Why You Won’t Break the Cycle (And Why That’s Okay)

There’s something both hopeful and haunting about the idea of breaking generational cycles. It’s become a moral imperative — the mission of our time. For those of us who grew up amidst dysfunction, trauma, or emotional unavailability, there’s often an unspoken vow: I will not do this to my children. We want better for them. We want to be better for them. But here’s the truth: reality has a way of complicating even our best intentions.

We imagine healing as a journey that connects both the past and the future — a path where we, as parents, break the cycles of trauma for our children, while also healing the wounds from our own past. We picture our children being freer, safer, and more whole than we ever were. This vision drives us with an intense desire to parent differently — to parent with intention, to do better, to undo the damage.

And yet, parenting is rarely as straightforward as we hope. The very cycles we desperately want to break don’t simply unravel because we wish them to.

Aspirations and Ideals

Becoming a parent is a transformative experience — one that feels both exciting and overwhelming. Before we become parents, it’s easy to believe that love, knowledge, and good intentions will be enough. We imagine ourselves as conscious, loving parents, guided by the wisdom of experts and our desire to break the generational cycles we grew up with.

We read books, we listen to trauma experts, and we carry ideals like “gentle parenting,” “unconditional love,” and “raising emotionally intelligent children.” We envision a peaceful, harmonious household where we are always calm, always kind, and always patient. These ideals give us a sense of purpose and direction — a belief that we can give our children what we never had: safety, emotional availability, and the freedom to express themselves without fear.

This idea of raising children differently becomes a guiding star. We take steps to prepare ourselves: learning about inner children, and understanding the language of wounds. We think that by understanding trauma and applying these tools, we can break free from the patterns of our past.

There’s a certain certainty in these ideas — before parenting. The belief that if we just do enough work on ourselves, read the right books, or follow the right advice, we’ll have the answers. The idea that healing is something we can control, something we can perfect. But these ideals often form in the absence of reality.

Expert Advice

Online advice is full of well-meaning influencers who preach about “breaking the cycle” from their own experiences and wounds. However, this rarely presents the full picture. Many of these individuals are single, childless, or in situations where the reality of parenting is far removed from their own. While their insights can be valuable, they often lack the depth needed to truly understand the complexities of parenthood.

At times, it feels as though the real lessons of life—patience, resilience, and acceptance—become clear only once you have children of your own. And this is key: the wisdom gained from lived experience is irreplaceable. Parenting is unpredictable, messy, and deeply humbling. The cycles we aim to break aren’t just psychological—they’re shaped by societal pressures, our own fears, and the many unpredictable variables that affect our lives.

Even some of the trauma experts, despite their wealth of knowledge, often overlook the daily emotional chaos of parenting. This becomes especially evident when your child doesn’t respond to gentle words, rejects your attempts at connection, or spirals despite your best efforts. Their frameworks may sound great in theory, but when you're running on just three hours of sleep, dinner feels like a battlefield, and your child throws their love back at you with anger or indifference, those theories can feel not just distant—but utterly impossible.

The Reality

Parenting is not predictable, and it's certainly not always the serene, idealistic vision we imagined. When your child doesn’t respond to gentle words, rejects connection, or spirals despite your best efforts, those lofty ideals can feel not just distant — but impossible. Parenting often feels like you're constantly being mirrored by someone who knows exactly how to trigger your deepest wounds, making it easy to forget the calm, loving parent you intended to be.

It’s not just about caring for a child physically; it’s the constant emotional investment (what I call the invisible 24/7 bond). It's the worry, the balancing act, the constant need to keep everything in your life together while ensuring your child's well-being. As mothers, we tend to juggle this invisible load, and it often feels like we're losing ourselves in the process.

This is where the heart of the struggle lies: we want to get it right. We want to be calm, composed, and emotionally available — all the time. But the pursuit of perfection can quietly become its own weight. The guilt that creeps in when we fall short can be harsh and unforgiving. And when we inevitably stumble, it feels like we've failed not just ourselves, but our children too. That’s often when the mother-blaming begins. Instead of meeting each other with compassion and recognising the impossible reality of parenting, we trade in unrealistic standards, as if ideals could magically resolve the complexities we face with our children.

