I Messed Up With My 3 Year Old.
And what it reminded me about emotional repair, attuned parenting, accountability, and healing my childhood patterns.
I’m a trauma therapist. All of my work centers around helping people heal from childhood relational trauma—those moments when your emotions weren’t met, seen, or soothed. When you were dismissed, judged, or told you were “too much.” When you watched a parent become dysregulated and never repair afterwards.
That’s the core of what I do every day, teaching others how to re-learn emotional attunement, safety, and repair.
And then… I had a moment of my own.
The Car Seat Moment
Yesterday, I was trying to get my three-year-old into the car. We were running late for swimming class, and he was doing everything but getting in his car seat — giggling, stalling, playing.
I could feel my body start to tense. My voice got sharper. I said, “If you can’t get in your car seat, then we won’t be going to swimming class.”
It was the classic parenting punishment ultimatum. The kind I swore I’d avoid! And the second it came out of my mouth, I could feel it: I was dysregulated.
He eventually climbed into his seat. Then he looked at me with those big eyes and said,
“Mama, don’t yell at me again. I didn’t like that.”
Oof. It stopped me cold. I could feel my heart in my stomach.
My first instinct was to defend myself, to say, “I didn’t yell! I wasn’t yelling, I was just being firm!”
But in that moment, I had to pause and remember what I teach every single day: it’s not about my intention, it’s about his experience.
The Repair
He felt yelled at. That’s what mattered.
So I took a breath and said, “You’re right, bud. I’m sorry. I should have used a calmer voice. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
He softened right away. We put on his favorite song, Pink Pony Club, and by the time we pulled out of the driveway, we were okay again.
That’s what repair looks like — not perfection, not never losing your cool, but coming back into connection.
The Inner Child Layer
That moment stayed with me. Because my inner child still panics when I mess up.
She whispers, “You’re a bad mom. You did it wrong. He’s going to have the same wounds you did.”
It’s such a common experience—that fear of repeating what we came from. But I reminded myself what I remind my clients:
We are not meant to be perfect parents. We are meant to be parents who apologize, take accountability, validate your child’s experience, and always repair with them.
What Healing Looks Like
Healing doesn’t mean you’ll never get dysregulated or raise your voice. It means you’ll notice it sooner.
You’ll take responsibility for how your child experiences you. You’ll repair, instead of pretend it didn’t happen.
That’s the privilege of doing this work. You get to break the cycle, not by being flawless, but by being emotionally available enough to say,
“I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”
And every time you do, both your child and your inner child learn that safety and love can coexist, even after a rupture.
Your Reflection Invitation
Think back to a moment when you lost your calm — with a partner, child, or friend.
What would it feel like to practice repair instead of shame?
What might you say now that you couldn’t say then?