The Mothers Before Us
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about something that gets talked about everywhere online at the moment... generational trauma.
And I think it’s amazing, I really do. It’s incredible that people are talking about healing, about their mental health, about trying to do better for the generations that come after us.
But I also think… it’s kind of become a buzzword.
It’s one of those things that gets said often now. Easily, and sometimes loudly. But not always with space for the quiet truth beneath it. That behind every “trauma” someone is healing from… there was often someone else, usually a mother, just doing the best she knew how.
I'm a mum of four. I’ve got teenagers. I’ve got little ones. And I’m doing the work. I reflect, I apologise, I ask what I can do better. And I do my best to change.
But sometimes, my teenager will say something and I’ll be taken back. Not because it’s hurtful. But because I didn’t even realise I’d done it. Or I remember it differently. Or I just... didn’t know.
And it makes me think about my own mum.
There are things I wish were done differently. Of course there are. But I also know she did the best she could, with the tools she had. I’ve since learned about love languages, and it helped me understand more about why things felt the way they did. It gave me a new lens, not just to see myself, but to see her too.
Her love language is words of affirmation. So when I gave feedback in the past, she’d take it really personally. Sometimes she’d even say, “Well, I guess I’m not a great mum then.” And that, for me, felt like guilt parenting. It made me more careful with my words. It made me second guess sharing how I felt. And sure, that shaped me. But again…
… she was trying her best.
And I think a lot of mums from the generation before us were.
They weren’t perfect. Just like we’re not perfect. But they were trying. And it honestly breaks my heart to think of the mums who did their best, reading post after post after post online about all the things their children need to heal from.
Especially when those mums never had the resources we have now.
When they didn’t have language for it.
When they were figuring it out with less support and even less space to talk about it.
I’m not saying we shouldn’t talk about healing. Or reflect. Or name things when they hurt.
But I do think we need space to hold both.
You can want to parent differently, and still be grateful for what your parents did right. You can acknowledge the ways you were shaped, and still recognise the love that was there. You can feel both hurt and loved at the same time.
And I think we forget that.
Because even now, even with all I know and all I do, the reflection, the repair, the conscious effort, there are still things my kids will one day wish I did differently.
That’s just the truth of it.
And I wonder how I’d feel if one day they posted publicly about needing to “heal from the trauma” of their childhood, while I was sitting there, remembering how hard I tried. How much I gave. How much I loved.
It’s not about being defensive.
It’s about remembering that we’re all human.
Trying. Failing. Learning. Repairing.
Doing our best with what we have, while holding the deep hope that it's enough.
Just a gentle note... This isn’t to discredit anyone’s experiences or healing. True trauma is very real, and every person’s story deserves space and support. I simply wanted to reflect on how language can shift and how sometimes powerful words lose their depth when they’re used too freely. My heart goes out to those genuinely navigating deep wounds, and to the parents—past and present—who are trying their best, even when it doesn’t always look perfect.
