Healing the Void: From CEN to Wholeness, A Psychological and Seasonal Journey

Tag: conscious parenting

  • Becoming the Parent You Needed: Healing the Mother-Daughter Dynamic (+free journal)

    A Shock to the Heart

    “You can’t go on believing you’re a good person once you have a child.”
    — Lisa Marchiano

    You were the gentle one. The one who promised to do better.
    You read the books, listened to the podcasts, unpacked your childhood, and swore that you’d never pass down the pain. Not like that. Not to her.

    And yet, there you are again—your voice rising, your breath shallow, your daughter in tears over the wrong color cup or shoes she refuses to wear. You say something sharp, too sharp. The moment passes, but the shame sits heavy in your chest. You snap, she crumples, and you’re left in the ruins of a moment you never meant to create.

    Why does mothering a daughter—this particular relationship—hurt so much sometimes?

    We don’t talk enough about the paradox of motherhood: how a child can be both beloved and unbearable in the same breath. How we can adore them and still feel overcome with irritation, even rage. And no one talks about how our daughters, especially, have a way of cutting deep—not because of anything they’ve done, but because of everything they awaken.

    This article is for the mother who sees herself in her daughter and flinches.
    Who wants to run from the mirror this relationship becomes.
    Who keeps trying to fix what feels broken inside so she can love more freely, but keeps getting pulled under by her own pain.

    You are not alone.
    You are not a monster.
    You are not failing.

    You are being invited—through every messy, overwhelming moment—to step into a deeper healing than you ever imagined. This isn’t about becoming the perfect mother. It’s about becoming the whole one.

    Why Mothering a Daughter Hits Different

    There’s something particular, piercing, and unrelenting about raising a daughter.

    It’s not just the ordinary fatigue of parenthood. It’s not just the emotional labor or the sleep deprivation or the constant mental load. Those things matter, but this is different. This is personal. And often, painfully so.

    The Daughter as a Mirror

    Many mothers report a strange experience early in their daughter’s life—something like déjà vu. A moment where your daughter’s tantrum, sadness, or play reminds you of your own long-buried memories. It can feel almost out of body. She is her, but she is also somehow you.

    And so, when she cries and you feel a surge of rage…
    When she is needy and your skin crawls…
    When she asks for more than you feel capable of giving…
    It’s not just her voice echoing in the room—it’s the ghost of your own unmet needs, pushing forward from your past.

    When You Were Controlled—And Now React With Control

    If your mother was controlling, emotionally volatile, or treated your autonomy as a threat, you may have grown up in a space where it was never safe to be fully yourself. You may have learned to anticipate her moods, silence your own, and walk on eggshells to avoid punishment or withdrawal.

    And now—your own daughter pulls at you with the full force of her will. She resists. She says no. She takes up space—loudly, persistently, endlessly.

    This awakens a complex cocktail of feelings:

    • You feel small again, as though the power is being used against you.
    • You feel invisible again, even while someone is in your face.
    • You feel trapped, helpless, and powerless.

    And because we are often most reactive when we feel powerless, you might find yourself snapping, yelling, or controlling—not because you\’re cruel, but because your body and nervous system are screaming, “Get control or you’ll disappear again.”

    It’s devastating to recognize:
    “I became the very force I once feared.”
    “I feel the same rage she did.”
    “I use the same tone I swore I’d never use.”

    And yet—this recognition is the beginning of healing. It doesn’t make you bad. It makes you brave. These patterns run deep. And only now, as they rise to the surface in the sacred, demanding space of motherhood, do you finally have the chance to interrupt them.

    Psychological frameworks help illuminate this:

    • Attachment Theory shows us that how we were soothed (or not) as children shapes how we respond to distress—our children’s and our own. If we didn’t receive co-regulation, our nervous system may panic when our child is dysregulated.
    • IFS (Internal Family Systems) helps explain why you might go from powerless to controlling in a flash. The “exiled” part—your inner child who had no power—gets triggered. Then a “protector” part jumps in with aggression to defend you from the pain of powerlessness. These parts aren’t bad. They’re trying to help. But they’re trapped in an old story.
    • Gestalt Therapy highlights how unfinished emotional business resurfaces in present-day relationships. In Gestalt terms, your daughter reactivates a “cycle of experience” that was never completed: the grief, rage, or longing you weren’t allowed to feel or express in your own childhood.

    And if you were the daughter of a mother who dismissed, controlled, competed with, or leaned too heavily on you emotionally, the waters are even murkier. You might find yourself reacting to your daughter as though she is the mother who wounded you, even while she’s just being her vibrant, demanding toddler or intense preteen self.

    The Archetypal Weight

    From a Jungian perspective, the mother-daughter relationship carries archetypal power. The “Mother” isn’t just a person—it’s a universal pattern. And so is “The Daughter.” These archetypes interact within us and between us, amplifying emotion and expectation.

    In this lens, the daughter represents the emerging feminine within the mother—a part of herself that perhaps never got to fully live. She may symbolize the freedom you never had, the voice you were told to quiet, or the sensitivity you learned to suppress.

    That’s why it can feel unbearable when your daughter insists, interrupts, whines, or refuses to comply. It’s not just that she’s being a child. It’s that she’s activating something sacred and suppressed in you. And your reaction may be fiercer than the moment deserves—not because you’re cruel, but because the buried pain is that deep.

