I grew up with "I've given you a roof over your head and food on the table" - the implication that I should be grateful and compliant and unfulfilling of my own needs. Great stuff to ponder.
Oof. Such important reminders. What we say, often times offhanded, in jest, or while we are emotionally responding can really sketch out their self concept.
I love that you related how on the flip side, overhearing someone speak positively about you can do the same. Highlighting good brings about more good. What we focus on, we get more of.
Those last few lines? The way that can TOTALLY reframe the words about to be written upon our kids? Pure gold. Another great exercise in intentional parenting and communication, my lovely friend.
This lands hard because kids don’t hear nuance, they hear patterns.
They absorb the atmosphere.
A lot of adults are still trying to unwind identities that were quietly assigned in those everyday sentences. And then we regurgitate them unconsciously. Listen to yourself with your inner child. What do you hear?
Words stick. Sighs hurt. Expressions are felt. A couple of years ago, my mom said to me and my daughter who was expressing her forever desire to have a big family, that she wouldn't have kids if she could do it again. One daughters lives far away and her son, well... it as if he hardly existed. She actually said to my daughter, why would you want them? I kinda get why she said this. My mom had my brother at 16. She had to hustle to survive. But even after the survival, she keeps her walls high. She said this right after losing my stepdad of 40 years. She felt lonely. Scared. Even though we speak daily and do everything I can, I am far away. And her walls prevent her from visiting us so she is alone except during our long yearly visits. I am trying to go more often. I think I am writing this to understand her words. I know she loves me and she is hurting... those words hurt. They hurt me in my 50's. They probably hurt me my entire life. My brother's entire life. The question: were we truly wanted? I of course, work on self-love for this. To patch the wounds. To love my daughters better. Never make them feel unwanted. Of course, I probably fail. Sighs. Expressions. But I always tell them how they add to my life. How happy they make my life, this life... if I were to die today, I would be so happy with everything I lived. I want them to know this. And I wonder, did my mom's words hurt my daughter. And will I be enough of an example of self-love for her to lick her wounds and those of her furure miracle babies. Motherhood is the hardest thing. And the most beautiful. But you really do have to practice loving yourself to see this. Thank you Erin. I think I needed to share this. xo
There’s so much compassion in the way you’re holding all of it—the hurt from your mom’s words, and the effort you’re making to understand where they came from. That doesn’t erase the pain, but it says a lot about the kind of love you’re choosing to lead with.
The way you speak about your daughters, and how clearly you tell them they add to your life, is a beautiful thing to read.
Thank you for trusting this space with something so personal. ❤️
This resonates so deeply. It’s a heavy realization that our casual words today become our children’s inner voices tomorrow. We focus so much on providing for them physically, but it’s these 'lingering words' that truly build their world. Thank you for such a beautiful, haunting reminder to speak with more intention. ❤️
Thank you, Sara. The quiet stuff really does shape the atmosphere of a home more than we realize. I really appreciate you taking the time to read and comment. ❤️
This is incredibly insightful Erin. Differentiating between hardship and regret is crucial. Hardship is tied to circumstances, while regret becomes a part of one's identity. This concept often doesn't receive the attention it deserves. When something is repeated, it becomes ordinary, and what becomes ordinary shapes our identity.
Children don't define themselves by our mistakes but by the atmosphere we create, the tone we set, and what seems casual enough to go unquestioned. It's true that this category of language isn't scrutinized as it should be. We focus on fixing issues after major conflicts, on apologies, and on improving in the future. Yet, we rarely address the words and phrases that sneak by without prompting repair because they seem insignificant; the sigh, the joke, the martyr narrative.
These moments, though subtle, gain significance through repetition. What seems like adult comprehension can subtly evolve into a child’s self-image, which is profoundly important. Identity isn't formed through grand gestures; it's developed through what feels ordinary.
This is beautifully said, and you captured something that’s easy to miss—identity is rarely shaped by the dramatic moments we vividly remember. It’s shaped by what settles into the background and starts to feel normal.
That matters more than we realize, and you captured that perfectly.
Precisely, whatever fades into the background eventually becomes the blueprint. While we focus on correcting what is visible, it's the subtle atmosphere that shapes identity in the background.
This leads me to believe that true change isn't about dramatic shifts; it's about structural transformation.
