As I navigate the complexities of motherhood, I am increasingly confronted by the shadows of my past experiences with childhood trauma, particularly as I raise my daughter.
“Mom, can I wear some makeup?” she asks, her eyes sparkling with excitement. I remind her that she’s already beautiful just as she is, but I can’t help but reply, “Sure, sweetie, what’s the harm?” Yet, beneath my encouraging words, I grapple with swirling thoughts about beauty, sexuality, and safety. I instinctively want to shield her from anything that might sexualize her. My heart aches at the idea of her attracting the wrong kind of attention, even though I know that predators often lurk in familiar places rather than out on the streets.
At her age, I was already seen as an object by someone. I now understand that it wasn’t about how I looked but rather the opportunity that a troubled individual seized. It’s not the appearance of a child that matters; it’s their vulnerability that predators exploit. Does every woman feel a sinking feeling when a man compliments her daughter? It often brings me back to my own frightened childhood self, wondering if this seemingly “nice” man might have hidden intentions. But this time, it’s not just about me; it’s about my daughter. The protective instinct within me surges fiercely, wanting to ensure she never becomes prey, like I once was.
Maybe the man at the barbecue who complimented my daughter means no harm, but when that nagging unease creeps in, I pay attention. It doesn’t happen every time we are around men, but when it does, I trust my instincts. Whether it’s a friend’s father, a local pastor, or even a family member, I will never let her be in a position where she could be groomed.
I have to teach her to recognize that “uh-oh” feeling, which is something I learned from a school social worker during my internship. I connect with that feeling because it’s what kept me silent for so long. I want her to embrace that sensation instead of fearing it—because it’s a vital signal that can protect her.
The hardest part? Battling my own irrational fears during innocent moments, like when my partner helps her shower or plays a silly game of tickle monster. I have to remind myself that, despite the statistics and literature, I will not perpetuate the cycle of abuse as either a victim or an abuser. I must pull myself out of the anxiety that these innocent activities sometimes trigger.
After searching for narratives that discuss the intersection of motherhood and surviving childhood trauma, I realized how silent many survivors are. The weight of shame often keeps us quiet, but we must address the resurgence of these feelings when we become mothers. It’s crucial for our ability to nurture healthy daughters.