    This doesn’t mean you’re doomed to repeat the cycle. But it does mean that the triggers are real, ancient, and sacred—and deserve tenderness, not shame.

    How Our Daughters Awaken Our Wounds

    There’s a particular edge to being triggered by your daughter that is hard to explain until you’ve felt it.

    It’s not just that she’s having a tantrum.
    It’s not just that she’s needy, again.
    It’s the meaning your nervous system assigns to it. The old scripts it revives. The way her very being seems to shine a light into the parts of you that were never allowed to exist.

    A Threat to the Survival Strategy

    If, as a child, you learned to survive by pleasing, appeasing, or disappearing, then your daughter’s bold “NO!” isn’t just inconvenient. It’s dangerous. Not literally—but symbolically.

    It challenges the very pattern that once kept you safe.
    Her loudness threatens the internal rule that says, “It’s not safe to be too much.”
    Her tears challenge your inherited belief: “My emotions are a burden.”
    Her anger pokes at your deeply embedded shame: “If I express myself, I’ll be rejected.”

    She is not misbehaving.
    She is living.
    But for the wounded parts of you, her self-expression can feel like rebellion, even betrayal.

    A Mirror of What Wasn’t Allowed

    A daughter’s joy, rage, silliness, wildness, and need for attention can stir deep envy in a mother who wasn’t permitted to have those things.

    And that envy might show up as irritation, distance, or even rejection.

    Not because the mother doesn’t love her daughter—but because love is complicated when the child is expressing what the mother had to silence in herself.

    This is especially true when the daughter is close in temperament or personality—when her laugh sounds like yours, when her interests mirror your own childhood dreams, when her moods mimic your old vulnerabilities.

    Suddenly, she’s not just her anymore—she’s a reflection of you, reawakening everything you had to suppress.

    A Fight Between Parts of the Self

    In IFS terms, your daughter triggers exiled parts—wounded, banished pieces of yourself that hold trauma, pain, longing, and unmet needs. These parts resurface with intensity when she does something that reawakens the old wound.

    And then, to manage the flood of vulnerability, a protector part might swoop in:

    • The harsh voice (“Why are you like this?”)
    • The icy withdrawal (“I need to be alone.”)
    • The control (“Do it my way or no way.”)

    This reaction isn’t you at your core. It’s a part trying to manage pain. It doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means the pain has surfaced enough to be seen.

    The Body Remembers

    In somatic therapy, we understand that trauma is stored in the body—not just in memory. When your child’s behavior brings up old experiences of powerlessness, shame, or neglect, your body may react before your brain can interpret what’s happening.

    You might notice:

    • A jolt of rage before you understand why.
    • Shallow breath and clenched fists.
    • A sudden urge to yell, leave the room, or cry.

    These are trauma responses—not moral failures.

    Stillness, breath, grounding, and movement can help your nervous system come back into the present. But first, the body needs to be allowed to speak.

    The Attachment Wound Reactivated

    If you didn’t feel emotionally safe or consistently seen by your own mother, you may carry an attachment wound—one that becomes reactivated when your daughter’s needs stretch you past your current limits.

    You may think:

    • “I don’t know how to be there for her because no one was there for me.”
    • “I want to meet her needs, but mine are screaming too.”
    • “I feel guilty for resenting her.”

    And all of this can brew into shame. A mother’s shame that she’s failing at the most important relationship of her life. But this isn’t a sign of failure—it’s a sign of healing in motion. You are walking a path no one walked with you.

    The AEDP Frame: A Portal to Healing

    Accelerated Experiential Dynamic Psychotherapy (AEDP) views intense emotion not as a problem to be managed, but as a portal to transformation—if we are met with compassion, safety, and attunement.

    Your daughter’s presence gives you a profound gift: the chance to re-experience emotion that was once too big, too scary, too unwelcomed—and to move through it differently.

    This time, you get to stay. You get to witness. You get to soften.

    You may have lacked a compassionate other as a child. But now, you can begin to become that for yourself, and for her.

    The Cycle Breaker’s Guilt — Wanting Space, Feeling Shame

    There is a deep, often unspoken ache in many mothers who are trying to do things differently than what they received.

    You might have come into motherhood with fierce vows:
    “I’ll never scream like my mother did.”
    “I’ll always be there when my daughter needs me.”
    “I will raise her to feel free, loved, safe.”

    But then, the long days stack up. Your child’s voice pierces the quiet. You haven’t had a moment alone, or even a thought uninterrupted. Your nervous system is threadbare. And the very child you longed to nurture becomes the one you want distance from.

    And in that moment, a wave of guilt crashes in:

    • “What kind of mother needs a break from her child?”
    • “Why am I so irritated by the person I love most?”
    • “Am I becoming her—the mother I swore I wouldn’t be?”

    This is the pain of the cycle breaker: the person trying to parent with presence, gentleness, and attunement—while also carrying the weight of intergenerational trauma, emotional exhaustion, and a history of unmet needs.

    The Need for Space Isn’t a Sign of Failure

    One of the most radical truths in healing work is this: Needing space does not mean you’re failing.
    It means you are human.

    You may carry an internalized belief that being a “good mother” means constant self-sacrifice. That your needs are secondary. That if you were truly healed, you would never feel rage, irritation, or the urge to escape.

