As I sit here reflecting on my parenting journey, it is hard to even remember the intense tension that once lived in my body. The stress, the worry, the guilt that consumed me for years now feel like distant memories. My heart, which once felt numb and frozen, is now filled with warmth, presence, and joy.

If you are in the thick of parenting struggles right now, I want you to know this: healing is possible. Connection is possible. And it often begins when we look beneath the surface — in our children and in ourselves.

The Rollercoaster Years

For about six years, parenting our youngest son felt like riding an unpredictable rollercoaster. Although, in hindsight, as I now better understand who he is, maybe it was more predictable than I realized.

He was bright, curious, persistent, and incredibly clever. He tested limits constantly. He outsmarted rules. He deciphered passcodes, snuck electronics late at night, avoided assignments, and found ways around consequences more times than I can count. Sometimes he even admitted what he did with pride, as though they were “wins.”

But often, he lied.

And the lying hit me at my core.

Honesty and authenticity are deeply rooted values for me. When my son lied, I felt angry, hurt, and deeply unsettled. I kept asking myself: Why is this happening? What are we doing wrong?

Then one day I remembered my own teenage years. I lied too. Not because I was a bad kid — but because I was afraid of my parents’ reactions. Afraid of the yelling. Afraid of the disappointment. Afraid of the guilt.

And suddenly it clicked.

Was this what my son was feeling? Avoiding the aftermath? Not trusting it would feel safe to tell the truth? Hiding embarrassment?

That realization didn’t fix everything overnight, but it cracked something open in me. It helped me begin — just begin — to put myself in his shoes and see things through his lens.

When Strategies Weren’t Enough

Over the years, my husband and I tried everything we knew.

We spoke with counsellors. We leaned on friends and colleagues. We used parenting strategies meant to teach respect, honesty, and responsibility. We problem-solved. We coached. We guided. We corrected.

We also suspected our son was a gifted learner. With our eldest, a gifted program had been life-changing. But our youngest wanted none of it, and we respected that. We kept him engaged in soccer, worked closely with teachers, and tried to support his learning in ways that felt right for him at the time.

Then in Grade 10, he chose a self-directed school, hoping to finish high school in two years.

Instead, he found freedom… and chaos.

Skipped classes. Missed assignments. Avoided tests. More lies.

By the end of the year, he had earned only five credits.

That year was brutal.

Our relationship became fragile and distant. He didn’t want to talk to me. He didn’t want hugs. I was often met with scowls, anger, or silence. I lived in a constant state of tension, bracing for the next argument or explosion.

I was sad, exhausted, heartbroken — and slowly, I began to feel numb.

I remember saying to a close friend, “I don’t feel loving. I don’t feel joy. I don’t feel like myself anymore.”

And then the shame followed. 

What kind of mom am I? How can I support other parents when I’m struggling with my own child at home?

Looking back now, I understand what was happening.

My nervous system was completely overwhelmed. I was living in a constant state of threat — fight, flight, and eventually… freeze.

A Turning Point

After the truth about school came out and emotions settled, we made the difficult decision for our son to return to our community school.

It wasn’t easy for any of us.

I imagine he felt embarrassed and ashamed about how the year had unfolded. I know I felt enormous guilt and shame about how I had reacted and communicated during that time.

In Grade 11, we began to see just how deeply stressed he had been when he started losing his hair to the point that it was almost all gone.  That moment changed everything.  We suddenly realized that while we were stressed as parents, he was also living in an extreme state of stress.

From there, something shifted.

As parents we began making different choices about rules and expectations in our house -- ones that better reflected what was best for our relationships, our mental health and overall well-being. 

He worked incredibly hard, took summer school classes, and eventually graduated with his peers. Ironically, he did finish high school in two years — just with a “gap” year in between.

And yes, his hair began to grow back.

My Healing Became Our Healing

Around that same time, I came across the Jai Certification Transformational Parent Program and began my healing journey ❤️. I had no idea how impactful this inner work would be — not just for my parenting, but for my relationship with myself and my son.

I started having powerful “aha” moments.

My Nervous System Was in Survival Mode

I realized I had moved into a numb, frozen state as a way of coping. My nervous system was immobilized. Even small situations — a scowl, a sarcastic comment, an email from school — would instantly trigger me.

It wasn’t that I was a bad parent. It was that my body no longer felt calm and safe.

I Was Parenting from Unconscious Expectations

Through journaling and deep reflection, I began to see that many of my reactions were shaped by unconscious beliefs.  Beliefs that were influenced by my upbringing, my culture, social expectations and messages I’d absorbed over a lifetime about what “successful” kids should be like, and that parents need to be firm and strict.

Without realizing it, I had internal rules about how my children should behave, how I should parent, and what it meant to be a “good” family.

