How is Parenting After Experiencing Trauma from Childhood?

Guess I still have nine months to work through some toxic beliefs…but after that, I have no tolerance whatsoever for bs!

Harmony S


Photo by 🇸🇮 Janko Ferlič on Unsplash

I’m clutching my lower abdomen again. So, this pain gets worse until the finale, of pushing a live human baby out of my hoo-hoo?

Frankly, bring it. I feel it’s a particular kind of pain, one I must endure in order to redeem myself as a living breathing person on God’s green earth. “Be fruitful and multiply…” it is written, after all.

I keep making arbitrary goals for myself. How to read a hundred books in a hundred days has been a Google search of mine at some point during my life. Needless to say I’ve yet to commit to anything so daring, with exception to my marriage, (my husband and I are almost at the one-year mark!). However, this pregnancy must signal a turning-point. It has to.

My struggle to find something that I can do, habitually and without fail, is not a trait I’d like to pass on to my child(ren). Low self-esteem is deadly.

Career? Had one. Hobbies? Had them, too, whereas the motivation to progress in my selected hobbies occasionally sparks before flickering and petering out for a few months on end. I was supposed to be a famous Medium writer, after all.

I can barely keep my room tidy without being reminded.

Flashes of the anger in my mother’s eyes. The punishments. Her meltdowns. I recently remembered how once she pulled out her bloody tampon and dangled it in front of my face to scare me because I threw a hissy fit in the bathroom since I didn’t want to take a bath. Her carrying me out to the kitchen and shoving random food down my throat whenever I complained of hunger. The constant reminder that I am adopted and my birthmother who had drug problems and mental health issues meant she had to clutch the end of her seat each day, waiting for the dreaded moment when I’d choose to turn out just like my irresponsible birthmother.

Then came adolescence. God forbid I grew boobs. Obviously, I only grew boobs to challenge her legacy as a fifteen-year-old slut who grew up during the Sexual Revolution. She was an out of control teenager, so let’s…



Harmony S

H A P P Y and you should be TOO!!! LIFE IS AMAZING 👏🦝🦄🌺🍭I write for ILLUMINATION, The Memoirist, Fuck Niches, and The Orange Journal.