Oh, Erin, I feel this, especially the first section about what kids hear when we say something like, "If I could do it all over again, I wouldn't have kids." I have tried my best to be clear in my own language about the ambivalence I feel about motherhood--that it isn't my children I regret. I simply wasn't fully educated about the intensity and responsibility and bodily trauma and societal expectations upon women when it came to motherhood. I wasn't prepared, so I struggled through those early years.
I think that's why it's been hard for me to know if my memoir is okay. I have imagined my kids growing up and reading it, then blaming themselves or feeling like I didn't love or want them when that's not true at all.
I also want to point out that sometimes people "choose" parenting without being fully informed on what they are saying yes to. I was one of those parents. I had zero exposure to infants, was not raised around any conversations about pregnancy, childbirth, postpartum sleep deprivation. I only babysat once. So the image I formed in my mind about motherhood was one I constructed from snippets of conversations I overheard my mother's friends talking about.
And my mom told me from a young age, "Have as many kids as God gives you, because children are always a blessing." That was the extent of my education.
What I've come to understand in my situation is that all I can do is show up every day and be the best human I can. Sometimes I will falter and fail. When I do, I can repair and reconnect. I've learned to give myself grace while also leaning into the ways I can grow as a person and as a mom.
In my experience, 4 kids 7 to 17 currently and a decade as a popular teacher in high school, the last paragraph you wrote Jeannie is spot on.
Not only the giving yourself grace but showing up. They see it. They understand. All of the years leading up to it are adapting as Erin states in the post. Then it starts weaving together in adolescence.
Im excessively productive and attentive. Present is the proper word. My own children and dozens of students follow suit. Productive, confident, prepared.
By watching me grow in real time, they have a model (Bandura) to follow. Sometimes even parents of my students reach out and follow as well.
Im not tooting my own horn. This is just a way of life ive consciously developed, and the key is being open and available. Disguising nothing for safety and sharing all as teachable skill.
Just my two cents, seemingly useful by countless additional family members added over the years and the saving of my oldest from a society that convinced her she wasn't worth it. That story is on here if interested.
That is so kind of you to read my comment and offer such a thoughtful reply! I appreciate the encouragement you offered here, and in no way did I read it as “tooting your own horn.” I believe we need to honor our wins as parents, as well as own our mistakes. Both are part of human growth, I think. So I’m glad you can see your strengths and cheer on others (like me) who might need to benefit from that wisdom from time to time! :)
There is always so much honesty in what you write, Jeannie.
Wanting to tell the truth about your experience while also protecting your kids’ sense of being wanted says everything about your heart.
I’m hopeful that what our kids will remember most isn’t whether we struggled, but whether we showed up, gave and received grace, and kept choosing them.
Thank you for trusting your readers with your story. Truly. 🧡
Oh my Erin. Your wisdom and insights, not to mention your writing, shine through in this piece.
“We chose to become parents. They did not choose to be born.”
When I read these two sentences it occurred to me that the ‘kind’ of parent we choose to become takes place ‘after’ they’re born.
And the kind of parent we become is developed through our intentions and awareness, through victories and royal screw-ups, through forgiving and being forgiven. And so on. And so on.
All the way to the end.
Thank you for showing me what I just wrote by what you wrote. 🙏🙏🙏
I love this extension so much. Choosing to become a parent is one decision. Choosing what kind of parent we become happens over and over again. Through the wins. Through the screw-ups. Through the repair.
That’s the work. And honestly, the gift in it.
I’m really grateful you put words to this, James. Thank you! 🧡
I am guilty of saying something that my youngest overheard--it was not directed to her and I thought all 3 girls were out of earshot. Years later she brought it up in conversation--not in an accusatory way. She expressed how she felt--I validated her position, but also shared that what she heard was out of context with the rest of the conversation between two adults. I apologized and told her that I was thrilled that she entered our lives--she was just what the family needed and wanted.
I feel fortunate that my two living daughters are able to bring up anything from their childhood with me.
The fact that she felt safe bringing it up years later—and that you met her with openness instead of defensiveness—is such a gift. Not every child gets that. I’m always struck by how steady and safe the home you’ve built feels.
I’m so grateful for the way you show up here. Thank you for your contribution to the conversation—and encouragement. 🧡
I grew up with "I've given you a roof over your head and food on the table" - the implication that I should be grateful and compliant and unfulfilling of my own needs. Great stuff to ponder.
