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Healing Journey

Healing Journey Relationships

When Your Mother is the Source of Your Pain

May 10, 2025

I used to think I was the only one.

The only daughter who walked on eggshells in her own home. The only child who flinched at compliments, because they always came with a catch. The only woman who reached adulthood still waiting for her mother’s approval—only to realize it would never come.

But I’ve learned that daughters of narcissistic, emotionally abusive mothers are everywhere. We’re the ones who were told we were too sensitive. Too dramatic. Too much. Or not enough.

Some people talk about mother wounds like they’re metaphors. I talk about them the way I remember them: as facts. As scars. As quiet rooms filled with loud silence. As teenage memories of being insulted in public, gaslit in private, and shamed into obedience with a smile on her face for the neighbors to see.

Let me be clear:
This isn’t about revenge.
It’s about release.

For years, I thought I had to keep the peace—even if it meant keeping my pain a secret. I thought being a good daughter meant staying quiet, showing up, and swallowing the disrespect as long as she needed me. But the truth is, keeping peace with someone who thrives on control is not peace. It’s submission.

And daughters like us?
We’ve submitted long enough.

So how do you deal with a narcissistic mother?

You don’t try to change her.
You stop letting her change you.

You start setting boundaries—not as punishments, but as acts of self-respect. You stop explaining yourself to someone committed to misunderstanding you. You stop shrinking, fawning, and second-guessing your worth. And when she says, “After everything I’ve done for you…” you remind yourself that love is not a transaction, and obligation is not affection.

If you’re tired, I see you.
If you’re healing, I stand with you.
If you’ve lost family for telling your truth—welcome. You’re not alone here.

This is the kind of honesty I’ve poured into my memoir, We’re Not Monsters.
Not because I’m bitter.
But because I’m done pretending I’m fine when I’m not.

We were never the problem.
We were just the ones brave enough to name it.

Healing Journey Relationships Well-Being

5 Painful Truths I Learned From My Toxic Mother

May 7, 2025
An image of a black woman looking out a window

I didn’t learn to grieve my mother until I stopped expecting her to change.

Growing up, I spent years twisting myself into someone more acceptable. Quieter. More helpful. Less emotional. More obedient. I thought if I could just make myself small enough, easy enough, invisible enough—she might finally love me without hurting me.

But narcissistic mothers don’t need you to be good.
They need you to be dependent.
They need you to reflect their image—not become your own.

Here’s what I’ve learned after years of healing:

1. She was always the loudest voice in the room—until I found mine.

My childhood was filled with her opinions, her needs, her chaos. There wasn’t much space for me to become anyone separate. When I started speaking up, setting boundaries, or simply saying no—she took it as betrayal. But that voice I found? It saved me.

2. Criticism was her love language.

Nothing was ever quite right. There was always something to fix: my body, my tone, my choices, my face. Compliments were rare, and when they came, they were booby-trapped with backhanded digs. I stopped trying to earn approval and started building self-respect instead.

3. She never said sorry—so I had to stop expecting it.

There was always an excuse, always someone else to blame. Apologies never came. I wasted years waiting for closure that would never arrive. Learning to live without it has been one of my deepest griefs—and one of my greatest freedoms.

4. She called me too sensitive—but I wasn’t. I was unprotected.

I used to think something was wrong with me for feeling things so deeply. But now I see that my empathy, my softness, my intuition—they were all signs of strength, not weakness. What I needed was safety, not shame.

5. Her love came with terms and conditions. Mine doesn’t.

With her, love was earned. With my own child, it is given freely. I mother differently now—softly, intentionally, with presence instead of power. And that, in itself, is a revolution.

I wrote my memoir, We’re Not Monsters, for women like me—daughters of mothers who never really saw them, who turned their pain inward, and who are finally learning how to stop apologizing for surviving.

If you’re walking this path too, know this:
You’re not ungrateful.
You’re not broken.
You’re becoming whole—on your own terms.

📚 Ready to go deeper?
My memoir We’re Not Monsters is available here.
You can also follow my journey on Instagram at @ZenTenkamenin.

Cultural Identity Healing Journey

Reclaiming My Name: How I Broke Free From the Past and Found Myself Again

April 23, 2025
Zen Tenkamenin looking at Cleopatra statue

The Power in a Name

For most of my life, my name felt like a label I didn’t choose.
A symbol of survival passed down through generations scarred by colonialism, trauma, and expectations I never agreed to.

My birth name—Denise—was given to me before I had the chance to define myself. It was the name of a child molded by generational wounds, by silence, by roles I never consented to play. It was the name that echoed through criticisms, dismissals, and moments of invisibility.

But names are not just names.
They carry energy. They carry history. They tell stories we sometimes have to rewrite ourselves.

When I Chose My Name

I didn’t change my name to become someone new.
I changed it to come home to myself.

Zen Tenkamenin is the name I chose.
Not for reinvention—but for reclamation.

“Zen” came to me during my loc journey, a time when I was peeling away the layers of shame tied to Eurocentric standards of beauty and learning to love myself—fully, naturally, and unapologetically. It became more than a nickname. It became a mirror of who I was becoming: balanced, grounded, self-possessed.

“Tenkamenin” is a name that holds weight.
It honors King Tenkamenin of Ghana, a ruler known for wisdom, justice, and devotion to his people. That name represents lineage, integrity, and sovereignty. It is a name carried by my partner—someone who walks through life with intention, and who inspired me to anchor myself in legacy, not loss.

Together, Zen Tenkamenin is not just a name.
It’s a declaration:

I am not what was done to me.
I am not who the world told me to be.
I am who I choose to become.

The Weight of the Names We’re Given

The names we’re born into often carry the weight of other people’s stories.
Sometimes they echo trauma, unmet expectations, or family roles that were handed to us like scripts we never auditioned for.

