There's a moment in a mother's life when she realises.
Not from a book. Not in a session. She realises it in her child's eyes. In the way he apologises when he shouldn't have to. In the way she already avoids conflict at four years old. In the way he makes himself small when his father raises his voice.
And in that moment, the mother recognises it. Not because she's failing. Because she's seeing. And seeing is the first act of courage.
The weight that passes without words
You didn't need to tell your child to be afraid. He learned it from your body. From the way you breathe when there's tension. From what you do with your hands when you're nervous. From the silence you choose when you should speak.
Children don't hear what you say. They feel what you carry. And they carry it with you, without anyone asking them to.
The day the cycle stops
It doesn't stop when you read the right book. It stops when you do your own work. When you look at your own knot and decide: this stays with me. It doesn't pass.
And your child, without knowing why, starts to breathe more deeply. Starts to take up more space. Starts to be a real child, instead of a caregiver in disguise.
The greatest gift you give your child isn't protection. It's your own liberation.