Don’t Laugh, She Was Wounded Long Before She Wounded You, Understanding the Woman with ‘Mother & Father Wounds’

She’s the one you might have whispered about behind her back.

The one who tried too hard to fit in.
The one who came off too intense, too needy, too insecure.
The one who fell for the wrong men over and over.
The one who seemed to sabotage herself just when things started to go well.
The one who gave too much, said too much, stayed too long—or left too soon.

And maybe you judged her. Maybe you laughed at her. Maybe you thought, “What a mess.”

But what if you saw her as the little girl she used to be?

The girl whose father never came through, not with protection, not with comfort, not with affection or acceptance. The girl whose tears were mocked by her mother, whose voice was silenced, whose body may have been hurt, whose soul may have been overlooked. Would you have mocked her then? Or would you have pulled her close and said, "Sweet girl, you don’t deserve this. You deserve to be safe. You deserve to be loved."

We forget that the “too much” adult woman we scoff at is often just a deeply wounded child living in an adult body, carrying pain that was never hers to bear, but became hers to survive.

When the Father Wound Runs Deep

“Daddy issues.”
It’s a phrase that gets tossed around casually, usually in a tone of ridicule or shame. But there’s nothing casual about the wound left behind when a father fails to love his daughter well.

A father is supposed to be a daughter’s first experience of safety, strength, delight, and belonging. He is the mirror that helps her see her worth. He is the voice that teaches her how men should speak to her. He is the protector that says, “You’re worth fighting for.”

But when a father abandons, abuses, neglects, controls, or simply isn’t emotionally available, that mirror shatters. And for many women, the pieces get buried in their soul. They grow up trying to make sense of why they feel so unlovable, so unworthy, so anxious in relationships. They live with a hum of fear in their bodies, waiting to be rejected, abandoned, or hurt. Again.

These women often:

• Attach quickly, then feel overwhelmed and pull away.

• People-please to the point of self-erasure.

• Struggle with boundaries or enforcing them.

• Sabotage good relationships because they feel too good to be true.

• Mistake chaos for connection because it's what feels familiar.

• Stay loyal to harmful people out of fear of being alone.

This isn’t drama. This is trauma.

This is what it looks like to survive a broken bond with the one who was supposed to have love you first.

And Then There’s the Mother Wound

If father wounds break a girl's sense of safety, mother wounds often break her sense of identity.

The mother is supposed to be the one who teaches nurture, regulation, emotional attunement, and belonging. But when a mother is emotionally unavailable, narcissistic, critical, enmeshed, shaming, or unpredictable, it sends the message: Who you are is not enough. Or worse, Who you are is too much.

Women with mother wounds often:

• Struggle to trust their own intuition.

• Feel like they’re never doing “enough.”

• Carry toxic shame.

• Feel emotionally dysregulated but can’t explain why.

• Attract emotionally unavailable or critical people.

• Question their worth, even in the presence of love.

While a father wound can leave a woman longing for protection, the mother wound can leave her unsure of how to nurture or protect herself.

Both wounds create cycles of self-abandonment: dismissing her own needs, dimming her own light, staying silent to keep the peace, or playing roles just to survive.

Trauma Looks Like Foolishness Until You Understand the Story

When a woman is living out these wounds, it can look like erratic behavior. Neediness. Drama. Foolish choices. Codependency. A series of heartbreaks. Overreactions. Self-sabotage.  Any of it and all of it.

But make no mistake, this is not who she really is.
This is who she became to survive.

Let me say that again. 

This is who she became to survive.  All of those dysfunctional traits are the very things that enabled her to survive unsurvivable circumstances otherwise.   A young child or young woman won’t have the adult sensibility to come through painful circumstances with an adult’s wisdom or healthy maturity. 

And yet, the world, and sadly, often the Church, responds to these coping behaviors with judgment rather than compassion. With ignorance rather than equipped knowledge of how to really help with skillful navigation.  

It’s easier to laugh at the symptoms than to ask about the source. It’s easier to gossip about someone’s instability than to wonder what pain they’ve endured. It’s easier to label someone “broken” than to lean in with love and presence and say, “You matter. You’re not beyond repair.”

No, trauma doesn’t excuse harmful behavior. But understanding trauma explains it. And that understanding can open the door to compassion—and compassion, when combined with boundaries and truth, is one of the most healing forces on earth.

Healing Is Her Responsibility But Compassion Helps Her Get There

Let’s be clear: her healing is her responsibility.
No one else can do the inner work for her.
No one else can rewrite the lies she's believed or re-parent the hurting girl inside of her.
No one else can make her set boundaries, learn emotional regulation, or choose healthier relationships.

But let’s also be honest: healing doesn’t happen in a vacuum.

Before a woman can take responsibility for her healing, she needs to know what healing even looks like. She needs someone to model it, to show her what safety feels like—because odds are, she’s never experienced it before. And until she has that, until she learns tools and skills that were never taught to her in childhood, she may not be able to find her footing for a very long time.

Not because she doesn’t want to.
Not because she’s lazy or selfish or emotionally immature.
But because trauma has rewired her survival system, and she’s been doing exactly that: surviving.

You may see reactivity.
You may see over-functioning or under-functioning.
You may see a mess of poor choices and chaotic patterns.

