The Roots We Don’t Talk About

There’s a mother of seven who often comes across my timeline.

I don’t engage with her content. It isn’t what I seek out, and I’m not the type to leave harsh comments or critique strangers online. When something doesn’t resonate, I scroll quickly, so the algorithm learns and moves on.

But her content kept returning.

Eventually, I paused on a video of her cleaning. In it, she spoke about the condition of her home and attributed it to raising seven children.

The word condition made me stop.

So I looked more deeply, not to judge but to understand. What I noticed was that the conditions she referenced weren’t occasional. They were frequent. And while I immediately saw a lack of structure, I also knew that wasn’t the real conversation.

The real concern wasn’t the home.

It was the foundation.

Because the foundation we lay today is the one our children build on tomorrow.

As I continued observing, I learned she was a teen mom. That added context. My first thought was that perhaps she was growing alongside her children, many parents do. But as I listened more closely, something else stood out.

In several videos, she repeated the same phrase:
“I let my kids be kids because I don’t want them to feel like they can’t come to me.”

At first, I kept scrolling.

But after hearing it for the third time, a question surfaced:

What does structure have to do with safety?

That’s when the life coach in me, and the healer, recognized something deeper. There was a root present. An origin. A wound.

And it wasn’t being addressed.

We often hear women say things like:
“I just needed someone to love me.”
“I want a son so I can know what love from a man feels like.”

Statements like these aren’t said casually; they’re said from unhealed places. And through my own healing journey, I’ve learned something essential:

Children are not meant to repair what adults were denied.

They are not here to validate us.
They are not here to fill emotional gaps.
They are not here to make us feel chosen, needed, or loved in ways we never experienced.

When we haven’t done our own inner work, parenting can quietly become transactional.

We may equate:

• Rules with rejection
  
  

• Discipline with abandonment
  
  

• Structure with a loss of love
  
  

So we loosen boundaries, not because it’s healthy but because we’re afraid. Afraid our children won’t choose us. Afraid they’ll pull away. Afraid of becoming what hurt us.

And that’s not a moral failure.

That’s a wound.

We invest heavily in external makeovers, homes, appearances, and social media presence, but who is sowing seeds for the internal work? Who is asking the harder questions?

Why did I make this choice?
And then, why again?
And again?

Until we reach the root.

Because only then can we make different decisions.

This isn’t an observation meant to bash. It’s something I noticed and couldn’t shake because healing demands honesty. We all have patterns. We all have places that need tending. And parenting from an unexamined wound doesn’t make someone bad; it makes the work more urgent.

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If you recognize yourself anywhere in this reflection, if you sense parental wounds influencing how you show up, love, or lead, it’s important to know this:

Awareness is the first step.
But awareness alone is not the work.

Healing requires guidance, safety, and support.

A qualified counselor or therapist can help unpack the roots, challenge inherited beliefs, and create healthier frameworks both for you and for the generations that follow.

Our children deserve parents who are willing to do the work.
And we deserve to heal what we were never taught how to carry.

Visit Unaltered Voices to read more of my work and continue exploring what lives beneath the surface, so it doesn’t quietly shape the future.

Healing doesn’t end with us.
But it must begin somewhere.