Frederique: “I wanted to do things differently than my parents, but my daughter held up a mirror to me”

When I was pregnant with Siena, there was one thing I knew for sure: I would not become like my parents. No cold stares at the dinner table, no silent reproach when someone cries, no feeling of 'you have to achieve before you receive love'. I wanted warmth, openness, gentleness. Siena would always feel safe with me. Never unsure about whether she was loved. Never doubting herself. That was my promise. To her, but perhaps even more to myself. Yet, I noticed, now that Siena is two, that promise sounds easier than it lives. Because some things, some patterns, are so deeply ingrained in your body, that you only recognize them when you're in the midst of them. Or when you suddenly see them reflected by your child.

I recognized myself in her reaction

It started with a report from the daycare. Just a few sentences. “Siena sometimes withdraws when it's busy in the group. She likes to play by herself and sometimes needs to recover from too many stimuli. She needs her own space.” At first, I felt nothing but pride. How beautiful, I thought. That she feels her boundaries so well. That she dares to seek her own little spot. But then came the nagging feeling. It felt so familiar. As if I was reading my own observation file. As if someone was describing my toddler years. And suddenly I could see it: how I, as a little girl, was also often quiet in groups. How I would hide in the corner of the kindergarten, behind the doll corner curtain. How I could be overstimulated for days from children's parties or sleepovers. And how my parents did nothing about it. “She's just quiet,” they would say. “She just needs to learn to participate more.”

My parents never understood it

My parents never really saw me. They probably didn't mean any harm, but they just didn't understand me. My sensitivity was seen as a weakness, as troublesome. As something that needed fixing. And so, from a young age, I tried to be who they wanted me to be: cheerful, sociable, not too complicated. I laughed when I felt bad. I said I was fine when I wasn't. And one day, I no longer knew what I felt myself. As I got older, I started to rebel. Not loudly and with a lot of noise, but quietly and thoughtfully. I withdrew further and further from the family. I ate in my room, with the door closed. And at eighteen, I left home in a hurry. No study plan, no money, no safety net. Just the deep conviction: I have to get out of here before I lose myself.

I had no idea how to be a mother myself

When I became pregnant with Siena, a lot of old memories surfaced. Apparently, that happens, your own childhood suddenly feels very close again. And yet I thought I was well-prepared for it. "I know what I don't want, so I'll do it differently", I told myself. But honestly? I had no idea how to do that. What is actually normal? What is lovingly setting boundaries? When are you too strict and when too lenient? My parents were not exactly a good example, but I had no other role model.

Siena inadvertently held up a mirror to me

And now with Siena, everything starts anew. She looks at me with those big brown eyes and I see myself. Not just in appearance, but also in her behavior. When she withdraws after a busy morning. When she startles at a loud voice. When she cries, but immediately swallows her tears when she thinks I look at her disapprovingly. That breaks my heart. Because that's not what I want. I want her to feel everything. To know that there's room for her entire inner world. But somewhere she has still picked up something from me. My tendency to conform.

“I don't want this,” I thought. And I decided to take action

When I read that report from the shelter, I felt the urgency. I must do something about this. I don't want her to develop the same mechanisms. That she shuts herself off. Or thinks that she is only good enough when she is perfect. So, I started working on myself. I began talking to an energy coach. Someone who observes those old patterns with me. How they came to be. How I pass them on unconsciously. And most importantly: how I can break them.

Therapy feels like raising myself

The conversations are sometimes painful, but also enlightening. I learn that my sensitivity is not a weakness, but a strength. That needing space is not a shortcoming, but a necessity. That I can only truly give Siena that space if I dare to take it for myself. Sometimes I still catch myself. When she doesn't get her way and starts to cry, I feel my muscles tense up. My first impulse is: stop crying, this is unnecessary. But then I take a breath and think: what if I had been allowed to cry when I was younger? So I sit next to her, hold my arms open, and say softly: “Cry, sweetheart. I'm here for you.”

Grateful for my daughter, my mirror

Siena is only two, but she is already my greatest teacher. Through her, I see where I still have work to do. Where I still need to heal myself. And where I have already grown. Because I see her. And that might just be the most important thing a parent can do. She holds up a mirror to me. Sometimes that mirror is painful. But often it's also loving. She shows me that I don't have to be perfect. That I can learn along the way. That it's never too late to do things differently.

Breaking patterns starts with awareness

I now understand: the past does not determine the future. But you must choose consciously. Not on autopilot. Not thinking: "that's just the way I am". Because it's in parenting that everything comes back. Your own childhood, your beliefs, your fears. And if you don't dare to look at them, you pass them on. Without wanting to and without noticing. I now see it as my mission. Not to be a perfect mother, but a conscious one. One who dares to acknowledge her mistakes. Who says: “Sorry, I reacted too strongly.” Who also shows her vulnerability. Because I believe: that's what children need most.

FREDERIQUE

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