It is a deep pain that words cannot hold a flame to when I see my daughter experiencing the same traumas I endured. Her physical experience is different, but what she is going through emotionally, I know all too well.

Dissociation, distrust, not feeling safe. Anger. She is experiencing passive neglect and verbal and emotional hostility. This is causing her to retreat—to be angry instead of sad, instead of feeling the pain. She shuts down at her dad’s and explodes at home. I know why she does it. I know I am the only safe place she has. But some days I crack. Some days my voice raises and I try to get her to talk, try to get her to open up so she can feel better. It only makes things worse for her.

Today I am practicing breathing, being present. To be her anchor, not her fixer. To be her container, not her rescuer. I am learning to be the calm, safe harbor to her storm, so she knows that no matter what she is going through, I am her safe haven. That I love her no matter what she is expressing.

I need a circle of people who can help me support her in a way that shows her what true love and support look like. People who show her what softness is, what love is, what trust is. She sees that in me, but I am afraid I am the only one she sees it from. I know she doesn’t get it at her dad’s. I also know that she has no healthy male role in her life at all. She tells me every week how she has stayed in her room watching YouTube and shows for most of the weekend. She even eats in her room. She isolates herself, and he lets her… because it is easy. Easy to live the life you feel you deserve because you work… I don’t want my anger to steer this but I cannot deny that it is there and it is powerfully strong. Controlling it is exhausting.

I feel powerless, helpless. Stepping away from my fixer role has been one of my most painful lessons lately, especially for my kids. I am realizing how I have only ever surrounded myself with the wounded—with people who need help, with people who would rather not do the work to better themselves. With people who want to lay all of it on my shoulders. And I have done it, for far too long. I can see and feel the people I call into my life now are different, are willing to put in the work to be better people, without me pulling the strings to get them there. I know my energy demands a lot from people, without me even having to say anything. I know what being with me requires from someone, and I honor those who stay.

My life, my soul, is demanding something different from me now. It is hard letting go, letting that control go. But it has served its purpose. I am more stable and secure than I give myself credit for. I know I can do this. But I now also know that I cannot do it alone. And that no one truly can.