Growing up, my dad was strict. An 8 pm curfew made sense—miss it, and you were grounded. We could handle that. But with him, it wasn’t just “Who are you going with?” It was also, “Where exactly? How long will you be there? What time are you leaving, and who’s bringing you back?”
It felt suffocating at times. My sisters and I would joke, saying, “When I have kids, I’m never doing this!” And while there’s a lot my parents taught me that I appreciate now, there are definitely things about how we grew up, especially as girls, that I don’t want to repeat with my own kids.
As I got older, I started reflecting more on my childhood, and it led me to the idea of “reparenting” myself. It’s not just about parenting my kids differently; it’s about understanding and healing from my own experiences.
I even had a conversation with my dad about this. That wasn’t easy. My sisters and I often felt he’d have preferred sons. He never said it outright, but we felt it in how he pushed us, in his expectations of how we should act and even look. We constantly felt the need to be “tough” and meet his standards, leaving little room to just be ourselves.
He also had a habit of saying “no” without reason. You couldn’t ask why, which made it more confusing. I ended up making excuses to my friends about why we couldn’t do things. After a while, it felt like maybe our wants didn’t really matter.
Learning to stand up for myself—and, eventually, for my kids—was a big lesson from those moments.
As the youngest, I was always tagging along with my sisters. They hated it, and so did I. It bonded us, yes, but it also blurred our individual identities. Now that we’re scattered across the world, we all appreciate those shared memories. But I’ve realised that the forced togetherness sometimes made it harder for us to figure out who we were individually.
Reparenting for me has been about embracing my individuality and worth as a woman. I want my kids to know it’s okay to follow their own interests, even if they’re different.
I’ve had to unlearn the idea that my worth is tied to meeting others’ expectations. It wasn’t just my dad’s rules; it was the quiet message that strength and resilience meant proving myself.
Now, I approach parenting differently. I encourage my kids to be themselves, to love themselves, and I’m not as burdened by expectations. I’m focusing on creating a more supportive environment where they’re heard and feel like their feelings matter. I’m working to be a parent who listens, respects their voices, and cheers them on for who they are. It’s about breaking that cycle and helping them feel accepted and like they belong—something I didn’t always feel.
I also remind myself it’s okay to make mistakes, to learn as I go. My parents had their own struggles, just as I have mine. I’m learning to be kinder to myself, to fill in the gaps with love and understanding, and to forgive myself along the way.
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