    But in truth:

    • Your nervous system needs cycles of expansion and contraction.
    • Your soul needs solitude to regulate and restore.
    • Your identity needs room to breathe outside of the mother role.

    You cannot pour from an empty well. And your child does not benefit from a mother who is constantly running on fumes.

    IFS Perspective: Parts in Conflict

    In Internal Family Systems, the tension you feel between craving space and feeling shame can be seen as a conflict between parts:

    • One part longs for rest, silence, a break from responsibility.
    • Another part shames that longing, whispering, “You’re selfish. She needs you.”
    • And yet another part might rise in defense, snapping or withdrawing to create space by force.

    The key is not to “fix” these parts, but to listen to them. Each one developed for a reason. Each one holds wisdom. What if the part that wants space is not bad—but just exhausted?

    What if, instead of judging her, you offered her compassion?

    Somatic Clues: The Body’s Boundary Cry

    Your body often knows long before your mind does that you need space. But if you weren’t allowed healthy boundaries as a child, your body’s cry for space may feel foreign or threatening.

    • Tension in your jaw or shoulders
    • A racing heart when your child touches you again
    • A desire to flee the room or go numb

    These are not signs of disconnection from your child. They are signs that your body needs to reconnect with itself.

    Stillness, grounding, and boundary rituals can help you stay with your body’s signals before they turn into explosions.

    The Jungian Frame: The Shadow Mother

    Carl Jung spoke of the shadow—the parts of us that are disowned, buried, or denied. When we idealize motherhood as only nurturing, soft, and selfless, we cast every other part of the mother—rage, boredom, resentment—into the shadow.

    But the more we deny those parts, the more powerfully they erupt.

    Your anger, your need for space, your overwhelm—these are not signs of moral failure. They are signs of your wholeness.

    In reclaiming your “shadow mother,” you become more integrated. More real. More available to your child—not as a perfect image, but as a full human being.

    AEDP: Transforming Shame Through Compassion

    In AEDP, we understand that shame thrives in isolation but softens in connection.

    When your shame is met with empathy—whether from a therapist, a friend, or your own inner voice—it begins to transform. Instead of shutting down, you open. Instead of hiding, you integrate.

    Imagine offering yourself the words you longed to hear:

    “Of course you’re overwhelmed. This is hard. And you are still good.”
    “You need space, and you still love her deeply.”
    “You’re growing, even when it’s messy.”

    This is how the cycle begins to shift—not through perfection, but through presence with what is.

    Becoming the Mother You Longed For — To Her, and to Yourself

    One of the most profound truths in conscious mothering is this:

    You’re not just raising your daughter.
    You’re also re-raising the child inside you.

    And these two processes—parenting outward and parenting inward—are deeply interwoven.

    You might notice this in the quiet moments:
    When you soothe your child with words you never heard.
    When you kneel to meet her eyes instead of towering over her.
    When you pause and breathe instead of shouting.

    These are not just parenting strategies.
    They are acts of healing—echoing into your own nervous system, your own past, your own unmet needs.

    But to sustain this healing, especially when you’re overwhelmed or triggered, you need a framework of both practical tools and emotional reparenting. Let’s break this down.

    1. Reparenting Yourself in Real Time

    When your daughter whines, demands, or pushes your buttons, you’re not just responding to her.
    You’re also responding to something older—a memory, a wound, a moment when you felt helpless or invisible or afraid.

    Here are micro-moments of reparenting you can practice in the thick of everyday life:

    • Touch your own chest when you feel your tone rising. Whisper silently:“It’s okay, love. I’m here now. You’re not alone with this feeling.”
    • Give yourself permission to want space without guilt. Affirm:“My need for solitude doesn’t mean I’m abandoning her. It means I’m honoring myself.”
    • Repair without shame. If you snap or shut down, go back and gently say:“I’m sorry I spoke harshly. I got overwhelmed, but it wasn’t your fault. You’re safe with me.”

    Every one of these actions is a message to both your daughter and your inner child:
    You matter. You’re safe. We’re learning together.

    2. Creating Rituals of Self-Attunement

    Being the mother you longed for doesn’t mean never struggling.
    It means learning how to recognize your own signals—before they overflow.

    Here are simple daily rituals that support this process:

    • Morning intention (2 minutes): Before the day begins, place a hand on your heart and ask:“What do I need most today to feel steady?” Write it down. Let it guide small decisions.
    • Transition rituals (between tasks or rooms):
      Before moving from work to parenting, or dishes to bedtime, pause for one breath. You can touch a small grounding object (stone, oil, scarf), and remind yourself:“I don’t have to rush. I can move from presence, not pressure.”
    • Evening self-holding (5 minutes):
      Sit or lie down, arms wrapped around yourself. Whisper inwardly:“You showed up today. I saw how hard you tried. You’re not failing—you’re healing.”

    These small acts are like drops in a well.
    Over time, they replenish the deep reserve of presence you offer to your child.

    3. Teaching Your Daughter by Living the Truth

    Your daughter learns more from your embodied self-compassion than from any script.
    When she sees you pause before reacting… ask for what you need… apologize sincerely… or say, “I need a moment to breathe”—she learns that being human is not shameful.

