“The greatest gift you can give your children is your own healing.” ~Dr. Shefali Tsabary
Am I doing too much or not enough?
Am I screwing my child up? Am I being too hard on my child? Am I being too soft? Am I spending enough time with my child? Do I help too much? Should I help more?
Is my son going to be taken advantage of because he talks about his feelings? Is my daughter going to be considered too bossy because she has boundaries? Should I be doing more as a parent? Or less?
These are the questions that flood the minds of parents who had childhood trauma and are trying to heal while parenting. Our main goal is simple: not to do to our children what was done to us.
I know that was my goal before I had my son. I remember telling myself I wouldn’t have a baby until I had healed enough to not repeat the trauma I experienced growing up. If you’re like me, you probably thought that wouldn’t be too hard.
There was no way I was going to dismiss my son’s feelings. I was going to be emotionally and physically present. No matter what he went through, I would be compassionate, nurturing, and unconditionally loving.
That’s what children need and deserve. It’s what I needed and deserved too.
But then the questions started. The doubt. The constant second-guessing. That voice that quietly asks if you’re doing it wrong… I call that Not Good Enough Stuff.
No matter how many loving things I did, that voice still showed up.
Am I talking about feelings too much? Should I let him handle things with friends on his own? When he’s upset and says he needs space, do I leave or stay close?
When I think a teacher is being unfair, do I step in or let it go? If I know he needs help, do I wait for him to ask, or do I offer it?
It’s exhausting trying to get it right all the time. When I really sit with it, I notice two core fears underneath everything.
The first is this: Am I giving my son too much affection?
I always ask him if he wants a hug before giving one.
The other day, he was upset about something that happened at school. I sat next to him and asked, “Do you want a hug?”
He didn’t even look at me. “No.”
I paused, unsure what to do next. Every part of me wanted to pull him in anyway, to comfort him in the way I always needed but didn’t get.
Instead, I asked, “Do you want me to sit with you or give you space?”
“Just sit there.”
So, I did. I sat next to him in silence, fighting the urge to fix it, to say something, to do more, and my mind got loud.
Am I doing enough?
Am I doing too much?
Am I getting this wrong?
That moment hits something deeper in me because affection and comfort weren’t things I received consistently as a child. For a long time, I thought that was normal.
That belief started to shift the first time I spent the night at my friend Molly’s house. Before bed, her mom hugged me.
I remember thinking it was one of the best feelings I had ever experienced. It felt safe, warm, and easy. I wanted more of that.
So, the next night, I told my mom what happened. I asked if she would start hugging me at bedtime, too. That did not go well.
She got triggered and angry. She told me that if I wanted a mom like Molly’s, I could go live with her.
I’m not sharing that to shame my mom. She didn’t receive affection or nurturing either. I don’t think she knew how to give something she never had.
But as a child, I didn’t understand that. What I learned instead was that my needs were too much.
Those beliefs don’t just disappear when we grow up. They follow us into adulthood, into relationships, into parenting.
So now, when my son says no to a hug, it doesn’t just feel like a simple preference.
It brushes up against something old. And that’s where Not Good Enough Stuff gets louder.
The second fear underneath all of this is quieter, but just as powerful: Am I pushing him too much to talk about his feelings? Am I setting him up to be seen as weak?
Why do we do this to ourselves? Like so many things, it goes back to childhood.
We had emotional needs that weren’t met, and now we are trying to make sure our children don’t experience that same emptiness. That’s a beautiful thing.
But there’s one major problem. We were never shown how to do this. It’s like trying to get somewhere without a map.
A couple of years ago, my family and I moved from Mississippi to the mountains of Southern Oregon. Now, imagine making that drive with no directions, no GPS, and no one to guide you.
Would you get there eventually? Probably. Would you take wrong turns, get lost, and feel frustrated along the way? Absolutely.
That’s what this feels like.
We know the kind of parents we want to be. We just don’t have a clear path for how to get there. So, we make mistakes, and then we turn on ourselves for making them.
We try so hard to give our kids what we didn’t have that we start to question if we’re overcorrecting. But here’s something that grounds me when that voice gets loud.
We often think we need to give our kids more. More activities. More opportunities. More things.
But I’ve seen children who had very little financially, whose emotional needs were met, and they were okay, more than okay. They were more emotionally healthy than most kids.
I’ve also known what it feels like to have things but not have the affection, comfort, and nurturing that actually mattered.
If I’m being honest, I would have given up a lot of what I had just to feel safe, seen, and loved. That reminder brings me back to what actually matters.
Not perfection. Connection.
Of course, we’re going to make mistakes. That’s unavoidable. And yes, in some ways, we will get it wrong. But here’s what makes the difference.
You are doing things your parents didn’t do. You reflect. You question. You care. You’re willing to change.
You are working on your own healing while raising your child. That matters more than getting everything right.
If I had to bet, I’d say you’re also doing something meaningful that your child will carry with them for the rest of their life.
Maybe you apologize when you mess up. Maybe you listen instead of dismissing. Maybe you try again the next day. Those things are not small.
I lose my shit sometimes with my son. I hate admitting that, but it’s true. In those moments, I hear echoes of how I was raised, and sometimes I repeat things I heard as a child that were harmful.
But I also notice it. Sometimes right after, sometimes in the moment. That awareness allows me to repair, and repair matters more than perfection ever will.
When we repair with our children, we teach them that mistakes are okay. We teach them how to take responsibility, how to reconnect, and how to build healthy relationships.
That is something many of us were never taught, and it changes everything. So, when you start questioning yourself again, take a step back.
Remember that you are doing something incredibly hard. You are parenting in a way you were never parented.
You are learning as you go. You are choosing something different. That matters more than doing it perfectly ever could. You deserve compassion.
You always did. And now, you get to give some of that compassion to yourself.
About Mary Beth Fox
Mary Beth Fox is a licensed professional counselor, speaker, and writer who helps people understand and heal the childhood roots of feeling not good enough. Her work focuses on how this belief shapes anxiety, relationships, and self-doubt. She is the author of the forthcoming book Not Good Enough Stuff: Unearthing Your Roots to Return to Who You Were Meant to Be. Visit theinnerchildtherapist.com, get her free guide, Why You Feel “Not Good Enough, and connect with her on Instagram, Facebook, and TikTok.
