Confessions

When You Realize You Mothered From Trauma, Not Love What Then?

I’m not proud of how I raised my daughter during her teenage years. I thought I was protecting her, but now I wonder if I was just controlling her out of fe∆r. From the moment she turned 13, I became her pris•n warden instead of her mother

I monitored everything — her clothes.her friends, her tone. If she laughed too loud, I scolded her. If she looked sad, I accused her of being ungrateful. I didn’t let her attend birthdays or sleepovers. “What are you looking for out there?” I’d ask. “Face your books and behave like a decent girl.”
The truth? I was scared. I had her at 19, and I didn’t want her repeating my mist∆kes. I thought if I kept her under tight watch, she’d turn out perfect. Society celebrates the quiet, obedient girl who gets good grades, wears long skirts, and says “Yes ma” even when she’s hurting.
But my daughter began to change. She stopped talking to me completely. Her smile disappeared. She started expressing herself online — dyeing her hair, writing long captions about “freedom” and “finding yourself.” I saw it and got angry, thinking she was embarrassing me.
By the time she was 17, she told me, “Mummy, I don’t know who I am around you. I only know how to pretend.” That sentence pierced me. I told her she was being dramatic, but that night, I cr|ed like a baby.
Now, she’s 21. She moved out a few months ago. She doesn’t pick my calls often. She’s doing well — she’s into creative work, building a name for herself, but she’s cold towards me. It’s like I’m a stranger who just shares her last name.
People in church ask me Why she doesn’t come around anymore, I smile and say, “She’s busy.” But inside, I know she’s not too busy. She just doesn’t feel safe with me.
Sometimes I stalk her page just to see her face. She’s confident now, expressive, bold. Everything I tried to suppress has become her identity — and the world loves her for it. Meanwhile, I’m left behind, wishing I had mothered her with more patience and less fear.
I want my daughter back — not just as someone who visits on holidays, but as a daughter who laughs with me, tells me things, trusts me again. I don’t want to lose her forever.
Please… how can I win her heart again? What can a mother do when her child has already built a world without her?

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