The hard part of parenting is seeing yourself in the mirror

This piece is about the chaos of raising children while still recovering from yourself childhood. About the subtle but powerful ways our family patterns are passed down without us even realizing it. It is called transmission between generations (Lochner, 2008) – the idea that emotional habits, shockCoping mechanisms and beliefs can be transmitted through behavior.

Somewhere in the process ParentingYou begin to see your younger self in your child—and are forced to confront the parts of yourself you’ve buried or don’t fully understand.

I started noticing this mirror effect when I became my daughter teenager. Suddenly, her behavior – the make-up, her boyfriend, trust– It aroused feelings that I did not expect.

At first I thought she was pushing border. Then I realized she was paying royal. Because when I was a teenager, I wasn’t like her. I was an introvert. I wore simple clothes, tied my hair back, and had no interest in boys or parties. My world revolved around academics. I had tunnel vision: study, succeed, achieve.

Maybe this motivation came from my childhood.

I grew up in the former Soviet Union, where schools had two languages: Russian and Kazakh. At home and with friends, we spoke Russian; With Kazakh relatives. My conversational Kazakh was good, but my academic Kazakh was weak. Then, when I was six years old, when I started first grade, I had a bike accident and couldn’t walk for six months. When I recovered, my mother enrolled me in a Kazakh language school instead of a Russian school.

I had missed the basics, and now everything – from reading to math – was in a language I didn’t fully understand. I lost. Instead of trying to continue, I gave up. I sat in the back of the classroom, played games, hung out with my friends, and stopped doing homework altogether. My teacher was calling mestupid.“I was six years old, and I believed her.

At home, my stepdad would often tell me that I was fat, ugly, and that everything I touched I would ruin. I believed him too. That was the reality of my early childhood. I thought I was worthless.

Everything changed when my mother transferred me to a Russian school. Suddenly, I could understand again. I discovered my love for literature and began competing in regional Russian language and writing competitions. For the first time, I felt empowered.

But the damage had already shaped me. I didn’t think of myself as pretty or anything like that.

I remember walking to the mall one winter afternoon with my friend. We were eighth graders and wore jeans and jackets. Two boys started following us and asking us about the time. I panicked and headed to the nearest store. Someone just wanted my number, but I didn’t know how to handle that kind of thing attention. It scared me.

Another time, my neighbor—who had already graduated while I was still in high school—offered to accompany me to the store. I was wearing my usual home clothes, no makeup, quite casual. On the way back, he stopped at a flower shop and said: “Wait here a minute.” He came back with ice cream and a bouquet of flowers, and handed them to me: “They are yours.” I felt uncomfortable and embarrassed. I shared it with my cousin, and after that, I never saw the man again.

When I was a teenager, I would spend entire days in my room, surrounded by textbooks and notes. I was preparing for history exams and reading literature as if my life depended on it. Meanwhile, outside my window, Life was happening.

It was spring. The air was fresh, the birds were singing, and the sun stayed longer than it had before. My friends and neighbors would gather in the courtyard below my window, playing the guitar and singing. People will He opposesSharing drinks and telling stories.

I like to stop sometimes. I wanted to go. But then I would look at my books and feel guilty. If I stop now, I’ll fall behind. I was chasing success or Self-worth. I don’t know.

One day, my mother, concerned about my mental health and isolation, signed me up for a one-month summer camp in another city. I was terrified. A month away from home? With strangers? I felt exiled. But it became one of the most eye-opening experiences of my life.

The girls at camp wore makeup and talked openly about relationships. The boys were flirting and competing. Couples formed, separated, and formed again. There was drama like in the movie.

I noticed and moved away from boys and drama. Instead, I threw myself into sports. Volleyball, picnics, group games, and dance rehearsals. I’ve made friends.

That summer didn’t change my identity, but it did Expanded I. He showed me that life can be more than just an accomplishment.

Now the roles have been reversed

Now, I’m a mother. I have a teenage daughter life In the world I once resisted. She is confident, social, expressive, and different. She goes out and experiments, has a boyfriend, and does a full face of makeup. And sometimes I want to say no. I want to say, Stop, slow down, be more focused. I want to turn her into the teenage version of myself.

But then I stop. Because it’s not fair to her. This is not healing for me. My daughter is not me. She doesn’t need to carry my past. She is allowed to make her mistakes. This is where parenting becomes the hardest mirror of all.

Years ago, a friend told me something I couldn’t understand at the time: “Children are not our children. They come through us, not for us.” I remember her resistance. How can I raise someone, love them, protect them – and only then Let them go?

But after years of contemplating, reading, breathing, and soul-searching, I now understand. Our children are not here to achieve what we have dreams. They are not here to become what we wish they could be. They come into this world through us, yes, but they are their own people. With their own paths. Their own lessons to learn.

Our role is only to guide and support them. Finally they were released. Giving up does not mean not caring. It means caring enough to trust the life within them. Raising my daughter made me confront my strict beliefs. It made me ask questions:

• Why did I hold myself back so much?
• Do I project my past onto my child?

I thought my strict study habits made me strong. And maybe they did. But they also came from He is afraid of being “Not enoughIf you ever feel stressed with your child, or confused about why you are reacting this way, pause. Ask yourself: Is this about them or is this about me?