I am currently going to therapy, and one of the things I am learning is how much of my childhood I still carry with me.
I show up as an adult… a mother with responsibilities, a busy schedule and children who depend on me, but sometimes, the feelings I am working through belong to a much younger version of myself.
The little girl who worries about disappointing people. Who wants to explain herself until she feels understood. Who needs reassurance but does not always know how to ask for it.
I am beginning to recognize her in my reactions and while I am learning how to care for her, I am also raising children of my own. That is a complicated place to be.
Motherhood brings parts of my childhood into focus. Sometimes, meeting my children’s needs helps me understand needs I have carried for years. When I give them room to be upset, I think about how difficult it can still be for me to express certain feelings. When I reassure them after a mistake, I notice how quickly I judge myself for making one.
I want them to feel comfortable asking for help. Meanwhile, I am practicing that same thing in therapy. There are moments when this work feels hopeful. There are others when it hurts.
I am finding that I can feel proud of what I am giving my children and still grieve things the younger version of me needed. I am learning to let those feelings exist without rushing past them. Therapy is also helping me look honestly at how I respond when life gets overwhelming.
I love my children deeply. I also get tired, overstimulated and frustrated. Sometimes I answer too quickly. Sometimes a small disagreement touches something old, and my reaction is bigger than the moment calls for.
I am working on noticing that sooner.
Right now, progress can look like taking a breath before I speak or recognizing when I need a minute. It can mean coming back to a conversation and saying, “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that tone.”
I do not get it right every time, but I am trying to take responsibility without turning every mistake into proof that I am failing.
I want my children to see that people can learn, apologize and change. I also want them to remain free to be children.
They do not need to carry my history, manage my emotions or make me feel better about myself. That is work I am doing with my therapist and the adults I trust. Some days, I leave therapy feeling lighter. Other days, I leave with something I am still trying to understand.
Then I return to a life that keeps moving.
There is dinner to figure out. School papers to sign. Someone needs help, someone has a story to tell, and the laundry is still waiting. I am doing this work in the middle of motherhood, with all its noise and needs.
I am learning how to ask for support, recognize my limits and make room for myself in a day that often belongs to everyone else.
I cannot promise my children a mother who always knows what to do. What I can offer is a mother who keeps trying to understand herself and pays attention to how her behavior affects them.
I want our home to be a place where they can tell the truth about how they feel. Where a difficult moment can be followed by a conversation. Where they know they can come to me without having to protect me from their feelings.
I am still learning how to build that. I am still going to therapy. I am still finding words for things I have carried quietly and as I listen to my children, I am learning to listen to the little girl in me, too.
Paige Gurgainers
(Paige Gurgainers is a mom of three girls, digital journalist for Webster Parish Journal.)
