If you ask my father, he’d say he was a very involved parent, and the two co-parented in the ‘90s before the term existed. The truth: I can count on one hand the number of times I heard or saw my father until I was a teenager when he did work to have a more substantial presence in my life.
In my novel “MOM AF,” I don’t discuss the dynamic between my parents (or my father and me, for that matter). That’s because when I was growing up, if I laughed the wrong way, smiled the wrong way, practically did anything that reminded my mother of my father, she’d reply with a scoff or eye roll and say, “alright, now. You get that from your Dad.”
I became uncomfortable discussing my father with my mother, which progressed into becoming uncomfortable talking about him to anyone for decades. It wasn’t like she ever positively mentioned him. Never. All recollections were discussed by her as if she had terrible tastes in her mouth.
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What’s most challenging about caring for my gaslighting, privileged, snide father is coming to terms with the realization that I am intensely caring for a man who did not care for me as intensely when I needed him most: as a child. In talking to my therapist, I learned the abandonment I experienced as a child and the emotional abuse I’m experiencing now from him are stirring unresolved issues: generational trauma.
I thought it best not to tell my mom how much he leaned on me for mental and physical support until I ultimately had to find a memory care facility for him this year. And that was for a few reasons: she’d find a way to make my situation about her. She also disapproved of my father putting me in a co-dependent relationship where I tolerated his abusive behavior and lived on high alert. And she knew he had medical issues and would relish hearing details about his pain and suffering. I just couldn’t give her the satisfaction.
I’m an educated woman. Black women are more likely to parent single, after divorce, or while separated. (Actually, I could just open my Instagram or Facebook page and see that.) Plus, I grew up in a household with a divorced Black woman. But imagine my surprise when I learned in therapy this dynamic with my father was, in fact, about my mother. She passively transmitted the trauma and lack of feeling safe in her marriage to my father to me. Sadly, across numerous studies, children raised in households with their mothers only are more likely to experience generational trauma. In addition, separation or divorce affects a child’s development for life; they are at a heightened risk for substance abuse, depression, anxiety, and externalizing behaviors and disorders.
But when my therapist told me few understand that watching their mother separate, divorce, or parent solo affects the former child’s dating life well into adulthood, I looked like a damn meme, slowly covering my gaping mouth with my hand. “When we experience generational trauma without learning at a young age what love is — and more importantly, what it isn’t, we tend to recreate the patterns of those parental relationships in our romantic relationships,” she explained.
My marriage — heck, even my dating life before marriage — attested to that. I tried to fix men’s issues with alcoholism and depression, constantly broke up with the same man only to reunite days later, attached anxiously and insecurely to unavailable men, tolerated abusive behavior from other women’s baby daddies, and since this is a family-friendly website… overly pleased and felt the need to prove myself in the bedroom for validation. In my marriage, I co-dependently de-prioritized my needs, putting my career on hold to support his advancement. Nearly every man I’d been romantically involved with was a narcissist, just like my father. My therapist interrupted my train of thought by unknowingly agreeing. “We find ourselves trying to heal the parental wounds through a partner.”
Since my therapist has been my therapist for the past eight years, I felt comfortable candidly asking:
“So what the f*** am I supposed to do to get rid of this generational trauma?”
She laughed. “Trauma impacts how safe you perceive people and the world, and this trauma then affects how you treat others, including your children.” It made perfect sense. If my mother unknowingly put me in this situation, unbeknownst to me, I could eventually put my daughter and son in this situation. I tried my hardest not to speak ill of their father, our marriage, or our divorce. I remember what it felt like as a child to hear only negative comments about one-half of yourself. But I must admit, I occasionally mentioned their father’s lack of paying child support or visitation on days when “Mommy can I have” and “why not” became too annoying.
My therapist reassured me, “the way to heal is through reparenting work.”
“So I still have to take care of the man who abandoned me; not only do I gotta parent these kids by myself, now I also gotta parent myself?” I sarcastically questioned.
“Yes.”
I sighed. “Okay, so seriously, what are some strategies you recommend for me to cope with this generational trauma and reparent myself?”
“You’re already starting to address the past hurt and the source of your abandonment. Date yourself for a while. Give yourself some time before you jump into your next relation-”
“Oh yeah, that’s a definite,” I interrupted, laughing.
After realizing how I handled past relationships, I knew it was probably a good idea to take a break from dating. Of course, I will always be open to love and consider myself a hopeless believer in the magic of love; it endures all things. But… perhaps my need for love to endure contributes to my trauma. After all, I could attest to the endurance of being cheated on, mistreated, and emotionally neglected, and similarly, I could admit to witnessing my mother do the same.
My therapist continued, “also, try not to seek advice from generations before you about relationships.”
You think?
I believe my mother’s generation of women tied a great deal of worth, happiness, and identity to marriage. Post-divorce, she too still believed in the magic of love (but didn’t reparent herself) and, as a result, thought she was only as good as the “good girlfriend” roles she played. Ultimately my mother played the role with a man better than Viola Davis. She got the “grand prize” at the end: a second marriage. Eventually, my mother divorced again.
I know data suggests that Black women rank as the least desirable women in the world- sadly, even least desirable to Black men- but I deserve more than having to play a role to experience love again. Thankfully my generation believes in therapy, and it was in therapy where I learned I don’t want love to endure that much. So, after I’m done with the daunting task of reparenting myself, I will not lower my standards and accept any behavior.
“Healing from generational trauma is a process, and it takes time,” my therapist reassured me.
“Oh, so like everything else we talk about here, my single momma generational trauma drama isn’t going to be fixed overnight? My anxiety loves hearing that!” I joked.
I learned when it comes to my relationships, I’m the problem. But I’m also the solution. My happiness and healing are not someone else’s responsibility. I don’t want to become so obsessed with and bitter about what any man (my father OR my ex-husband) did to me that I become the face of someone else’s hurtful actions. Unlike my mother, I don’t want to wear the badge of pain so much that I unknowingly become hurtful to my children.
I want to learn how to have joy and believe I deserve everything that seems too good to be true. I shouldn’t fear that happiness will lead to abandonment; I should become addicted to it.
My therapist smiled. “This one will pay off because it will break a generational cycle and build a brighter future for you and the kids.”
Additional Resources That Helped Me Heal:
Therapy for Black Girls: Understanding Complex PTSD
My Grandmother’s Hands: Racialized Trauma and the Pathway to Mending Our Hearts and Bodies
The Post-Traumatic Growth Guidebook: Practical Mind-Body Tools to Heal Trauma, Foster Resilience and Awaken Your Potential
Impact of Generational and Racial Trauma on Attachment and Security
The Betrayal Bond: Breaking Free of Exploitive Relationships
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