    She learns that love includes limits.
    That presence is not perfection.
    That repair is possible.

    And maybe, just maybe, she’ll grow up without the need to unlearn so much of what you’ve had to.

    The Power of Repair: What To Do When You React Like Your Mother

    There will be moments when you hear her voice in your own.
    When the words slip out before you can stop them.
    When your daughter flinches or shuts down, and you feel the sting of recognition—because you know that look. You wore it once.

    And in that moment, the pain is twofold:
    The grief of having repeated what hurt you…
    And the shame of having hurt someone you love more than anything.

    But let this truth soften your chest:

    It’s not the rupture that defines the relationship.
    It’s what happens next.

    1. What Healing Looks Like: From Reaction to Repair

    Parenting from a wound doesn’t mean you’re a bad mother.
    It means you’re still in the process of healing—and that healing can continue inside your parenting, if you let it.

    Here’s a gentle, step-by-step path:

    1. Pause the inner critic.
      The voice that says “You’re just like her” or “You’ve ruined everything” isn’t the truth.
      It’s a part of you that’s afraid.
      You can respond:“I hear you. You’re scared I’m becoming the mother I had. But I’m not the same. I can choose differently now.”
    2. Ground in your body.
      Feel your feet. Place a hand on your belly or heart. Breathe slowly.“I’m safe. She’s safe. I can reconnect.”
    3. Approach your child softly.
      Eye level. Gentle tone. Open palms. You can say:“I’m really sorry. I got angry and I raised my voice. That must have felt scary. You didn’t deserve that. I love you, and I want to be gentle with you.”
    4. Welcome her feelings, even if they’re about you.
      If she cries, hides, or says “I don’t like you,” hold space without defensiveness.“It’s okay to feel mad or sad. I’m listening. I’m here.”
    5. Repair with your inner child, too.
      Later, speak to the little girl inside you:“I know that used to happen to you, and no one came to say sorry. But I’m here now. I see how hard you’re trying. You’re becoming someone new.”

    This is what makes you different.
    Not that you never lose your temper—but that you know how to come back. At the end of this article you can download my free journaling guide “After the Storm: A Journal for Mothers Who Want to Repair”.

    2. Using IFS to Understand the “Reactive Part”

    Through the lens of Internal Family Systems (IFS), we understand that the part of you who lashes out isn’t the whole of you.
    She’s just one part—usually a protector, trying to keep you from feeling overwhelmed, helpless, or unseen (like you did as a child).

    Instead of shaming her, you can get curious:

    • “What are you afraid will happen if I don’t yell?”
    • “When did you first learn to protect me this way?”
    • “Would you be willing to let me respond from a calmer place next time?”

    When your protector parts feel heard, they soften.
    And your true Self—the wise, calm, loving inner parent—can step forward more often.

    3. Healing Is the New Legacy

    Every repair moment is a stitch in the fabric of trust.
    And over time, your child internalizes this truth:
    “Even when we mess up, love brings us back.”

    More importantly, you internalize this, too.

    You become not just a cycle-breaker, but a gentle witness to your own growth.
    You begin to trust yourself. To forgive the moments of rupture.
    To find grace in the mess.

    Because healing doesn’t mean never breaking.
    It means learning how to come back together.

    Redefining Power — Shifting from Control to Connection

    There comes a moment on the healing path—especially for daughters of controlling mothers—when we see ourselves doing what we swore we never would. The flash of anger, the loud voice, the sharp command. And suddenly, we’re not just trying to raise a child—we’re trying to escape a legacy.

    But here’s the truth: what you’re feeling in that moment is not power. It’s panic dressed up as control.

    The Illusion of Control

    Control offers a false sense of safety. It tells us that if we can just make everything go right, if our child can just behave, then we won’t have to feel the ache of powerlessness. But that’s not parenting. That’s fear management.

    When we were children, the authority in our home often felt like domination. Obedience was mistaken for respect. And power was used to silence, not to support.

    So, as adults, we associate parental power with something dangerous or shameful. We either:

    • Overcorrect by becoming passive, permissive, and over-accommodating
    • Or unconsciously repeat the old model by using fear or control when we feel threatened or overwhelmed

    Neither of these are true power.

    What Is True Power in Parenthood?

    True power is presence.
    It’s the ability to hold space for intensity—your child’s and your own—without losing connection.
    It’s setting a boundary with love instead of fear.
    It’s choosing to pause when your nervous system screams “control!”

    This is relational power. And it’s built on five core capacities:

    1. Self-awareness:
      Recognizing when you\’re in survival mode. Naming your triggers. Noticing when the old scripts are playing out.
    2. Emotional tolerance:
      Increasing your window of tolerance so that your child’s chaos doesn’t become your chaos. So that their big feelings don’t awaken your inner child’s panic.
    3. Repair after rupture:
      Power is not in never yelling—it’s in knowing how to come back with humility and love.
    4. Internal boundaries:
      Choosing not to act from the voice of the wounded inner child. Learning to say, “Not this time.”
    5. Trust in the relationship:
      Believing that your child is not your adversary. That misbehavior is communication. That connection is more powerful than control.

    How Do We Build This Kind of Power?

