Every so often, usually when I’m rinsing soil out of Ellie’s socks or prying a wooden spoon out of Milo’s grip before he declares it a sword, I catch myself thinking about the patterns we carry without realizing it.
Not the ones we intentionally create as parents, but the ones that slip in quietly through our histories.
Have you ever noticed yourself reacting in a way that feels a little borrowed? A tone you didn’t mean to use. A hesitation you never questioned. A tightness in your chest that shows up before you even understand why.
I think many of us grow up with mothers who loved us, provided for us, and did their very best, but were not always emotionally available.
Sometimes it was stress. Sometimes exhaustion. Sometimes they were never shown emotional presence themselves. But the effects linger.
And when we become mothers, those effects can weave themselves into our parenting if we’re not conscious of them.
So today I want to gently explore eight things that often get passed down, not because a mother intends them, but because emotional patterns often move silently from generation to generation.
Not to assign blame, but to offer awareness and space for reflection.
1. Believing that your emotions need to be contained
Have you ever found yourself swallowing your feelings out of habit, even before you know what they are? I certainly have.
Sometimes it happens on those long afternoons when everyone is cranky and the laundry pile is forming its own mountain range. The instinct to hold everything in can feel automatic.
This instinct usually starts in childhood. If a girl learns early that big feelings aren’t welcomed, she starts to tuck them away.
Maybe her mother seemed overwhelmed by emotion, or uncomfortable with vulnerability. Maybe tears were met with silence or irritation.
Research supports this idea too. As noted by child psychologist Ailsa Lord, “Children learn ways of coping with emotions by watching how their parents do this, and by watching how the parent responds to their child’s own emotions.”
When feelings are treated as nuisances instead of signals, daughters grow into women who disconnect from themselves. They become experts at staying composed and terrible at letting themselves feel.
The good news is that the pattern softens the moment we begin naming feelings with our own little ones.
I see it with Ellie whenever I say, “That sounds frustrating.” Her whole body relaxes. Mine does too.
2. Learning to take care of everyone before yourself
Many daughters develop a natural radar for other people’s needs. They anticipate. They soothe. They fix. They adjust. Often long before they learn to care for their own emotional world.
Growing up with a mother who struggled to articulate or regulate her feelings can make a girl feel responsible for maintaining peace. Even as adults, many women carry this reflex.
I remember one night when Milo woke every hour and by morning I was running on crumbs of sleep. Matt offered to take the kids out so I could rest, and my first impulse was to say, “No, I’m fine.”
Except I wasn’t. I was exhausted in every direction. That “I’m fine” was an old pattern, not a truth.
When daughters learn early that caretaking earns closeness, they internalize self-sacrifice as love.
But love isn’t self-erasure. It’s presence. And presence requires a full person, not an emptied one.
3. Feeling responsible for other people’s emotional comfort
This is something many of us do without noticing: shrinking ourselves to keep the peace. Lowering our voice. Choosing our words carefully. Making ourselves easier so no one gets upset.
If a daughter grows up sensing that her mother is fragile, distant, or easily overwhelmed, she learns to tiptoe emotionally. It becomes second nature.
And later in life, she may find herself apologizing excessively, avoiding conflict, or feeling guilty for having needs.
The Association for Child and Adolescent Mental Health highlights that “Secure attachment has been shown to be significantly associated with improved outcomes for children across emotional, social, and behavioural adjustment.”
When emotional closeness is unpredictable, kids adapt by becoming overly cautious about their own impact. As adults, this can show up as chronic overthinking and guilt.
The healing begins when we tell our daughters clearly, “Your feelings do not scare me.” And we say it with our presence, not just our words.
4. Struggling to trust your own emotional signals
If you grew up hearing things like “Don’t be so sensitive” or “That’s not a big deal,” you may still second-guess your instincts.
I see this most clearly when I talk with moms who say they’re never sure if they’re “overreacting.”
They were trained out of trusting their inner world, so now their emotional compass feels unreliable.
This is exactly where reading Rudá Iandê’s Laughing in the Face of Chaos shifted something for me.
His insights often push me to reconnect with the intelligence of my own emotions. One line in particular stays with me:
“Our emotions are not barriers, but profound gateways to the soul, portals to the vast, uncharted landscapes of our inner being.”
That sentence helped me remember that emotional signals are messages, not inconveniences. And when we honor those messages, our daughters learn to honor their own voices too.
5. Absorbing household anxiety without explanation
Some mothers are emotionally absent not because they lack love, but because they are overwhelmed.
Stress, financial pressure, burnout, depression, survival mode. Kids feel all of it.
When I’m rushed or overloaded, I can see how quickly the kids react. Milo climbs higher. Ellie talks faster. They match my energy like tiny tuning forks.
According to Vanessa LoBue, Ph.D., “Parents’ own anxiety and household stress have been linked to their children’s emotional problems, including behavior issues, aggression, anxiety, and depression.”
When a girl feels the tension but doesn’t understand the source, she often internalizes it as her fault.
Later, she may assume emotional storms are always tied to her actions.
One thing I actively do now is narrate my feelings out loud in simple ways. “Mama is feeling overwhelmed, but it isn’t because of anything you did.” Those words create a buffer my childhood self would have cherished.
6. Believing love must be earned
This one breaks my heart a little. Many daughters grow up learning to be helpful, quiet, accommodating, or perfect in exchange for warmth. They learn that closeness is conditional.
Maybe affection came only at certain times. Maybe praise was sparse. Maybe the mother’s approval was something to chase.
If you catch yourself working hard to be “good enough,” even in your adult relationships, this might be why.
I think of Ellie a lot here. When she gets overwhelmed or grumpy and climbs into my lap afterward, she often asks, “Do you still love me when I’m upset?”
I always say yes. But I also think about how many generations of women didn’t hear that reassurance.
Love is not something children should earn. And when our daughters see unconditional presence, the pattern begins to shift.
7. Losing connection with your own identity
When emotional needs weren’t mirrored or validated, many daughters grow into women who struggle to know themselves. They learned to blend. To follow. To adapt.
Identity becomes shaped by circumstance rather than inner truth.
I felt this deeply after having my second child. Between feeding, co-sleeping, babywearing, and trying to stay present with Ellie while rocking Milo to sleep, I sometimes forgot what I liked or needed.
Not because motherhood erased me, but because I had grown up not paying much attention to my own inner world.
One thing that helped was reconnecting with small daily pleasures. My hands in garden soil. Quiet early-morning tea. Walking barefoot in the grass with the kids.
That reconnection teaches our daughters that identity is allowed to exist right alongside caregiving.
8. Repeating emotional distance without meaning to
Patterns echo. Even when we don’t want them to.
Sometimes I notice myself pulling away after a long day. Not shutting down, but going quiet.
That’s when I remember where that instinct comes from. And that’s when I make the conscious choice to lean back in, even a little.
Emotional availability doesn’t mean being endlessly patient or constantly joyful. It simply means staying connected.
Even when we’re tired. Even when we’re figuring things out. Even when life feels like a swirl of snack crumbs and laundry.
Our daughters don’t need perfect mothers. They need present ones.
Final thoughts
None of these patterns come from malice. Most come from mothers who were stretched thin, unsupported, or raising kids without the emotional tools they needed.
But awareness is powerful. Every time we slow down, breathe, listen, or offer presence, we soften what was once rigid.
We get to choose which patterns continue and which ones end with us.
And in doing so, we give our daughters something beautiful: emotional space to grow into themselves fully, confidently, and without shrinking.