There’s also something humbling in this experience. We begin to understand our own parents in a way we never could before. For me, my childhood makes more sense now that I have children of my own. I understand the decisions and sacrifices my mother made, and all the external reasons that caused it, including the character of her children, even if it doesn’t excuse her absence. Parenthood often gives us a new perspective on those old wounds, and it helps us develop empathy for our parents' struggles.

But parenthood is a journey — and sometimes, despite our best intentions, we can’t always get it right. And that’s okay. The work of healing and breaking the cycle isn’t about perfection. It’s about embracing the mess, the complexity, and the humbling realization that healing is an ongoing process, not a fixed goal.

The Cycles We Don’t See

Parenting has a way of exposing the hidden, raw parts of ourselves that even therapy hasn’t touched. It’s in those moments — when your child’s tantrum triggers an overwhelming sense of shame, or their resistance makes you feel like a failure — that the unconscious patterns we’ve inherited from our own upbringing rise to the surface. In these moments, we may find ourselves acting out the very things we promised we’d never do — the very behaviors we once vowed to avoid.

But beneath this surface reaction lies something even deeper: the unconscious mindsets and fears that drive us as parents. These are the triggers that we don’t always understand, the reflexive reactions that come from a place deep inside us, far beyond our control. Our unresolved wounds, insecurities, and fears often shape how we respond to our children — even when we try to do the right thing.

It’s easy to dismiss these reactions as just stress or impatience, but they go much deeper. They are born from the fears we carry within us: the fear that we might fail our children, the fear that we’re not doing enough, or the fear that their future will be filled with pain or struggle — fears that have been ingrained in us since childhood. These fears aren’t always logical. They stem from old wounds, societal expectations, and sometimes the weight of our past. And when we act out of fear, we risk passing down those very cycles to our children.

The pressure to "get it right" — to avoid making the same mistakes our parents made, or to raise a child who doesn’t carry the same emotional scars we did — can be overwhelming. But the reality is, perfection is a burden we’ll never be able to carry. The more we try to control our children's future and avoid mistakes, the more we might inadvertently reinforce the very patterns we’re trying to break.

This leads us to guilt — not the kind that gently nudges us back to the present, encouraging reflection and growth, but the kind that paralyzes. It’s the guilt that shuts us down, makes us cold or distant, and causes us to retreat from our children — not because we don’t love them, but because it’s too painful to face how far we feel from the parent we hoped we’d be.

And yet, breaking the cycle is more than just recognizing our reactions in these moments. It’s about taking the time to understand the core wounds we carry from our past — the ones that shape how we interact with our children, even when we don’t mean to. These wounds often lead us to unconsciously repeat patterns that make it easier to cope with the complexities of life, but they also keep us locked in a cycle of expectations and fear.

One of the things I’ve been mindful of as a parent is the importance of not imposing too many ideas or expectations on my children — not forcing them into molds they don’t fit, or trying to shape their thoughts and behaviors in ways that aren’t truly theirs. There’s a delicate balance between guiding them and allowing them to experience life on their own terms, to come to their own conclusions.

This balance is deeply personal for me. It comes from a core wound that has been with me since childhood: a desire to protect my children’s innocence, to allow them to remain children for as long as possible, free from the pressures of adulthood that seem to weigh on so many kids these days. I see how easily they can be pushed to grow up too soon — to be molded into something society says they should be. So I cherish the moments when they are still small enough to play, explore, and view the world through a lens of wonder and curiosity. I want to protect that innocence for as long as I can, because I know how quickly it fades.

The patterns we repeat unconsciously are often not visible to us until we step back and reflect. But these cycles — the ones we pass down without realizing — shape the very foundation of our relationships with our children. The expectations we place on them, the fears we impose on their futures, and the guilt we carry with us are all part of the invisible weight we bear as parents.