    1. Rewire the pause:
    Start noticing what happens before you react. What does your body feel like when you’re on the verge of snapping? What do you believe in that moment (about your child, or about yourself)?
    Practice creating micro-pauses—a deep breath, a grounding touch to your chest, a whispered affirmation: “This isn’t an emergency.”

    2. Work with the part of you that fears powerlessness:
    Using Internal Family Systems (IFS), you might meet a part of you that hates feeling helpless. Maybe she grew up in chaos. Maybe she was never allowed to have needs. She learned that control was her only protection.
    When you meet her with compassion, she doesn’t have to take over anymore.

    3. Learn rupture and repair as a sacred rhythm:
    Don’t aim to avoid all conflict. Learn to ride the waves. When rupture happens (because it will), guide yourself through a conscious repair. Speak the truth. Validate both of your experiences. Let love be spoken out loud. This builds resilience—in your child and in you.

    4. Study your nervous system, not just your behavior:
    Your triggers are stored in your body. Learn what brings you back to regulation. This might include somatic tracking (from Somatic Experiencing), grounding touch, orienting your senses, or movement. Create a “reconnection toolkit” for when you\’re dysregulated.

    5. Shift the meaning of power:
    If your definition of a “good mother” includes being perfectly calm and selfless, you will always feel like you’re failing. Instead, root into this new definition:

    “A powerful mother is not one who never breaks.
    She is one who learns how to gather the pieces and grow stronger in love.”

    Integration and Final Thoughts — Becoming the Mother You Longed For

    There is no greater spiritual initiation than parenting. It cracks us open in places we didn’t know were wounded. It reveals both the depth of our love and the depth of our pain.

    If you are here, reading these words, it means you\’re doing the brave work of not passing the pain forward. You\’re not pretending the past didn’t shape you. You are daring to hold your child and your inner child in the same breath.

    And that is nothing short of sacred.

    You do not need to be perfect. You need to be present, willing, and humble enough to keep showing up. When you fall into old patterns—because you will—what matters most is how you return.

    Let this be your quiet revolution:

    • To pause instead of punish.
    • To repair instead of retreat.
    • To reconnect when you feel like running away.
    • To speak truth and tenderness in the same sentence.

    You\’re not just raising a child.
    You\’re raising yourself.
    You\’re becoming the mother you needed.
    And in doing so, you\’re reshaping the lineage.

    Download My Free Journal For A Gentle Step Toward Repair

    After a hard moment with your child—whether you shouted, shut down, or acted out a pattern you swore you’d never repeat—it’s not too late.

    You\’re invited to download my free guided journal:
    “After the Storm: A Journal for Mothers Who Want to Repair”
    Inside, you\’ll find:

    • Gentle prompts to process what happened
    • Simple tools to calm your nervous system
    • Language for reconnecting after a rupture
    • A space to reconnect with compassion—for your child and yourself

    Let this be your quiet return.

    Download for free

    Explore further:

    🥰The Rewards of Motherhood: Finding Meaning, Growth, and Everyday Magic

    🌒The Unexpected Challenges of Motherhood: A Dark Night of the Soul

    🧘‍♀️Restorative Yoga for Deep Healing: How to Use Stillness to Rewire Your Nervous System

  • Preventing Attachment Issues: Supporting Children of Fearful-Avoidant Parents (+free PDF)

    Introduction: The Pain of Seeing Harmful Parenting Patterns

    It’s one thing to read about attachment wounds in books. It’s another to witness them unfolding in real time, especially when a child’s emotional safety is at stake.

    Imagine this: You’re at a playground, and a toddler keeps looking back at his mother for reassurance. She responds by ignoring him, turning away, or even pushing him toward other children with an anxious “Go play! You’ll never make friends if you cling to me!” The child hesitates, his distress growing, and the mother sighs in frustration. Later, when he cries at bedtime, she insists he “self-soothe,” despite his escalating panic.

    If you’re healing from fearful-avoidant attachment yourself, seeing another parent unknowingly pass down the very patterns you’re working so hard to unlearn can be infuriating and heartbreaking. Your body may react with a surge of rage, grief, or helplessness—especially if you see clear signs that their child is developing the very attachment struggles they fear.

    But what can you actually do? How do you regulate your own emotions around this? And if you want to help, how do you communicate in a way that won’t make the other parent defensive?

    In this article, we’ll explore:

    • How to manage your own emotional response (so you don’t spiral into anger or despair)
    • Why fearful-avoidant parents unintentionally create what they fear most
    • Ways to gently open their perspective without triggering shame
    • The science of attachment and how to explain it simply
    • When to intervene—and when to accept that you can’t control everything

    Let’s start by understanding your own reaction first.

    Regulating Your Own Emotional Response

    Before addressing the other parent, it’s crucial to attune to your own nervous system. Witnessing attachment wounds in real time can activate deep emotional pain—especially if you were once that child, longing for attunement but met with distance or fear.

    Why This Hits So Hard: Your Body Remembers

    According to polyvagal theory (Porges, 2011), when we see a child in distress, our nervous system may automatically mirror that distress, especially if we’ve experienced similar pain. If we haven’t yet processed our own wounds, we might react from a fight response (anger, judgment, a strong urge to “rescue”) or a shutdown response (hopelessness, emotional numbness, or dissociation).

    This is not a sign that you’re overreacting—it’s a sign that your system is deeply empathetic and recognizing something familiar.

