No. 5: When Parenting Confronts Your Inner Child - Part 2
Does time truly heal all wounds?
Hi everyone,
It’s been a little while since I popped into your inbox—March, to be exact! I hope you’re all soaking up the joys of summer and finding ways to stay cool in the heat. So much life has unfolded since then, my family and I welcomed our precious baby girl, Amaryah Zy’elle. We are absolutely in love and adjusting well as a family of four.
While I don’t want to dive too deep into the story of her birth— as it will be a separate post of its own with more in depth details of that experience. I did want to share a snippet of how amazing labor and delivery went—peaceful and empowering, everything I hoped and prayed that it would be in the comfort of my home.
Since becoming a mother again, I’ve found myself pondering on part 1 of this post— and what it truly means to parent. The early weeks with my daughter have been filled with wonder and love, yet unexpected emotions that has once again brought my own inner child to the surface.
Growing up, I was primarily raised by my father and grandmother. My connection with my mother had its challenges and didn’t always look the way any daughter might have envisioned. There were gaps—moments where I longed for softness, connection, or presence that didn’t always come.
In moments of reflecting on my rookie journey of motherhood, I can’t help but point out the difference I’ve felt with carrying my son vs. my daughter. There was a sense of familiarity, even ease, in preparing to raise a boy. I've always had a strong, steady relationship with my father— he’s been a resounding source of guidance, love, protection and security in my life. My bond with my father was essentially my reference point— a cushion of support as I stepped into the role of mothering my son.
I don't remember having some of the same anxious feelings when it came to raising my son as I did with the thought of raising my daughter— due to the foundation that I have with my father. It felt less heavy because I knew what it looked like to be loved well by a man.
Carrying my daughter felt much— weightier.
It was something about raising a little girl that has pulled back layers that I’ve often swept underneath the rug. It’s required me to examine not only my relationship with my own mother— but to acknowledge the little girl in me who once felt unsure, unseen or emotionally disconnected.
I remember the morning after giving birth to Amaryah— love filled my heart because God has blessed our hearts and home with another gift, a soul to steward, and a life to disciple. I can’t deny that underneath that love and awe there was a quiet whisper in my heart that said: don’t let her feel what you felt.
I often hear that whisper again and again— not demanding, but something that has lingered as a reminder that raising my children God’s way is my ultimate goal and responsibility. Even when parts of me show up that aren't pleasant, it’s that nudge to lean on God when I feel unequipped of this assignment as — mother.
I am learning that being a mother is a gift that keeps on giving— especially when it’s done with intention. Motherhood holds up a mirror— it’s you facing you. You get to see your strengths, your wounds, your capacity, your grit, and your virtue. It’s a worthy calling to rise, to soften, to show up, and to lead with grace even while still healing.
At some point in motherhood you’re met with the realization that this is holy work—it’s not flashy, not always seen, but deeply transformative.
Although I don’t know all of the answers and I won’t always get it right— but I can be present, I can be healing, and I can be honest.
The greatest legacy I can leave my children isn’t one of performance—it’s one of wholeness.
xo, Tamara Pierre