I had no idea that mothering my own child would be so healing to

The words of Susie Bright—“I had no idea that mothering my own child would be so healing to my own sadness from my childhood.”—reveal a mystery as old as the human heart: that in giving love we sometimes mend the wounds left by love withheld. She speaks not only of mothering, but of redemption, of the unexpected grace that arises when we pour into another what we once longed to receive. For many who carry sorrow from their earliest years, the act of becoming a parent awakens not only the child but the wounded self within, offering a chance to give and to heal at the same time.

The ancients, too, understood this hidden cycle of healing. The philosopher Plato spoke of the soul as divided, seeking completion in its missing half. Likewise, the soul of one who has endured neglect or pain in youth often carries an unspoken longing, a thirst for gentleness, for patience, for unconditional love. When such a person becomes a parent and begins to offer these very gifts to their child, they discover—often to their surprise—that they are also giving these gifts to themselves. The act of love given outward reflects back inward.

History bears this truth. Consider the life of Frederick Douglass, born into the pain of slavery, separated from his mother in his earliest years. Though denied the tenderness of a stable childhood, Douglass became not only a voice for freedom but also a devoted parent. In guiding his own children with the compassion and dignity he had been denied, he created for them what had been withheld from him—and in so doing, found a measure of healing for himself. His story mirrors Bright’s words: parenting can become the balm that soothes old scars.

Bright’s insight also reminds us that sadness from childhood never fully vanishes; it lingers, shaping the adult in silence. Many carry wounds of absence, harshness, or indifference. But when they step into the role of parent, they are confronted with a choice: to repeat the old patterns, or to break them. Those who choose to break them not only protect their children but also free themselves, for they prove to their own hearts that love is possible, that kindness is real, that nurturing can exist even if it was once denied.

The meaning is profound: parenting is not only about shaping the future but also about redeeming the past. When we offer our children the tenderness we never received, we rewrite the story of our lineage. In every lullaby sung, in every hand held with patience, we whisper to our younger selves: “You were worthy of this love too.” Thus, parenting becomes a sacred act of healing across generations, a way of turning sorrow into strength.

The lesson for us is clear: do not fear if you carry wounds from your childhood. They need not define the love you give. Instead, let them sharpen your awareness of what children need most. Allow your parenting to be both gift and medicine: gift to your child, medicine to your own soul. Understand that by breaking cycles of neglect or harshness, you are not only raising your child differently—you are healing yourself and transforming the inheritance of all who come after you.

Therefore, let your actions be these: be conscious of the patterns you inherited. Choose which to keep, and which to lay down. Offer your children the love you once longed for, and in doing so, notice how your own heart softens. Speak gently, hold firmly, love freely—and recognize that each act of kindness toward your child is also an act of kindness toward the child you once were.

Thus, Susie Bright’s words shine as an eternal truth: to nurture a child is also to nurture the wounded self within. Parenthood is not only the making of a new life, but the remaking of our own. Let this wisdom be passed down: that through love, the sorrows of the past can be redeemed, and what was once broken can become whole again.