I am struggling with my relationship with my 12-year-old daughter and desperately need guidance. The truth is, as much as I love her, I find it very difficult to connect with her or even enjoy being around her.
My daughter is awkward, insecure, and doesn’t seem to fit in with her peers – a carbon copy of myself at that age. When i look at my daughter, i see myself… and it hurts. Seeing those painful traits resurface in her brings back a lot of my own unresolved issues from being an awkward preteen myself. I was an ugly duckling – glasses, bad teeth, never had the right clothes or friends. Now I see my daughter struggling socially in the same ways and it triggers so much anxiety and discomfort in me.
I know she can sense that I pull away from her. Hugging her feels forced, even though objectively I know she’s a great kid. With my younger sons, affection comes easily. But with my daughter, my own baggage gets in the way. The more she exhibits the traits I hated in myself, the more critical and impatient I find myself being with her.
I’m self-aware enough to realize the problem lies with me, not her. I haven’t made peace with the insecure adolescent I used to be. And now I’m projecting all that self-loathing and shame onto my innocent child. The last thing I want is to repeat the toxic dynamic I had with my own mother, who was so critical that we’re now estranged.
How do I break this cycle? How do I separate my daughter from my own painful past and learn to embrace her fully? I want to shower her with unconditional love and support, especially as she navigates the social minefield of middle school. But I’m at a loss for how to resolve my own issues so I can show up as the mother she needs.
Please help me learn to love my younger self, so I can give my daughter the nurturing and acceptance she deserves. I’m ready to do the hard work, I just need guidance on where to start.
First, I just want to acknowledge the sheer courage it took for you to write this. You’re staring straight at something that a lot of parents never admit to themselves—something hard and messy and painful. That alone tells me you’re already breaking the cycle. You’re not running from this. You’re not stuffing it down. You’re asking the right questions, and that means there’s a way forward.
Here’s the thing: your daughter is not you. She is her own person. But right now, every time you look at her, your brain takes you straight back to your own childhood, to all the pain and insecurity you felt, and it’s like you’re reliving it all over again. No wonder you’re overwhelmed. No wonder you want to pull away. Your nervous system is treating your daughter like a ghost of your past, rather than the living, breathing, incredible kid she actually is.
So, what do you do? You start by doing the hardest thing: facing your younger self. I don’t mean in some vague, “think nice thoughts” kind of way. I mean actually sitting down, either with a journal or a trusted therapist, and putting words to what little-you felt. The rejection. The loneliness. The ache of not feeling good enough. And then, instead of criticizing that kid, I want you to start seeing her through the eyes of the mom you want to be. What would you say to her? How would you comfort her? Because the truth is, your daughter doesn’t need a perfect mom—she needs a mom who sees her. And the way you start seeing her is by learning to see yourself with compassion first.
Right now, you’re operating out of fear. Fear that your daughter will experience the same pain you did. Fear that she won’t find her place. But your fear is making you withdraw, when what she actually needs is for you to lean in. And that doesn’t mean suddenly feeling all warm and fuzzy overnight—it means choosing connection, even when it feels awkward. It means sitting with her in her discomfort, instead of trying to push it away. It means being a steady, calm presence in her life, even if you don’t always know what to say.
And one last thing: don’t underestimate the power of repair. If you’ve pulled away from her, if you’ve been short or impatient, go to her and own it. Tell her you love her and that you’re working on showing up better. She doesn’t need you to be perfect—she just needs to know that you’re trying. That’s how you break the cycle. Not by waiting until you feel like a whole new person, but by taking the next right step. And then the next. And then the next.
You’ve already started the work. Now keep going.