When reality didn’t match those expectations, fear took over.

Fear Was Driving My Stress, Guilt, and Worry

So many of my thoughts sounded like this:

Why is he so emotional? Why is he lying? What will people think? What if this affects his future?

Underneath it all was fear.

Generational Patterns Were Showing Up

I began to see how my own childhood experiences were being triggered. Growing up, I was often corrected, questioned, and reminded to think about what others would think. Over time, I developed beliefs like:

·       I need to be perfect

·       I need to be good

·       I need to do more

·       Mistakes are a big deal

These beliefs quietly shaped how I parented.

The irony? When I supported other parents professionally, my guidance was rooted in compassion and understanding. Yet I was not offering that same compassion to myself.

I Needed to Look Beneath the Surface 

I slowly began to see my son differently.

I had been so focused on the behaviours I wanted to change that I was not concentrating on his strengths — his humour, his passion, his debating skills, his successes at school and in soccer.

The more I tried to “fix” or “improve” him, the more he pushed back.

The more we tried to control his behaviour and emotions, the more he interpreted it as: “They don’t like who I am.” “They want to change me.” “I’m not good enough.”

So he withdrew. His anger grew bigger. And the cycle continued.

Meanwhile, his body was going through enormous changes — rapid growth, hormones, intense emotions, sensitivity to fairness, and a nervous system that experienced feelings more deeply than many of his peers.

When we finally began to truly SEE what he was going through, everything started to shift.

What I Was Going Through (Beneath the Surface)

As he was struggling outwardly, I was struggling inwardly.

My unconscious expectations triggered fear about his future. I worried about judgment from others. I felt like I was failing — especially given my professional background.

This led to waves of guilt and shame. When I was triggered, I reacted quickly. I said things I regretted. I yelled. And afterward, the guilt would feel overwhelming.

Now I understand: that was my nervous system in survival mode, not a reflection of my love.

My natural tendency to help, fix, and problem-solve — strengths in my professional life — were backfiring at home.

Then one day, I read an essay my son wrote for school.

In it, he described a conversation with a trusted friend where he shared that he did not feel seen or heard at home. He felt that I only wanted to change him.

My heart shattered.

Because from the moment my sons were born, my deepest wish was for them to grow up confident and strong. Yet my constant problem-solving and “helping” was unintentionally sending the message that something about my son needed fixing.

What he truly needed was to feel accepted — for all parts of himself.  The easy parts. The emotional parts. The challenging parts. The authentic parts. 

Compassion Was the Key

What our home desperately needed was compassion.

Compassion for my children. Compassion for myself. Compassion for the reality that there is always more happening beneath behaviour and reactions.

I began giving myself permission to be imperfect.

I am not a perfect parent. My children are not perfect.

But together, we are safe to be authentically imperfect — and deeply loved.

Repair Changes Everything

As part of my healing, I wrote my son a letter.

I acknowledged how my parenting may have made him feel unseen and unaccepted. I apologized. I shared that many of my reactions came from my own wounds and patterns I’d learned, and that I was actively working to change.

I told him I wished I had shown up differently during those hard years — and that I would always be there for him moving forward.

We both cried.  And in that moment, I felt years of guilt, pain, and generational patterns begin to release.

Slowly, I started to feel again.

The numbness began to soften. The emotions were raw and exhausting at first, but then something beautiful happened — my heart began to open.

I noticed small moments of connection. My kids asking how my day was. Shared laughter. Conversations that felt lighter.

Warmth returned. Then joy. Then connection.

What Helped Us Rebuild Connection

Over time, we began using approaches that supported both connection and emotional safety in our home:

♥ Accepting and understanding my children’s learning styles and emotional needs

♥ Allowing and acknowledging all emotions — even the big, uncomfortable ones

♥ Listening deeply without rushing to fix

♥ Being present instead of constantly problem-solving

♥ Giving my children space to learn through experience

♥ Setting boundaries rooted in our true family values

♥ Sharing my own thoughts and struggles so my children see me as human

♥ Practicing compassion with myself as much as with my family

♥ Celebrating moments of connection, laughter, and growth

♥ Repairing — again and again.  Repair has truly been one of the more powerful tools in our family

Where We Are Today

Today, my relationships with my sons are richer and more connected than I ever imagined possible.

We still argue. We still get frustrated. We are human.

But we also laugh more. Hug more. Talk more.

Most importantly, we trust that we can move through challenges together.

If you are in the thick of it — feeling stressed, disconnected, or numb — please hear this:

You are not broken. And your children are not broken.  Your hearts and nervous systems may simply be asking for safety, support, kindness and compassion.

Healing is possible. Connection can be rebuilt. And joy can find its way back home. 💛