As I stepped into parenthood, I found myself thrust into a journey of revisiting my own childhood through the eyes of my kids. I stumbled on what I had been missing and what my mind had relentlessly searched for – a deep biological need for closeness and safety that I had never fully acknowledged before. 

Motherhood forced me to relive life from a different angle… one that softened the defensive walls I had unknowingly built to safeguard my vulnerabilities. As I attuned to my children’s innate needs, all I could feel was my own experience of operating on “an empty emotional tank” for decades.

The veil was removed and I could no longer “unsee” what I had been missing.

I had to confront the history that led me to feel disconnected and invisible. The ideas I had held about what a “good enough childhood” looked like began to unravel, and I saw, perhaps for the first time, that I had spent years convincing myself that certain gaps in emotional care were normal—acceptable, even.

My healing journey demanded grieving the childhood I hadn’t fully experienced, holding compassion for my caregiver’s blind spots and learning to let go. I worked really hard to find a doorway to forgiveness and realized that holding onto the disappointment of “what could have been” kept me locked in a narrative that no longer served me.

This became my recipe for relinquishing the past and repairing my attachment patterns.

In doing so, I found the freedom to create a different kind of nurturing environment—a place where emotional nourishment is not just possible, but essential. And in the end, my children became my greatest teachers, showing me what it means to truly care, to be present, and to offer the kind of love that heals not just them, but me as well.