    How to Regulate in the Moment

    Instead of letting these emotions spiral, try:

    1. Pausing to Notice Your Reaction
      • Where do you feel this in your body?
      • Are you clenching your jaw? Feeling a pit in your stomach?
      • What does this reaction remind you of in your own past?
    2. Grounding Yourself Physically
      • Slow your breathing (inhale for 4 counts, exhale for 8).
      • If your hands are shaking, press them against a solid surface.
      • Feel your feet on the ground to reorient to the present.
    3. Using Self-Talk to Shift Perspective
      • Instead of: “This is unbearable! This poor child!” → Try: “This is painful to witness, but I can stay regulated and compassionate.”
      • Instead of: “This parent is ruining their child!” → Try: “They are repeating what they know, just as I once did.”
    4. Giving Yourself an Outlet
      • Later, journal about your feelings.
      • Voice-note a trusted friend who understands attachment healing.
      • If the feelings are intense, process them with an inner parts dialogue (IFS-style) or through somatic movement.

    Once you’re more grounded, you can assess whether and how to approach the other parent. But first, let’s unpack why fearful-avoidant parents often create what they fear most—and why shaming them will never work.

    Understanding the Fearful-Avoidant Parent: Why They Create What They Fear

    A parent with a fearful-avoidant attachment style often carries conflicting fears about connection. On one hand, they deeply fear being abandoned or unwanted. On the other, they feel overwhelmed by closeness and emotional dependency—which can make parenting especially triggering.

    What This Looks Like in Parenting

    Because they fear their child becoming too dependent or too anxious, they may:

    • Sleep train early and rigidly, fearing their child will become “too needy” if comforted at night.
    • Encourage independence too soon, pushing their toddler to interact socially before they’re ready.
    • Ignore clinginess or distress, hoping the child will “toughen up” instead of realizing this increases fear.
    • Struggle with emotional availability, becoming distant or inconsistent in moments of distress.

    Ironically, these very behaviors reinforce what they fear:

    • The child becomes more clingy because their emotional needs aren’t being met.
    • The child becomes more socially anxious because they aren’t given a secure base from which to explore.

    This parent is not acting out of malice—they are repeating what was done to them. They were likely given the message that needing comfort was weak or that being “too soft” would make them fail in the world. They may still believe that.

    How to Approach the Fearful-Avoidant Parent Without Making Them Defensive

    Fearful-avoidant individuals tend to shut down or lash out when they feel criticized. Directly telling them, “You’re making your child anxious” or “You’re damaging their attachment” is unlikely to go well. Instead, use strategies based on motivational interviewing, gentle curiosity, and offering safety rather than judgment.

    1. Start from Shared Concerns

    A great way to open dialogue is by mirroring their fears back to them—without blame.

    Instead of: “You’re making your child more fearful by pushing them.”
    Try: “I totally get why you want your child to be confident. It’s so hard to see them struggle socially.”

    Instead of: “Ignoring crying doesn’t teach independence.”
    Try: “I used to think that comforting too much would make kids more dependent, too. But I read something interesting about how secure attachment actually builds independence long-term.”

    By aligning with their desire for a strong, confident child, you reduce defensiveness.

    2. Share Small Insights, Not Big Corrections

    People are much more open to gentle shifts in perspective than being told they’re wrong. Instead of lecturing, share your own experiences or a small, digestible fact.

    Example 1: If they say, “I don’t want my child to be one of those kids who clings to their mom all the time.”
    You could respond: “It’s interesting—apparently, kids who get their emotional needs met early actually become more independent later. I thought it was the opposite for a long time.”

    Example 2: If they say, “I need my child to sleep alone. They’ll never learn if I keep coddling them.”
    You could say: “Yeah, sleep was such a struggle for us too. I came across something on how co-regulation at night actually strengthens nervous system resilience in the long run. I was surprised!”

    This plants a seed without confrontation.

    3. Acknowledge Their Own Pain

    Fearful-avoidant parents often parent from fear—but underneath that fear is pain. They weren’t emotionally supported as children. They had to self-soothe before they were developmentally ready. They might have been shamed for needing love.

    If you sense an opening, you can gently reflect this:

    • “It’s so hard when we didn’t get that kind of support ourselves.”
    • “I know for me, it felt scary at first to parent differently than how I was raised.”
    • “It’s tough when we’re just trying to do what we think is best, and there’s so much conflicting information out there.”

    This validates their inner wounds without blaming them.

    Once you’ve approached the conversation with warmth rather than judgment, they may be more open to gradual shifts in perspective. But ultimately, you can’t force someone to change—you can only offer gentle insights and let them process in their own time.

    Now, let’s explore how to support yourself emotionally when you feel powerless in these situations.

    Regulating Your Own Reactions: Managing Rage, Grief, and Helplessness

    Watching another parent unintentionally create the very fears they are trying to prevent can be deeply triggering—especially if you’re healing from a fearful-avoidant attachment style yourself. It can stir up rage, grief, and powerlessness:

    • Rage at the unfairness of it all—why must another child go through what you did?
    • Grief for your own childhood, seeing the same patterns play out in front of you.
    • Helplessness because no matter how much you want to intervene, you can’t force change.

    These emotions are valid. The key is learning how to hold them without letting them consume you.

