object of attention at a young age—not due to my appearance but because of the vulnerability I exhibited. It’s not about looks; it’s about susceptibility.
When I hear a man compliment my daughter’s beauty, I am often transported back to my own childhood—a scared little girl questioning the intentions of those around me. My protective instincts surge; I want to ensure she is never treated like I was. Though I can’t know every man’s intentions, I trust my instincts when something feels off. This heightened awareness means I will always be vigilant, regardless of who the man is—whether it’s a family friend, a neighbor, or a trusted adult.
Teaching my daughter to recognize her instincts is vital. We refer to it as the “uh-oh” feeling, a concept I learned during my time as a social work intern. This intuitive signal is powerful, and I want her to embrace it. Unlike my experience of suppressing that feeling, I want her to acknowledge and respond to it without fear.
There are moments when irrational fears arise, such as when my husband is playfully engaging with our daughter. It’s a struggle to differentiate between healthy interactions and the echoes of my past trauma. I remind myself of the importance of breaking the cycle of abuse—both as a survivor and as a parent. I must confront these fears and recognize them for what they are.
In my search for narratives that reflect the experience of motherhood as a survivor, I’ve realized how often these stories remain untold. The shame associated with such trauma can silence voices that desperately need to be heard. Discussing the effects of past abuse as we become mothers is crucial for fostering healthy relationships with our daughters.
“Mom, if a boy kisses you, does that mean he loves you?” This question highlights the importance of teaching our children about consent and healthy boundaries. It’s essential for her to understand that affection is a choice and should always be mutual. I encourage her to assert herself and make it clear that she should never feel obligated to reciprocate affection.
As a mother of both a daughter and a son, I am equally invested in ensuring both of my children grow up in a safe environment. This narrative focuses on my experiences with my daughter, but my commitment to my son’s safety is just as strong.
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In summary, raising a daughter as a survivor presents unique challenges and responsibilities. By fostering open communication, teaching her to trust her instincts, and promoting healthy boundaries, we can empower her to navigate the world confidently and safely.