Oof. Such important reminders. What we say, often times offhanded, in jest, or while we are emotionally responding can really sketch out their self concept.
I love that you related how on the flip side, overhearing someone speak positively about you can do the same. Highlighting good brings about more good. What we focus on, we get more of.
Those last few lines? The way that can TOTALLY reframe the words about to be written upon our kids? Pure gold. Another great exercise in intentional parenting and communication, my lovely friend.
This lands hard because kids don’t hear nuance, they hear patterns.
They absorb the atmosphere.
A lot of adults are still trying to unwind identities that were quietly assigned in those everyday sentences. And then we regurgitate them unconsciously. Listen to yourself with your inner child. What do you hear?
And then we regurgitate them unconsciously.—so true!
Words stick. Sighs hurt. Expressions are felt. A couple of years ago, my mom said to me and my daughter who was expressing her forever desire to have a big family, that she wouldn't have kids if she could do it again. One daughters lives far away and her son, well... it as if he hardly existed. She actually said to my daughter, why would you want them? I kinda get why she said this. My mom had my brother at 16. She had to hustle to survive. But even after the survival, she keeps her walls high. She said this right after losing my stepdad of 40 years. She felt lonely. Scared. Even though we speak daily and do everything I can, I am far away. And her walls prevent her from visiting us so she is alone except during our long yearly visits. I am trying to go more often. I think I am writing this to understand her words. I know she loves me and she is hurting... those words hurt. They hurt me in my 50's. They probably hurt me my entire life. My brother's entire life. The question: were we truly wanted? I of course, work on self-love for this. To patch the wounds. To love my daughters better. Never make them feel unwanted. Of course, I probably fail. Sighs. Expressions. But I always tell them how they add to my life. How happy they make my life, this life... if I were to die today, I would be so happy with everything I lived. I want them to know this. And I wonder, did my mom's words hurt my daughter. And will I be enough of an example of self-love for her to lick her wounds and those of her furure miracle babies. Motherhood is the hardest thing. And the most beautiful. But you really do have to practice loving yourself to see this. Thank you Erin. I think I needed to share this. xo
I’m honored you shared this here, Danni.
There’s so much compassion in the way you’re holding all of it—the hurt from your mom’s words, and the effort you’re making to understand where they came from. That doesn’t erase the pain, but it says a lot about the kind of love you’re choosing to lead with.
The way you speak about your daughters, and how clearly you tell them they add to your life, is a beautiful thing to read.
Thank you for trusting this space with something so personal. ❤️
I love your space and you. It is difficult to keep up with all the reading on Substack, but I always feel connected with your essays. 💞
This resonates so deeply. It’s a heavy realization that our casual words today become our children’s inner voices tomorrow. We focus so much on providing for them physically, but it’s these 'lingering words' that truly build their world. Thank you for such a beautiful, haunting reminder to speak with more intention. ❤️
Thank you, Sara. The quiet stuff really does shape the atmosphere of a home more than we realize. I really appreciate you taking the time to read and comment. ❤️
This is incredibly insightful Erin. Differentiating between hardship and regret is crucial. Hardship is tied to circumstances, while regret becomes a part of one's identity. This concept often doesn't receive the attention it deserves. When something is repeated, it becomes ordinary, and what becomes ordinary shapes our identity.
Children don't define themselves by our mistakes but by the atmosphere we create, the tone we set, and what seems casual enough to go unquestioned. It's true that this category of language isn't scrutinized as it should be. We focus on fixing issues after major conflicts, on apologies, and on improving in the future. Yet, we rarely address the words and phrases that sneak by without prompting repair because they seem insignificant; the sigh, the joke, the martyr narrative.
These moments, though subtle, gain significance through repetition. What seems like adult comprehension can subtly evolve into a child’s self-image, which is profoundly important. Identity isn't formed through grand gestures; it's developed through what feels ordinary.
This is beautifully said, and you captured something that’s easy to miss—identity is rarely shaped by the dramatic moments we vividly remember. It’s shaped by what settles into the background and starts to feel normal.
That matters more than we realize, and you captured that perfectly.
Thank you Erin.
Precisely, whatever fades into the background eventually becomes the blueprint. While we focus on correcting what is visible, it's the subtle atmosphere that shapes identity in the background.
This leads me to believe that true change isn't about dramatic shifts; it's about structural transformation.
