Good morning, ladies.
My thoughts feel scattered today—not because I don’t know what I want to say, but because I find myself wrestling with the weight of motherhood. I recently had a counselling session with a mom who felt she had fallen short, and her pain stirred something deep within me. It made me reflect on my own journey as a mother.
I became a mother who was always driven by one unwavering mission—to protect my children from the shadows that once darkened my childhood. I knew the silent threats, the dangers that lurked unseen yet felt so near. I carried memories no child should ever have to bear, and I vowed that my daughter and son would never live beneath the same darkness. I was a young mother with a singular mission—to shield my children from the shadows that once lurked in my childhood.
My biggest fear had always been leaving my daughter alone—the gnawing terror that what was once done to me might one day be done to her. I knew too well the threat of men, the unspoken dangers that had haunted the corridors of my past, lurking in shadows where innocence should have been safe. I carried the weight of memories that no child should ever have to bear, wounds that time could not erase but only taught me to endure. And so, I swore with every fiber of my being that my daughter would never live in that same darkness. I would stand as her shield, her protector, ensuring that the evil I once faced would never touch her. She would know safety where I had known fear, light where I had walked in shadows, and love where I had once felt abandoned.
So, I built walls. I watched with suspicion. I was fierce in my protection, but I was also afraid. Fear shaped me as a mother. I held her close, maybe too close. I controlled what I could because the alternative—the idea of her suffering as I had—was unbearable.
But today, I see her daughter, my granddaughter, running freely. She laughs with an innocence that feels foreign to me. She trusts the world in a way I never did, in a way I never allowed my own children to. And it hits me.
I wanted to protect them from my past, but in doing so, I let my past raise them.
My trauma parented alongside me. It whispered fear into my discipline. It built cages instead of boundaries. And despite all my efforts, the pain still found a way in. Not in the form I had braced for, but in the absence of trust, in the weight of my own unhealed wounds pressing into their lives.
I thought I was saving them, but was I?
The enemy is cunning. He doesn’t just work through the horrors of our past—he works through our fear of them. He keeps us bound, convincing us that by clenching our fists, we are in control. But fear is not the same as wisdom, and trauma is not the same as discernment.
But here is the beauty in God’s redemption—I see it in my daughter.
Somehow, despite the weight of my fear, she grew into the mother I should have been. She found the boldness I never grasped. She has raised her daughter without these chains, without the heavy shadow of the past dictating who she is as a mother. She has embraced freedom in a way I never did, and through her, I see what I could not give.
She Trusts…
She watches her daughter run, not with hesitation, but with a heart at rest. She lets her explore, climb, and chase the wind without the weight of fear pressing on her shoulders. She does not grasp too tightly, nor does she build walls around what God has called to flourish. I see it in the way she laughs—fully, freely, as if she has never known the need to hold her breath in anticipation of loss. She does not brace for the worst, nor does she live waiting for the moment when the shadows of this world might creep in. Instead of fearing what the world might take, she chooses to pour into what God has already given.
Her hands are not clenched, but open. Open to the blessings He has placed in her care, open to the moments of joy that fear would have stolen, open to the truth that her daughter was never truly hers to begin with—but always His. She has learned what I wrestled to grasp—that love is not control, and protection is not the absence of risk. Faith is not just believing in God’s goodness but living in it.
She trusts in the One who holds all things together. And because of that trust, her daughter is free.
I can’t rewrite the past. I can’t unmake the mother I was. But I can surrender what remains. I can place it into the hands of a God who heals, who restores, who makes all things new. And I can rejoice, knowing that my daughter has broken the cycle. That she has chosen faith over fear. That she is raising her daughter not in the shadows of what was, but in the light of what can be.
I don’t want fear to shape the generations after me. I want freedom too. The kind that trusts in the One who sees beyond the boogeymen and into the heart of every child, every mother, every broken place we tried to fix on our own. Lord, redeem my motherhood. Redeem the years fear stole. And let the legacy I leave not be one of chains, but of courage, grace, and trust in You.
“He will restore the years the locusts have eaten.”