The name I was given at birth told a story of who I was supposed to be—but never who I truly was. It echoed my mother’s voice more than my own. It fit the version of me that was easy for others to control, categorize, or criticize.

Reclaiming my name wasn’t just a personal choice—it was a sacred act.
A quiet rebellion.
A breath I had been holding for years.

A Name Rooted in Spiritual Transformation

The number 13—often misunderstood or feared—became symbolic for me as I moved through my own transformation. In many cultures, it represents change, death and rebirth, and the cyclical nature of life.

In my memoir, there are 13 chapters—each one peeling back a layer of my story like the skin of an onion.
Painful, raw, revealing.
But necessary.
Because healing requires truth.
And truth begins with naming things—including ourselves.

Reclaiming Identity, Word by Word

Every time I sign my name—Zen Tenkamenin—I remind myself:

  • I am not their version of me.
  • I am not bound to the stories that tried to define me.
  • I am the author now.

And I don’t need permission to exist on my own terms.

Final Thoughts

Choosing this name was one of the most sacred acts of healing I’ve ever done.
It wasn’t about forgetting the past. It was about honoring who I became in spite of it.

Zen Tenkamenin is my voice.
It’s my truth.
It’s my power wrapped into two words.

✨ Have you ever felt disconnected from the name you were given?
✨ What would it mean to reclaim your identity on your own terms?comments. Let’s talk about reclaiming identity.

Healing Journey Relationships Well-Being

How Childhood Trauma Shapes Relationships (and How to Heal)

April 23, 2025
older woman looking at shattered image of her child self in mirror

How Trauma Affects Adult Relationships

We don’t always realize how much our childhood shaped us—until patterns start appearing in our adult lives that we can’t quite explain. Sometimes it shows up in how we respond to stress or criticism. But it’s especially loud when it comes to love, connection, and trust.

If you grew up walking on eggshells, being silenced, dismissed, or neglected, you might now find yourself doing one—or all—of the following:

💔 Fear of Abandonment

You constantly worry that people will leave—even when they haven’t shown any signs of pulling away. You might overthink texts, replay conversations in your head, or spiral into anxiety when someone becomes distant. Silence doesn’t feel neutral; it feels like punishment. And any sign of disconnection can feel like confirmation that you’re “too much” or “not enough.”

🙏 People-Pleasing

You go out of your way to keep others happy, even when it costs you your peace. Saying “no” feels like a betrayal, and disappointing someone fills you with guilt. You may confuse your worth with your usefulness—and struggle to accept love unless you’re earning it.

🧱 Emotional Unavailability

You keep people at arm’s length—not because you don’t care, but because closeness feels risky. Vulnerability can feel like exposure, and you’ve learned to stay guarded. Sometimes, you might even choose unavailable partners because their emotional distance feels familiar—and therefore, safer.

👀 Hypervigilance

You’re always on alert. You pick up on tone shifts, facial expressions, and silences others barely notice. Your nervous system has been trained to scan for danger—even in safe spaces. You might anticipate rejection before it happens, and feel exhausted from always being “on.”

These behaviors aren’t character flaws.
They’re survival strategies.

Why It Happens

As children, we adapt to feel safe.

If safety meant avoiding someone’s anger, withholding your emotions, or making yourself small—you did what you had to do to survive. You learned to predict moods, keep the peace, and internalize blame, even when it wasn’t yours to carry.

But those protective habits don’t disappear just because we’ve grown up.
They follow us—into our friendships, our romantic relationships, our parenting, and even our relationship with ourselves.

They might show up as:

  • Over-apologizing
  • Shutting down during conflict
  • Trying to “fix” emotionally unavailable partners
  • Feeling guilty for taking up space
  • Sabotaging intimacy when things feel “too good”

It’s not that we want chaos.
But chaos can feel familiar.
Without realizing it, we sometimes recreate the emotional environments we grew up in—because a part of us still believes that’s what love looks like.

The Cost of Unhealed Trauma

Left unaddressed, childhood trauma can shape how we attach to others, how we set boundaries (or don’t), and what we believe we deserve. It can show up in cycles of burnout, self-sabotage, or staying in unhealthy relationships out of fear.

It’s exhausting to live in survival mode when your body still thinks the danger hasn’t passed.

But here’s the truth: healing is possible.
And it doesn’t require perfection—just presence.

How to Start Healing

There’s no quick fix. But there is a path forward—one step at a time.

✅ Notice Your Patterns

Start by paying attention. What kinds of people are you drawn to? What arguments feel like déjà vu? What situations trigger intense reactions that seem “bigger than the moment”?

Curiosity is your compass—not shame.

✅ Seek Therapy

Trauma-informed therapy can help you connect the dots between your past and present—and gently guide you toward change. Therapy isn’t about blaming the past; it’s about freeing yourself from it.

There’s strength in asking for support.

✅ Set Boundaries

Not everyone deserves access to you.
Practice saying “no” without apology and “yes” without guilt.

Boundaries aren’t punishments—they’re protection.
They say: I respect myself enough to choose what energy I allow into my life.

✅ Practice Secure Attachment

Whether it’s through journaling, therapy, or safe relationships—start giving yourself what you once needed. Talk to yourself with gentleness. Sit with discomfort without abandoning yourself. Choose people who make you feel seen, not small.

Final Thoughts

Healing doesn’t mean you’ll never get triggered again.
It means you’ll recognize when you are—and respond with self-compassion instead of self-abandonment.

Your trauma isn’t your fault.
But your healing is your responsibility.

You don’t have to carry what happened forever.
You can rewrite your story.
You can choose love that feels safe.
You can break the cycle.

You’re not alone.
And your healing journey doesn’t have to be, either

➡️ Related: The Loneliness of Speaking the Truth

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