Recognizing these unconscious forces, understanding the wounds they come from, and making a conscious effort to break the cycles is where the true work of healing lies. It’s not about doing everything perfectly, but about being aware of the patterns we carry, the fears that shape our reactions, and the ways we can gently guide our children without pushing them to fit into a world that might not yet be ready for them.

What We Can’t Fix

Here’s the uncomfortable truth: you can’t create the child of your dreams. Despite your best efforts, your child will not always respond to your attempts to break generational cycles. Children arrive with their own soul, temperament, and patterns — some of which you help shape, and others that are entirely beyond your control. Sometimes, their spirit may simply not align with yours, no matter how much love and acceptance you offer. You can embrace their individuality with all the compassion you have, but they may still struggle in ways you cannot fix or even prevent.

You also can’t always fix your circumstances. Many mothers pour their hearts and souls into parenting, often with little or no emotional or logistical support. This is particularly true for those mothers navigating these challenges next to partners who are either emotionally absent or disconnected from the heavy labour — both physical and mental — of raising children. The exhaustion, the relentless mental load, and the lack of genuine help shape not just the mother’s experience, but the child’s perception of their childhood. The familiar saying, “It takes a village,” is more true than ever, but modern society has stripped that village away, leaving many mothers to shoulder it all. We demand the impossible of mothers, and mothers, in turn, demand perfection of themselves. Children may grow resentful of this — sometimes with good reason, sometimes because they can’t yet grasp the impossible job their mother has in front of her.

Modern society, too, offers very little of the support that mothers so desperately need. The expectation that mothers should return to work while outsourcing care has become almost universal, with the notion of “having it all” being nothing more than a costly illusion. Children need security, continuity, and stability — things that are hard to offer when survival itself is the priority. Many mothers are left carrying the heavy, often invisible, burden of guilt, trapped between providing for their families and being present for their children.

Even when we do everything “right,” there are no guarantees. Our children will sometimes reject the values we hoped to pass down to them, just as we once rejected those of our own parents. And much like our own children’s rebellion, this is a cycle of sorts — one that is painful, but inevitable. After all, the legacy we pass on doesn’t just come from our intentions or values; it’s also shaped by our environment, by our partners (whether they support or withdraw), and by the societal pressures that hang over our heads.

The Only “Breaking The Cycle” there is

I mess up. Every day. I always fall short in some aspect of family life. Whether it’s juggling financial stability, finding time for meaningful family moments, hearing and seeing my children when they need me, or navigating the impossible daily battles between them. All the while, I worry about one child who seems largely indifferent to the world around them. You won’t hear trauma specialists talk about that—the sheer impossibility of raising healthy children despite our best intentions.

But I’m not hopeless. Not entirely. Because for years, I’ve been teaching my children that it’s okay to correct and criticize their mother. I’ve taught them to voice their needs, to express their hurts. They might not always behave as I hope, but that space we’ve created between us—the space that allows for understanding, correction, and reconciliation—that’s what I believe will keep us connected.

If you’re truly trying to show up differently, to stay connected, to reflect and repair, know this: you’re already doing something profound. You won’t always get it right. Neither do I. You’ll raise your voice. You might shut down. You’ll say things you regret. But perfection isn’t the goal. Connection is. Honesty is. Repair is.

Stay available. Stay human. Let your children see your flaws and your willingness to grow. This is where healing lives—not in preventing all harm, but in showing our children that we can be imperfect and still love each other, despite everything. This connection—the bond we nurture—must last a lifetime. Even as our children reflect their own childhoods and we remain available to witness, understand, and hold space for that reflection.

We can’t undo everything we’ve inherited. But we can try. And in trying, there’s power. There’s something sacred in becoming more aware, more compassionate, and more accepting—not just of our children, but of ourselves, and even our parents. This work is spiritual in its essence. We are shaped by forces beyond our control, yet we keep trying. We do our best, despite the storms that life brings. And that is enough. That is sacred.

What’s your experience of “breaking the cycle”? Has parenting surprised you in ways you didn’t expect? I’d love to hear how this shows up for you.