When I was 17, I found myself gathering materials for a teacher presenting on personal safety at a local elementary school. Initially, I dismissed the session’s relevance, viewing it as reminiscent of the D.A.R.E. talks I had endured as a child. The topics covered included bullying, the concept of “good touch vs. bad touch,” and abuse. I thought abuse was something that happened to others—those who faced severe neglect, physical harm, or worse.
As I idly flipped through a children’s book from the teacher’s supply box, I was taken aback to discover for the first time that the struggles I faced at home were not typical. This realization was both shocking and confusing, taking time to fully register. I had spent my entire childhood dreading the return home after school. The punishments I endured were arbitrary, disconnected from any real misbehavior. I often found myself bewildered, sitting in a cold tub after my father lashed out at me with a belt or hurled me across the room. My yearning for his affection felt endlessly out of reach, and I was frustrated by my inability to earn his approval.
I had grown to believe that something was fundamentally wrong with me. No matter how kind or compliant I tried to be, I never received a positive response from my father. To him, I was an annoyance, a burden. I wondered if perhaps I simply didn’t understand what it meant to be lovable or worthy of affection.
As I read the last page of that book, tears began to flow, surprising me with their onset. I felt a mix of relief that my feelings were validated and anger towards my parents. Yet, amidst this turmoil, a flicker of hope emerged. Until that moment, I had convinced myself that I would never marry or have children. Why would I subject myself to a life with a partner who might cheat, demand servitude, and subject me and potential children to violence? I had no desire to experience a life filled with threats or emotional turmoil.
My father’s volatile nature had fractured my family, driving away many relatives and friends. From my perspective as a child, it felt as though everyone abandoned me, leaving me alone with him. I didn’t understand their avoidance of me, which only reinforced my feelings of unworthiness and rejection. It wasn’t until later in life that I began to grasp the complexity of those relationships.
The thought of becoming a mother was never on my radar; I believed it was not meant for me. However, that simple children’s book shifted my mindset, gradually warming me to the idea of parenthood. My then-boyfriend, who would eventually become my husband, insisted that I would excel as a mother, a notion I struggled to accept. Deep down, I began to wonder what it would be like to nurture a child. I envisioned joyful moments filled with laughter, comfort, and love—yet I questioned whether I truly deserved such a life.
After much avoidance regarding the topic of children, my husband and I eventually began planning for a family. I remained skeptical about my capabilities as a parent, plagued by fears that I might replicate the cycle of abuse. I worried too about overcompensating, raising entitled children. With no clear guide on effective parenting, I felt lost.
My sense of urgency surged when I discovered I was pregnant after only a month of trying. I had anticipated a longer preparation period, but life had other plans. I embraced the excitement, but fear also consumed me. I sought ways to equip myself for this daunting responsibility. I immersed myself in parenting blogs, read countless books, and even binge-watched episodes of parenting shows like Nanny 911. I researched various methods of parenting, from the Ferber method to attachment parenting, desperately trying to understand how to manage my own emotions while providing nurturing care.
My research often spiraled into paranoia. Would I accidentally harm my child during discipline? What if none of my strategies worked? I started pulling away from friends and family, feeling isolated while others celebrated the impending arrival of my baby. I feared that sharing my doubts would lead to judgment and rejection.
As I lay awake at night, feeling my baby move within me, I oscillated between confidence and despair. I often regretted that this child would have me as a parent. Then, a transformative realization dawned on me. Although I had long maintained a tough exterior, the anticipation of motherhood opened me up to reconnecting with loved ones. I wanted my child to be surrounded by love, the very thing I yearned for during my own upbringing.
Reaching out was daunting; I feared rejection. To my surprise, many family members expressed their concerns for me, revealing their own fears of being cut off. This led to a revelation—by allowing people back into my life, I could break down the barriers I had built.
I learned that, under the right circumstances, the arrival of a child could usher in a positive transformation. Despite feeling unprepared, the support I received upon announcing my pregnancy made me realize how lonely I had been. Long-standing family rifts began to heal, and I discovered that others were willing to evolve for the sake of my child.
Although I still grapple with anxiety and depression, I am in awe of my daughter’s growth and the unifying force she has become. Her existence has inspired those around us to change for the better, and I am excited to witness the person she will become in the future. Where I once felt lost, I now see a world of possibilities before me.
I share my story not to suggest that everyone will have the same experience, but to remind those with a painful past that they have options. Parenthood may not be for everyone, but it can be a viable choice, even for those who have endured hardship.
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Summary
My journey through childhood abuse shaped the way I approached parenting, instilling fears and uncertainties that I worked to overcome as I prepared for motherhood. The process of becoming a parent opened new avenues for healing and connection, highlighting the transformative power of love and support.