Oh, Erin, I feel this, especially the first section about what kids hear when we say something like, "If I could do it all over again, I wouldn't have kids." I have tried my best to be clear in my own language about the ambivalence I feel about motherhood--that it isn't my children I regret. I simply wasn't fully educated about the intensity and responsibility and bodily trauma and societal expectations upon women when it came to motherhood. I wasn't prepared, so I struggled through those early years.
I think that's why it's been hard for me to know if my memoir is okay. I have imagined my kids growing up and reading it, then blaming themselves or feeling like I didn't love or want them when that's not true at all.
I also want to point out that sometimes people "choose" parenting without being fully informed on what they are saying yes to. I was one of those parents. I had zero exposure to infants, was not raised around any conversations about pregnancy, childbirth, postpartum sleep deprivation. I only babysat once. So the image I formed in my mind about motherhood was one I constructed from snippets of conversations I overheard my mother's friends talking about.
And my mom told me from a young age, "Have as many kids as God gives you, because children are always a blessing." That was the extent of my education.
What I've come to understand in my situation is that all I can do is show up every day and be the best human I can. Sometimes I will falter and fail. When I do, I can repair and reconnect. I've learned to give myself grace while also leaning into the ways I can grow as a person and as a mom.
In my experience, 4 kids 7 to 17 currently and a decade as a popular teacher in high school, the last paragraph you wrote Jeannie is spot on.
Not only the giving yourself grace but showing up. They see it. They understand. All of the years leading up to it are adapting as Erin states in the post. Then it starts weaving together in adolescence.
Im excessively productive and attentive. Present is the proper word. My own children and dozens of students follow suit. Productive, confident, prepared.
By watching me grow in real time, they have a model (Bandura) to follow. Sometimes even parents of my students reach out and follow as well.
Im not tooting my own horn. This is just a way of life ive consciously developed, and the key is being open and available. Disguising nothing for safety and sharing all as teachable skill.
Just my two cents, seemingly useful by countless additional family members added over the years and the saving of my oldest from a society that convinced her she wasn't worth it. That story is on here if interested.
That is so kind of you to read my comment and offer such a thoughtful reply! I appreciate the encouragement you offered here, and in no way did I read it as “tooting your own horn.” I believe we need to honor our wins as parents, as well as own our mistakes. Both are part of human growth, I think. So I’m glad you can see your strengths and cheer on others (like me) who might need to benefit from that wisdom from time to time! :)
There is always so much honesty in what you write, Jeannie.
Wanting to tell the truth about your experience while also protecting your kids’ sense of being wanted says everything about your heart.
I’m hopeful that what our kids will remember most isn’t whether we struggled, but whether we showed up, gave and received grace, and kept choosing them.
Thank you for trusting your readers with your story. Truly. 🧡
Thanks, Erin. I’m grateful you receive my words the way you do. XO
Oh my Erin. Your wisdom and insights, not to mention your writing, shine through in this piece.
“We chose to become parents. They did not choose to be born.”
When I read these two sentences it occurred to me that the ‘kind’ of parent we choose to become takes place ‘after’ they’re born.
And the kind of parent we become is developed through our intentions and awareness, through victories and royal screw-ups, through forgiving and being forgiven. And so on. And so on.
All the way to the end.
Thank you for showing me what I just wrote by what you wrote. 🙏🙏🙏
I love this extension so much. Choosing to become a parent is one decision. Choosing what kind of parent we become happens over and over again. Through the wins. Through the screw-ups. Through the repair.
That’s the work. And honestly, the gift in it.
I’m really grateful you put words to this, James. Thank you! 🧡
I am guilty of saying something that my youngest overheard--it was not directed to her and I thought all 3 girls were out of earshot. Years later she brought it up in conversation--not in an accusatory way. She expressed how she felt--I validated her position, but also shared that what she heard was out of context with the rest of the conversation between two adults. I apologized and told her that I was thrilled that she entered our lives--she was just what the family needed and wanted.
I feel fortunate that my two living daughters are able to bring up anything from their childhood with me.
As usual, Erin, this essay is parenting gold.
This says so much about you, Nancy.
The fact that she felt safe bringing it up years later—and that you met her with openness instead of defensiveness—is such a gift. Not every child gets that. I’m always struck by how steady and safe the home you’ve built feels.
I’m so grateful for the way you show up here. Thank you for your contribution to the conversation—and encouragement. 🧡