Why I Don’t Want My Kids to Inherit My Religious Trauma

The Breaking of a Cycle

There are days I look at my children and feel both awe and grief in the same breath. Awe, because they are growing up in a home where their voices matter, where mistakes don’t equal punishment, and where love isn’t conditional. Grief, because I didn’t have that kind of home. This isn’t an accusational writing or a “crucify them” post. I am not here to bash anyone. This is an honest telling from my point of view. I had to reparent myself before I could learn to parent my children differently - and that work only began about six years ago, in the aftermath of my divorce journey.

Divorce was the earthquake that shifted everything. It broke apart not just a marriage, but an entire framework of belief and control I had been handed since childhood. For the first time, I had to ask myself what kind of parent I wanted to be, not just what kind of parent I was told to be.