tales from the mother(hood) vol. 2

the one about parenting while healing...

Raising daughters while healing a generational mother wound was not on the “this is my life” BINGO card… yet, here we are.

courtesy of Pinterest

tales from the mother(hood) is the series I thought would be easiest to write - after all, I am a muva 24/7, 7-days a week, no days off. Instead, this is the series with the most (unfinished) drafts.

There’s part of me that feels it’s in my best interest to keep my thoughts surrounding this journey locked tight in the crevices of my mind - navigate through this space during my own personal time and let the series die.

But my mama didn’t raise a quitter - even if we don’t speak.

healing while nurturing

The truth is… sometimes, it feels unfair.

Unfair to myself because I will never experience the traditional sense of a mother’s love. Even if by some chance things were to resolve themselves tomorrow, I probably wouldn’t know what to do with it. Spending 30+ years tip toeing on a tightrope when the unrealistic expectation is to tap dance frazzles the nerves.

Unfair to my children because I’ll be the first to admit that my mother wound is still raw… if I stretch too hard, it can start to ooze.

To be transparent, I often wonder what will my daughters have to heal from? Will they inherit my pain, the echoes of a mother’s love that never fully manifested? Or will they carry their own burdens, shaped by the moments when my scars interfered with the softness I tried to give them?

There’s a constant balancing act between tending to my own wounds and nurturing theirs. I want to be the mother who holds them without the weight of the past pulling me down. But I also know that healing is a winding journey, with some days where I fall short, and the wounds ache more than usual.

My hope is that by acknowledging my wounds and working through them, I can break the cycle. I can show my daughters that healing is not only possible but necessary. That it’s okay to feel the pain, to address it, and to let it be a part of our story without letting it define us.

as i heal

“For better or for worse, I am my mother’s daughter, and her story is my story too. It’s mine to carry, mine to hold – with love if I can manage it – and mine to weave into my own.”

Hazel Hayes

While this quote is good in theory, my hope is this: that I’m able to teach my daughters that they don’t have to carry my wounds or anyone else's. They can create their own paths, unburdened by the weight of generational pain. And maybe, just maybe, they’ll have less to heal from because I chose to do the work now.

courtesy of Pinterest/Splash News

But in this process, I’ve also come to recognize a challenging truth: we often expect others to hold space for our trauma with grace, yet we struggle to do the same when their pain mirrors our own. It’s easy to seek understanding for our wounds, but when faced with the echoes of our past in someone else’s story, the instinct can be to turn away, to dissociate. I’ve noticed this within myself—how I unintentionally disconnect when repressed emotions rise to the surface, when someone’s trauma feels too familiar, too close to home.

…but is that always a bad thing? THAT is the question!

Another challenging truth and reflection: In this era, I’m no longer searching for grace or understanding from others. I’ve spent too much time seeking that from someone who should have given it to me unconditionally. Now, I can only offer what I’ve got, and I’ve come to terms with that. It may not be perfect, but it’s real—take it or leave it. I’ve learned that my energy is precious, and I won’t waste it on trying to be more than I am for the sake of someone else’s expectations.

I’m often expected to accept what’s given and offer support unconditionally, but the moment I show any sign of resistance, it’s like I’m immediately punished—off with my head. So here I am, saying it is what it is because I’ve got nothing left to give beyond what I’ve already offered. I’m okay with that, and I say it earnestly. I’ve come to a place where I’m no longer willing to bend until I break just to meet the needs of others.

courtesy of Pinterest

This is what I want my daughters to understand: you are enough as you are, and your boundaries are valid. Don’t let anyone make you feel like you have to give more than you’re able, and don’t let the fear of rejection or punishment keep you from standing firm in your truth. You deserve to protect your peace, even if it means some people won’t understand or accept it - including me. Teach others how to treat you by showing them how you treat yourself—with respect, love, and the understanding that your well-being comes first.

Because sometimes, just letting things be as they are is an extension of grace.

a few quick notes:

If you enjoyed this letter, consider sharing it on your favorite platform or restacking it on Substack. It’s one of the best (and free) ways to give a creative their flowers in real time.

Feel compelled to sow a coffee bean in my direction? - here’s my Ko-Fi link (never expected but always appreciated). These donations will always be honored and sown into the exploration and growth of this platform.

ICYMI:

Real Blerd Girl Ish

Welcome to Real Blerd Girl Ish, a curation of culture, tech, reads, and hyperfixations hosted by A Dope Black Girl With Anxiety.

Down the Rabbit Hole Vol.1