We’re Leaving the House — Everyone Grab Your Masks!
How I Was Passing on Generational Trauma by Encouraging My Children to Mask their Authenticity Around Others
Packing to take my children anywhere outside the house was always an ordeal. Wilson as a baby needed enough formula and pumped breastmilk to feed a small elephant. He needed white noise to sleep. As he got older, he still needed lots of comfy clothes and all of his comfort objects if we were to spend the night anywhere — his special pillow, his blanket, as well as the 4 foods that he would actually eat. And he needed lots of entertainment, technology, and toys — a bored, uncomfortable child with sensory processing sensitivity and ADHD is not a pleasant experience.
When Willow entered the picture, the packing became even more intense. She needed plenty of clothes for potty accidents (which are frequent in children with ADHD). We had to pack all the sensory toys because if she didn’t have a chew necklace, she was going to unconsciously suck on something — her hair, her shirt, a toy, a rock — there really was no predicting. When she was a baby, she used to carry around 10 pacifiers at any given time, switching them out with the distinction of a connoisseur. The revolving pacifier buffet also had to be packed or more unpleasantness would occur. Every trip, I would try to think of every potential possibility and crisis to avert. It felt both ridiculous and very, very necessary.
With every tantrum, every squeal, every scream, every swear, every resistance and rebellion that was witnessed, I could feel eyes on me — as their mother.
One thing that I never realized I was also packing, and asking my children to pack…was our masks. And I don’t mean COVID protective face masks (although after 2020, we pack them too). I unconsciously slapped on my Amazing Mama mask before I left the house with them to go anywhere. Now don’t get it twisted: I AM a great mama, who does my research, thinks with empathy and rationality and a healthy dose of doubt and skepticism, who always listens to her children and tries to work together to do what is best for them and us, as a family. But this is the result of many missteps along our healing journey. The Amazing Mama mask altered my and others’ perceptions of what it meant to be a mama in this world.
My children’s behavior became a reflection of how good I was as a parent. With every tantrum, every raptor squeal that came out of Wilson’s mouth, every excited scream and swear that emerged from Willow, every resistance and rebellion that was witnessed, I could feel eyes on me — as their mother. In public or with other adults around, they needed to be completely obedient, polite, giving, loving, not swear, which really meant to not show any humanity, honesty, or discomfort.
How I was supposed to shove either of my children into the “Valued-Neurotypical-Obedient-No Needs-and No Complaints” box that society set up for them, was beyond me.
The pressure was suffocating. I had one child who feels physical pain when there are changes, transitions, overwhelming sensory and environmental stimuli, and big feelings. Even minor physical illness or injury is much more upsetting than it feels for neurotypical kids. And who, when challenged in that state — goes into, what we lovingly termed at the time, Dick Mode. He will go out of his way to hurt or destroy when overwhelmed, repeatedly shriek or make horrific vocalizations, and shut down all connections with others. He also would dry heave when trying to eat new foods; he was a “picky” eater, which just meant he was terrified to eat ANY new foods. My other child, who was just a year and a half younger, was determined to feel everything life had to offer, could not verbally communicate clearly, had big emotions, moved and explored constantly, was clumsy as fuck — breaking things and hurting herself continually, and did weird ass things occasionally — like poop in a wastebasket (yes that really happened and it is a VERY funny story). The way my children moved, talked, ate, slept, connected, and experienced pleasure was NOT “normative” to others. How I was supposed to shove either of them into the “Valued-Neurotypical-Obedient-No Needs-and No Complaints” box that society set up for them, was beyond me.
Part of me — the conscious part of me — held the line that I would always meet their needs and not make them feel shame for their authentic feelings or struggles. Dick Mode was mostly met with comfort, sensory calming techniques, love, and teaching boundaries. Getting Willow the stimulation she needed was paramount, and I did my best to supervise her in new environments to make sure she didn’t break anything or hurt herself. But, it was EXHAUSTING. My husband and I alone felt responsible for caring for them (along with a few very trusted friends) because I saw — and knew in my bones — that most people would respond with shaming, verbal or physical harmful punishment — under the guise of “spanking” or “discipline”.
Our parents didn’t convince us to change our behavior through punishment; they convinced us to avoid the punisher, lie, wear masks, and get smarter and sneakier.
I knew this implicitly because that WAS my experience and so many other people’s childhoods. We received verbal and physical punishment for doing things that did not FEEL wrong. For showing too many emotions. For being too much. For not being enough. For speaking out of turn. For swearing. For breaking things because we were clumsy. It is shocking how many of my clients tell me that their childhoods were idyllic, only to realize later that their childhoods were actually full of shaming, abuse, and consistent negative messages about their core selves. The things that I and other parents failed to realize was that these colonized parenting practices were HARMFUL. Our parents didn’t convince us to change our behavior; they convinced us to avoid the punisher, lie, wear masks, and get smarter and sneakier. But, they KNOW, and we KNOW this. And yet, we keep passing on this generational trauma.
I knew this in my soul, but would still whisk my children away to privacy the moment that they showed they did not wear the Good Girl/Obedient Child mask, or the polite and mannered mask. I still tried Time Out (once — guess how well that goes with a highly sensitive child) out of guilt that I could not get my children to be “obedient” in the way others could. And each generation came up with a new, more “humane” way to punish little humans. As a society, we moved from the belt to the switch to the hand to Time Out. But really, we just moved from physical abuse to emotional isolation.
As a developmental psychologist, I’ve seen the research. None of these things truly work; they are not present in effective indigenous parenting, and in colonized modern research, they are shown to cause harm. But because the concept and modes of punishment are so “normal” and so prevalent in our culture, we do not process them as the trauma that they are. Even colonized research focuses on whether or not these are effective parenting strategies to control behavior, rather than if it actually causes trauma or emotional harm. It’s even harder to process this discipline as harmful after we do them to our children. We do not want to see ourselves or our parents as abusive. That’s something that happens to other people. That is something that goes beyond discipline. We convince ourselves that it is normal to use our loving hands to physically hurt our children. We convince ourselves that it is normal to make our child — who has no abstract thinking and little emotional regulation — to be isolated in their pain. And we say to ourselves, “Well I grew up ok, so it couldn’t have been that bad.”
Did we though? The rates of illness, aggression, trauma, depression, anxiety, substance abuse, relationship issues, and inability to trust others that are prevalent in our world reveal the truth. We are NOT ok. I grew up neurodivergent, confused, clumsy, and awkward. Punishment made me feel that there was something deeply wrong with me AND that I couldn’t trust my parent. I also replaced my true self with my “Good Girl” mask handed to me by my parents, who were handed theirs by their parents. This mask was the obedient, nice, polite little girl with minimal needs who never challenges, speaks out of turn, moves without permission, or makes ANYONE uncomfortable. That fucking mask stayed with me into my 40’s. It kept me from seeing my real self and listening to my own perceptions. Every once in a while, a sacred anger or trauma reaction would break through the mask and I would feel and speak truth, only to feel horrible shame afterwards.
But, when my children were young, I was not fully conscious that whenever we left the safety and warmth of our house — our island— I was holding that same mask out for my children to wear. I didn’t want them to be hurt by others’ perceptions and comments; and I did not want to be hurt by others’ perception of me, as their mother. I am responsible for these weird, wild, and shameless children. At one time, having people see my children without masks would have triggered shame and an immediate attachment trauma reaction.
Now, when people see my children being unapologetically authentic and then look at me with those judgmental eyes, I smile, nod, and say, “Wouldn’t it be nice to always be honest about who you are and how you feel?” Then I walk away, leaving the masks — and all their damage, behind.