    1. Recognizing Projection: Are You Seeing Your Own Past?

    One of the hardest truths in healing is that sometimes, we react not just to what’s happening—but to what it reminds us of.

    If another parent’s behavior sparks overwhelming emotion, ask yourself:

    • Am I reacting to their child’s suffering—or to my own unhealed pain?
    • Is this anger directed at them—or at the adults who failed me as a child?
    • Do I feel helpless now because I was helpless then?

    This doesn’t mean your feelings are wrong. But separating past pain from present reality can help you respond more intentionally, rather than being swallowed by emotion.

    2. Using Somatic Regulation to Move Through Big Emotions

    Since fearful-avoidant wounding is stored not just in thoughts but in the body, purely rationalizing won’t be enough. You need to physically discharge the overwhelming emotions.

    Try:

    • Shaking out the body (releases stored fight-or-flight energy)
    • Breathwork for nervous system regulation (slow exhale longer than inhale)
    • Holding your heart or self-soothing touch (signals safety)
    • Grounding techniques (barefoot walking, holding a weighted object)

    This keeps the anger and grief from becoming stuck in your body.

    3. Allowing Space for Grief Without Getting Stuck

    It’s okay to grieve the child you once were—the one who needed what this child needs now. Let yourself feel it. Write it out. Speak to your younger self.

    But don’t let grief turn into despair. Balance it with:

    • Hope—You are breaking the cycle in your own family.
    • Compassion—You are feeling this deeply because you care.
    • Perspective—Every child’s story is still being written. This moment isn’t the end.

    4. Choosing Your Battles: Not Every Situation Needs Your Intervention

    When you see a child suffering, your instinct may be to do something, say something, fix it.

    But ask yourself:

    • Would saying something actually help right now—or just make me feel better?
    • Is this a moment for education—or for acceptance?
    • Is my energy better spent on my own child, my own healing?

    You don’t have to carry every injustice. Pick what’s within your power, and release the rest.

    Helping Without Creating Conflict: How to Gently Support the Parent and Child

    Now that you’ve worked through your own emotional response, the next challenge is how to actually help—without triggering defensiveness in the other parent.

    This is delicate, because direct confrontation rarely works when a parent is unknowingly acting out of fear. Instead, we need an approach that fosters curiosity, safety, and gradual shifts in perspective.

    1. Understanding Why This Parent Is Acting This Way

    The mother you’re observing is not acting out of cruelty—but out of fear. She believes:

    • If she comforts her child too much, they’ll become overly dependent.
    • If she lets them sleep in her bed, they’ll never be independent.
    • If she lets them avoid social situations, they’ll always struggle socially.

    Ironically, her approach is creating the very fears she’s trying to prevent—but she doesn’t see it yet.

    This is classic fearful-avoidant parenting:

    • They fear their child’s dependency, so they push them away—making the child more anxious.
    • They fear their child’s social struggles, so they force interactions—making the child resist socializing.

    She is trying to raise a strong, independent child—but because she never learned secure attachment herself, she is going about it in a way that backfires.

    Understanding this helps you approach her with compassion, not judgment.

    2. The Art of Gentle Influence: “What If?” Instead of “You Should”

    People rarely change when they feel criticized. Instead of saying, “What you’re doing is harmful,” try planting seeds of curiosity.

    Some ways to do this:

    • Share a personal story.
      • Instead of saying, “You shouldn’t sleep train,” you might say,
        “I used to think responding at night would make my baby clingy, but I noticed that when I stopped resisting it, he actually became more independent.”
    • Ask a curiosity-provoking question.
      • “Have you ever noticed how [child’s name] gets extra clingy after being left alone? It’s interesting how some kids react that way.”
    • Make an observation instead of a judgment.
      • “It’s so tough when kids get scared of social situations. I read that sometimes pushing them actually increases their fear. It’s counterintuitive, isn’t it?”

    These small moments can spark internal reflection without triggering defensiveness.

    3. Strengthening the Child’s Resilience in Subtle Ways

    Even if you can’t change the parent, you can be a secure presence for the child.

    • Validate their emotions when they’re upset: “It’s okay to feel scared. You don’t have to rush.”
    • Give them space to initiate social interactions rather than forcing them.
    • Model warmth and responsiveness so they experience safety in another adult relationship.

    You may not be able to change their home environment—but every moment of attuned connection helps shape their nervous system.

    4. Accepting What’s Not in Your Control

    It’s painful to watch a child struggle in ways that could be prevented. But some things are beyond your power to fix.

    Instead of focusing on what you can’t change, ask:

    • What’s the best way I can support this child, even in small ways?
    • How can I model a secure presence, even if their parent doesn’t yet?
    • How can I release what I can’t control, without carrying resentment?

    Your calm, steady presence—both for yourself and for them—is more powerful than you think.

    Practical Exercises: Regulating Yourself, Engaging the Parent, and Supporting the Child

    Now that we’ve explored the psychology behind these dynamics, let’s turn theory into action. These practical exerciseswill help you:

    • Regulate your own emotional response.
    • Engage the parent in a way that fosters openness, not defensiveness.
    • Support the child in subtle but meaningful ways.

    1. Regulating Your Own Emotions: Self-Compassion & Releasing the Grip of Helplessness

    Watching a child struggle when you know things could be different is painful. Before you act, it’s crucial to process your own emotions first.