But what you may not see is what it costs her every day to just get out of bed and pretend to be okay. You may not see the weight of confusion, shame, hypervigilance, perfectionism, self hatred, or loneliness that she drags with her like a shadow. You may not understand that what looks like manipulation or instability is sometimes just a woman trying to navigate the thick emotional fog she wakes up to every single day.

Her Wounding Is Not About You, It’s About Her Inner World

Here’s the hard truth: hurt people do hurt people.
But most of the time, they’re not doing it to you.
They’re reacting to their inner world, the chaos, the grief, the unmet needs and shattered trust that live deep in their nervous system.

When she lashes out, retreats, clings too tightly, or shuts down entirely… it may feel personal. But most of the time, it’s not. It’s not about you. It’s about her own inner child trying to survive emotions she was never taught how to handle and triggers that take over because she feels she needs to survive a potential threat.  This is unhealed wounds, it's old trauma that is leading today.  And it needs care so it can heal.  

She’s navigating a mental and emotional maze built out of survival instinct, not intention.

That doesn’t mean you should tolerate abuse or dysfunction, boundaries are important. But it does mean we should stop demonizing the symptoms of trauma and start asking better questions.

Instead of:

• “What’s wrong with her?”
  Try: “What happened to her?”

Instead of:

• “She’s so dramatic.”
  Try: “Where did she learn that drama was the only way to be seen?”

Instead of:

• “She’s too much.”
  Try: “What’s the story behind her need to be everything to everyone?”

Give Her a Break. Please.

Before you mock her again… pause.

Before you label her… pause.

Before you judge her reactions, her tears, her desperation, her inability to connect or stay present or calm or collected… pause.

She is not just her behavior.

She is a soul bearing the weight of an untold story. A woman who was shaped by environments that never taught her how to feel safe. A daughter who was forced to carry emotional burdens long before she could even spell “emotional.”

What if instead of criticism, she encountered compassion?
What if instead of rejection, she was met with presence?
What if, just once, someone saw her trauma not as a red flag—but as a redemptive opportunity?

Would she start to bloom?

Would she feel brave enough to begin her healing?

Would she finally believe that maybe she could live in peace instead of panic?

Compassion Is Kindness. And Kindness Heals.

You don’t need to fix her.
You don’t need to rescue her.
But you can be kind.

Kindness doesn’t mean excusing poor behavior.
But it does mean refusing to reduce someone to their behavior.
It means recognizing that the survival responses she’s had to rely on for years were not chosen from health, they were formed from pain.

Compassion isn’t weakness. It’s strength.
It’s the strength to see someone’s mess and not turn away.
To hold space without judgment.
To speak truth with love.
To believe that there’s more to her than what’s broken.

And maybe—just maybe—that compassion becomes the first safe place she’s ever known.
The first stepping stone toward the kind of healing that lasts.
The kind that changes not just her life, but the lives of everyone she’ll love more freely, wholly, and bravely on the other side.

If You’ve Been Her: There Is Hope

If this woman is you, take heart: Your wounds are real, but they are not the end of your story.

You may have spent years trying to earn love, prove your worth, or become what others wanted so they wouldn’t leave. You may have chased after men, jobs, friendships, even churches, hoping someone would finally see you, choose you, stay with you.

But what you’re really craving isn’t just attention. It’s repair.
It’s peace.
It’s the experience of being known, safe, held, and delighted in, without having to perform for it.

And while your father or mother may not have given you the repair you long for, your healing is still possible.

Healing looks like:

• Learning to grieve what you didn’t receive.

• Learning to receive from God and healthy relationships what earthly parents failed to give.

• Building new, safe relationships where you are honored, not used.

• Discovering your identity as God’s beloved daughter.

• Creating rhythms of self-care that reinforce dignity and boundaries.

• Getting support, coaching, counseling, community, to help you rewire the internal beliefs shaped by trauma.

You do not have to stay in survival mode. You are worthy of peace. Worthy of safety. Worthy of love that doesn't hurt.

What We Can Do Instead of Judging

When you see a woman struggling with her wounds, don’t mock her. Don’t label her. Don’t call her “crazy,” “insecure,” or “needy.”

Ask yourself:

• What happened to her?

• What kind of pain is she trying to escape?

• What would I have needed if I were her?

Offer compassion instead of criticism. Offer prayer instead of passive observation. Be a safe person, not another wound.

And if you’re close to her, say things like:

• “You don’t have to earn my love. I see you.”

• “You make sense. And your story matters.”

• “You don’t have to pretend to be okay here.”

• “You’re not too much.”

• “You’re not alone anymore.”

Let your presence become a healing balm that reminds her of who she really is—not the behavior that came from pain, but the beloved woman underneath.

Her Story Isn’t Over

It’s easy to talk about someone’s “daddy wounds” or “mother wounds” with sarcasm.
It’s much harder, and much holier, to treat their pain as sacred ground.

The little girl who was mistreated didn’t deserve it.
The young woman who didn’t know better was doing her best to survive.
The grown woman who still wrestles with these wounds isn’t hopeless, she’s healing.  And she's learning. 

And if we, as a society and especially as a faith community, stop mocking and start ministering, stop labeling and start loving, then maybe more of these women will walk out of shame and into freedom.

Because she’s not too far gone.
She’s not too messy.
She’s not too late.

She’s just a daughter of God, longing to come home.

So for you and your healing journey,

Peace, love and joy,

Rebecca Jo