The Boundary that Heals
How Repair Shapes Safety, Connection, and Self-Respect
Some of the hardest parts of healing are the moments when we look back and realize who we were before we had the tools we have now. As parents, that reflection can stir up deep tenderness and, sometimes, deep shame. I’ve lived both. And what I’ve learned is that repair—honest, heartfelt repair—is not only possible, it’s powerful. This is a story about how apologizing to my daughter reshaped our relationship, strengthened our boundaries, and taught me what true healing looks like in a family.
I didn’t seek counseling for my trauma until I was in my thirties. My daughter was eleven when I finally began. That means she spent more than a decade living with a version of me who was carrying so much pain—untreated, unmanaged, and unspoken. There’s a sting of shame in that, and I’ve had to learn how to hold it with compassion.
I’ve talked with her about those years, and I’ve apologized. She told me she was grateful I got help—that she noticed a difference right away. In her experience, I became a much better mother almost overnight.
Even with that reassurance, shame still rises from time to time. What keeps me from spiraling is a conversation I had with one of my Army friends.
She grew up in a single-parent household, much like the one I was raising Danielle in. Her mother was tough—hard in the ways she needed to be to survive where they lived. My friend describes her as mean, though she’s never shared the details. What she has shared is this: the one thing she wants more than anything from her mother is an apology.
Her mom refuses. She won’t even entertain the conversation. That breaks my heart every time I think about it.
My friend reminded me that apologizing to Danielle is enough—that I don’t need to keep beating myself up. I come back to that conversation whenever I feel myself slipping into a rabbit hole of shame. It brings me back to center. It’s also encouraged me to apologize for the small things, not just the big ones.
When we apologize to our children for the hurt we’ve caused, we validate their experience. We help them understand that the problem wasn’t them—and we protect them from internalizing the belief that something is wrong with who they are. An apology gives them a sense of security in their own thoughts, reactions, and feelings.
And you don’t have to be a trauma survivor to have overreacted to something your child did.
Most of us have lost our temper at some point, snapped too quickly, or raised our voice when the moment didn’t call for it.
What we often don’t talk about is that apologizing is more than repair—it actually creates a boundary.
A genuine apology says:
“I see the impact of my actions.”
“You didn’t deserve that.”
“I will choose differently next time.”
That’s a boundary. It communicates that certain behaviors—yelling, shutting down, dismissing feelings—aren’t acceptable, even from a parent. And when a child sees you honor that boundary, they learn to honor their own. They learn they’re allowed to say, “That hurt me,” or “I need space,” or “This doesn’t feel okay.”
Repair teaches self-respect.
Most of us don’t set out to hurt our children. But we’re human. We have blind spots. And if we were raised in military households—or served ourselves—there were long stretches when we were gone. That absence can leave a mark, even when our intentions were good.
Apologizing doesn’t make us weak. Needing to apologize doesn’t make us weak. It simply means we care enough to acknowledge the impact we’ve had and to repair what we can. And sometimes, that repair becomes the very boundary that helps our children—and us—heal.
When I think about those early years now, I don’t see failure anymore. I see a woman doing the best she could with the tools she had—and a mother brave enough to grow when she finally had the space to breathe. Healing doesn’t erase the past, but it does reshape the way we carry it.
If you’ve ever found yourself holding the weight of regret, know this: you are right where you are supposed to be. Repair is still possible. Connection is still possible. Growth is always possible. Our children don’t need perfection—they need presence, honesty, and a willingness to show up again.
If you want to explore more around this topic, consider listening to this podcast with Dr. Anita Phillips.
Journal Prompts
What moments from my parenting journey still tug at my heart, and what might gentle repair look like now?
How did my own upbringing shape the way I responded to my child during stressful moments? What compassion can I offer myself as I reflect on that?
If I apologized—big or small—what would I hope my child would feel, understand, or receive from me in that moment?
Remember, slow is the new fast.
Step Into a Safe Space
In the paid section, we gently explore two emotions from today’s story — regret and gratitude — and how they show up in the body. It’s a protected space for acceptance and integration, a place to slow down, notice what you feel, and meet yourself with compassion.