    Exercise: The “Compassionate Witness” Practice

    Goal: Acknowledge and release your frustration so it doesn’t fuel reactive behavior.

    1. Find a quiet space and take a few deep breaths.
    2. Imagine yourself observing this situation from a calm, compassionate perspective.
    3. Ask yourself:
      • What am I feeling right now? (Helplessness, frustration, grief, anger?)
      • Where do I feel this in my body?
      • If this emotion could speak, what would it say?
    4. Now, shift perspective:
      • Imagine an older, wiser version of yourself gently comforting the part of you that feels this pain.
      • Offer yourself words of understanding, e.g., “It’s hard to witness this. You care deeply, and that’s why this hurts.”
    5. Finally, take three slow breaths and release the emotional intensity, reminding yourself:
      • I don’t have to fix everything. Small acts of care make a difference.

    By acknowledging and releasing your own distress first, you can engage from a place of clarity rather than emotional reactivity.

    2. Engaging the Parent: Planting Seeds of Awareness

    Many parents in this situation are defensive—not because they don’t care, but because they’re afraid of “failing” as parents. Instead of confronting them directly, try curiosity-driven dialogue.

    Exercise: “The Gentle Mirror” Approach

    Goal: Help the parent notice the patterns without making them feel criticized.

    1. Observe the child’s behavior in a neutral moment.
      • Example: You see the child become extra clingy after being left alone.
    2. Mirror it back to the parent as an open-ended observation.
      • “I noticed [child’s name] gets extra attached after some alone time. It’s interesting how kids respond differently to that.”
    3. Leave space for the parent to respond.
      • If they engage, ask gentle follow-ups:
        • “Have you noticed that pattern too?”
        • “I read something fascinating about how independence develops differently than we expect—would you be interested?”
    4. If they shut down, back off—you’ve still planted a seed.

    By mirroring the child’s response in a neutral, non-judgmental way, you allow the parent to arrive at insights on their own—which is far more effective than direct correction.

    3. Supporting the Child: Creating Micro-Moments of Secure Attachment

    Even if you can’t change their home life, you can still provide a sense of safety and connection when you interact with them.

    Exercise: “Micro-Moments of Secure Attachment”

    Goal: Help the child experience small but meaningful moments of attunement.

    1. When the child is distressed, acknowledge their feelings rather than dismissing them.
      • Instead of “You’re fine, go play,” try “I see that you’re feeling unsure. You can take your time.”
    2. Allow them to warm up socially at their own pace.
      • Example: If they hesitate before joining a group, say “You can watch for a while, and when you’re ready, you can join.”
    3. Offer playful connection rather than pressure.
      • If they seem resistant to engaging with other kids, try joining them in play yourself first—this creates a bridge of safety.

    Every moment of attuned connection builds resilience in their nervous system, even if their home life isn’t ideal.

    Final Thoughts: Your Influence Is Greater Than You Think

    You may not be able to change this child’s home environment overnight, but your presence, compassion, and small interventions can make a real impact.

    Even if the parent never fully changes, even if the child’s attachment struggles persist—the safe, attuned interactions you offer them matter.

    Your role isn’t to control, fix, or force change. Your role is to be a steady, compassionate presence. That alone is powerful.

    Next Steps: A Free Guide for Navigating These Situations

    To help you feel more confident in these interactions, I’ve created a free downloadable guide:

    📌 “Supporting Secure Attachment Without Overstepping: A Practical Guide for Parents and Caregivers”

    Inside, you’ll find:
    ✅ Step-by-step scripts for engaging a parent without triggering defensiveness
    ✅ Practical exercises for regulating your own emotions when witnessing harmful dynamics
    ✅ A guide to recognizing the subtle signs of attachment distress
    ✅ Real-life case studies with solutions you can apply

    Download guide

    By equipping yourself with these tools, you can support children and parents alike with compassion, wisdom, and patience.

    Remember, every small, positive interaction counts towards creating a more secure and emotionally healthy future for the children in your life.

    References f:

    • Bowlby, J. (1988). A Secure Base: Parent-Child Attachment and Healthy Human Development. Basic Books.
    • Ainsworth, M. (1978). Patterns of Attachment: A Psychological Study of the Strange Situation. Hillsdale, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum Associates.
    • Siegel, D. J., & Bryson, T. P. (2012). The Whole-Brain Child: 12 Revolutionary Strategies to Nurture Your Child’s Developing Mind. Delacorte Press.
    • Porges, S. W. (2011). The Polyvagal Theory: Neurophysiological Foundations of Emotions, Attachment, Communication, and Self-Regulation. W.W. Norton & Company.
    • Schore, A. N. (2001). The effects of early relational trauma on right brain development, affect regulation, and infant mental health. Infant Mental Health Journal, 22(1-2), 201-269.
    • Tronick, E. Z. (2007). The Neurobehavioral and Social-Emotional Development of Infants and Children. Norton.
    • Main, M., & Solomon, J. (1990). Procedures for identifying infants as disorganized/disoriented during the Ainsworth Strange Situation. In M. T. Greenberg, D. Cichetti, & E. M. Cummings (Eds.), Attachment in the preschool years: Theory, research, and intervention (pp. 121-160). University of Chicago Press.