"It didn't do me any harm"

Des McVey examines the impact of childhood trauma on parenting

Photo by Vitaly Gariev on Unsplash

Parenting can be especially challenging for adults who grew up with unrecognised trauma. Many children in these situations learned to believe they were the problem, or that punishment was deserved. Those early experiences do not disappear; they resurface in ordinary parenting moments.

For example, a three-year-old comes downstairs wearing mismatched clothes. A parent who experienced harsh criticism might laugh or scold, repeating the shame they once endured. A parent who responds with praise, hugs, and gentle guidance must confront the fact that they were never treated that way themselves. Even while giving love, they may feel sad or alone: the nervous system remembers the pain, and offering warmth can stir grief, guilt, or loneliness.

It is often easier to perpetuate tradition; enforcing strict discipline, following the message internalised as children: “I turned out okay, so my child should too.” Breaking these patterns requires acknowledging the harm they once endured, which is uncomfortable. Yet choosing the more arduous route, acting differently in the child’s best interest, is often the healthiest path and a huge gift to our children.

A salient example is bedtime. Some parents go to great lengths to force a child to sleep alone when the child is clearly not ready. The irony is stark: the parents are communicating that it’s “good” to sleep alone, while they themselves share a bed or maintain close safety and protection. The child sees this and intuitively understands that separation is not inherently safe. When supported appropriately, the child will naturally choose to sleep alone when ready, rather than being forced to conform to adult rules prematurely. Enforcing separation too early can inadvertently communicate fear and insecurity rather than safety.

This dynamic, parents confronting their own trauma while nurturing their children, is ever-present in children’s homes. Effective supervision, support, and intervention must therefore do two things: explore the caregiver’s own childhood experiences to understand how they may influence parenting, and provide support to those caregivers who recognise that their own past experiences were abusive. Trauma-informed caregiving is not simply about giving advice; it is about understanding the interplay between past and present, supporting caregivers to act in the child’s best interest while acknowledging their own vulnerabilities.

Parenting in this way is not easy. It requires tolerance of discomfort, grief, and sadness. But it offers the profound opportunity to break intergenerational cycles of harm, giving children what the parent themselves may have been denied, and transforming both their child’s experience and their own.