Being a Millennial Mom Is Not for the Faint of Heart

I happen to be a mom, and I will be bold enough to say it out loud: being a mom in this age of handling Gen Alphas and Betas is not a piece of cake. No offence to Boomer moms, but today we have to fight and face so many demons and handle skeletons in the closet that have haunted us since childhood. As we were never allowed to say certain things out loud, today we have to deal with them at full volume. We can’t bury our heads in the sand, and we can’t turn away either. We mommies have to address the elephant in the room — and that too by staring back, and staring harder, into the eyes of the demons we were told never to speak about.

When I stare back at one of the traumas I had brushed under the sofa so smoothly in my tweens and teens, I feel proud and iron-strong.

I hug myself tighter when I do that. It takes a lot of courage and a heavy toll on my nerves. I deal with the same anguish and pain while talking to my child about it, handling it with calm and navigating chaos without becoming offensive.

The Questions We Were Never Allowed to Ask

I feel more empowered and more loved when I answer my child’s questions wisely — questions that were once deemed untouchable and meant to remain hidden for so many reasons. Maybe because our ancestors were taught to keep those topics sacred, unspoken, and hidden. They were not entirely wrong to do that. We were not curious enough. We didn’t have readily available gadgets to give us answers if we were told otherwise. But I won’t dare disagree with one thing: they were right. They were respectful. Their keen stare was loud enough to keep us tamed.

But were we happy to be tamed?

Where the Gap Began

Our mental health and childhood traumas were never the point of inquiry — because their mental health had the same destiny as ours. Then what went wrong? Where did we feel the need to lessen the gap created by that rigid, unquestionable respect between parents and children?

Healing Ourselves While Raising Them

Maybe we, as parents, heal while dealing with our own traumas. Maybe we finally feel triumphant enough to hug the broken child inside us instead of pretending to be wise adults who must have all the answers. Maybe that’s why we welcome our children’s random questions and bold statements instead of seeing them as disrespect or a threat to our authority.

But Is There a Fear Underneath It All?

But is there a fear behind it? A fear of losing them, of watching them cage themselves away from us and find answers on their own? While dealing with our own traumas of being judged, feeling insecure, or being rejected, do we become selfish — smothering them and muffling their mouths with every possible facility so that they keep quiet? Or if they do speak, they say something in favour of our tiny, fragile egos as big-boot Millennial mommies and daddies?

Changing the course of events while feeling wiser is not as easy as it seems. It’s guilt-inducing, along with the feeling that we might be creating a positive ripple in generational upbringing.

The Demons That Follow Us Room to Room

I would be stupid enough to question my parents’ parenting style — it was the need of that time to parent that way. But at the same time, how do I answer to my own childhood traumas and demons, who have multiple questions and chase me around every room and corner, forcing me to be bold enough to stare back at them? It’s a journey of the soul, a sole experience — and an experiment too. The work of healing generational trauma doesn’t happen in a single breakthrough moment. It happens in the doorways, at the dinner table, in the questions we don’t deflect.

What If the Next Generation Writes Against Us Too?

The new sun may show that future generations will write against us, saying our ways were wrong too. And that haunts me. I’m not sure what haunts me more: my traumas, or these uncertainties.

One thing is as clear as crystal: we are no better than our parents. We are, perhaps, even worse.

We are selfish, self-centred, and confused — trying to manage the gap of respect between us and our children while desperately stopping that gap from widening. All because we fear losing them in their teens the way we were once lost. Even that slight tinge of hugging myself tighter while tackling an issue differently than my parents would have in their time makes me feel taller and prouder of myself. But that feeling lasts only for seconds and leaves behind so many ifs and buts in my wandering mind.

Still Finding My Footing

Maybe I will keep hugging myself onward and forward. Or maybe I will put the fence of respect and unquestioned parental authority back in place.

After all, I don’t want my child to become so blunt that I begin to feel inferior in my own role as a parent.