— Joel 2:25
I put my jumbled thoughts on paper and realize—we don’t always get it right. Being a mom is hard. Our shoulders carry the weight of the home, the atmosphere, the love, the patience… and sometimes the anger. We let go when we should have held on tighter, or we hold on when we should have released. But in the moment, who really knows what’s right? Sometimes the forest is so close that we don’t even see the trees.
Then, hindsight comes, and with it, there is the painful clarity of what could have been done differently. And that’s when regret steps in—the enemy’s sharpest tool. But regret is only where he begins; it is never where he stops.
Regret, when left unchecked, becomes a doorway to self-condemnation. It whispers, You failed. You should have known better. You can’t undo this. But God’s Word reminds us, “There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” (Romans 8:1) If we listen to regret instead of truth, we begin to replay the past like a broken record, believing that somehow, if we dwell on it long enough, we might rewrite what has already been written.
Regret steals our joy in the present. Instead of seeing the beauty of what is still ahead, we keep looking back at what we wish we could change. But God calls us to live forward: “Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing!” (Isaiah 43:18-19) We miss moments right in front of us when our hearts are tangled in the past.
Regret fuels fear. It makes us hesitant, and unsure of ourselves. We second-guess every decision, afraid to move forward because we are so aware of how we got it wrong before. But fear is not from God. “For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.” (2 Timothy 1:7) The enemy wants us stuck, but God wants us free.
Regret feeds shame. And shame isolates. It tells us that we are alone in our failure, and that no one else has messed up as badly as we have. The enemy loves to use regret to drive a wedge between us and God, making us feel unworthy of grace and unworthy of restoration. But Jesus bore our shame so that we don’t have to carry it: “Those who look to Him are radiant; their faces are never covered with shame.” (Psalm 34:5)
But God.
God does not use regret to imprison us; He redeems. He takes what is broken and breathes life into it. “He gives beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of despair.” (Isaiah 61:3) He doesn’t want us to live in the past—He calls us to walk forward, to trust that His grace is greater than our mistakes.
The enemy wields regret as a weapon, but in the hands of God, even our missteps can be transformed for His glory. “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.” (Romans 8:28) What the enemy meant for harm, God can use for good. But we must be willing to let go, to place our regrets at the feet of Jesus, and to believe that His mercy is enough.
So today, instead of looking back with regret, let’s look up with hope. Let’s trust that God is still writing our story, and nothing we have done can erase His plans for redemption.
“Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 3:13-14)
Bible Verses for Reflection
– Psalm 34:18
“The LORD is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
Reflects the healing presence of God when our hearts are burdened by past hurts.
– Proverbs 3:5-6
“Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.”
Encourages surrendering our fears and trusting God to guide our lives.
– Isaiah 41:10
“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”
A reminder that God’s presence dispels fear and brings strength.
– 2 Timothy 1:7
“For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love and self-discipline.”
Inspires us to overcome fear through the power and love of God.
– 2 Corinthians 5:17
“Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!”
Speaks to the transformation possible in our lives despite past pain.
– Isaiah 43:18-19
“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.”
Encourages us to embrace the new beginnings God offers and leave our past behind.
– Romans 8:28
“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.”
Assures us that even through our struggles, God is at work for our ultimate good.
Dear Abba Father,
I come before You with a heart that often wrestles with regret. There are moments I wish I could change, words I wish I could take back, and choices I wish I had made differently. The enemy tries to use these regrets to weigh me down, to make me believe that my past defines me. But Your Word tells me otherwise.
Lord, I thank You that in Christ, there is no condemnation (Romans 8:1). I thank You that You are the God who redeems, who takes what was meant for harm and turns it for good (Genesis 50:20). Help me to release my regrets into Your hands, trusting that Your grace is greater than my mistakes.
When the enemy whispers accusations, remind me that I am covered by the blood of Jesus. When I am tempted to dwell on what could have been, lift my eyes to see the new thing You are doing in my life (Isaiah 43:18-19). Let me not live chained to the past, but free to walk in the purpose You have set before me.
Give me wisdom for today, Lord. Help me to love well, to be present in the moments You have given me, and to trust that You are writing my story with grace and mercy. Let my heart rest in the truth that nothing is beyond Your redemption.
I lay my regrets at Your feet, Lord. I choose to move forward in faith, knowing that You are not finished with me yet.
In Jesus’ mighty name, Amen.
