When Presence Feels Foreign: Parenting with a Present Father While Healing from an Absent One

Renee Rivers
Aug 6
10 min read

This piece is the third reflection in a growing series exploring how trauma, especially the silent, unseen kind, shapes our relationships, our parenting, and our capacity for connection.

In "The Spectrum of Trauma: From Loud Hurts to Silent Wounds", I explored how not all trauma is loud or visible, some of it hides in what we never received. In "The Quiet Weight of Survival", I looked at how that absence affects how we show up in love and how we often live from survival rather than safety.

Now, we turn to parenting. Because for many women, especially those healing from the father wound, the presence of a loving, engaged father in their child’s life doesn’t just stir gratitude. It stirs grief.

When the Father I Needed Becomes the Father He Is

There’s a version of fatherhood many women grow up imagining.

It’s shaped by longing, not memory. By highlight reels, not lived experience.

They dream of father-daughter dances. Of being walked down the aisle. Of a strong, protective hand on the shoulder of their first boyfriend saying, “Take care of her, or else.”

They imagine warmth. Strength. Safety. Wholeness. Because when a father is absent, physically, emotionally, or both, those gaps get filled with fantasy.

But when that little girl becomes a mother and begins parenting alongside a present and engaged father, whether her husband or a co-parent, those dreams and wounds don’t disappear. They wake up. And they start to speak.

For many women, it begins in the smallest moments. The way he lifts the child without hesitation. The way he speaks firmly, not out of anger but leadership. And yet, your body clenches. Your throat tightens. Your instinct is to soften what he just said, to explain or buffer his tone.

You may not even realize it’s happening. Until you do.

When Unhealed Wounds Show Up in Parenthood

You wanted him to show up. You wanted a father for your child, the very thing you didn’t have. And then… he did.

But now you’re triggered by the way he disciplines. You tense when his voice is firm. You step in when he sets a boundary. You find yourself interrupting, correcting, even doubting his choices in real time.

Why?

Because it doesn’t look like what you imagined. Because your nervous system wasn’t trained to recognize healthy masculinity. Because the real thing feels different from the romanticized version.

What you’re experiencing isn’t failure, it’s trauma.

Jasmine, a 33-year-old mother of two, shared: "Every time my husband raised his voice to correct our son, I felt this knot in my stomach. I didn’t realize it then, but I was reliving something. I wasn’t reacting to him. I was reacting to my past."

It’s Not Just a Feeling, It’s a Trauma Response

If you grew up without a present, safe, and emotionally attuned father, your nervous system adapted to his absence. It had to.

You may have learned to:

Rely only on yourself
Stay on high alert for disappointment
Mistrust leadership from men
Anticipate abandonment instead of stability

You became both the protector and the protected. The inner child who needed care and the adult who assumed it would never come.

So now, even when your partner shows up, when he does the very thing you always said you wanted, your body still doesn’t feel safe. Not because he is unsafe, but because presence itself is unfamiliar.

Your child has something you never had. And that can feel beautiful. And it can feel heartbreaking.

You begin parenting from protection, not presence. From fear, not trust. From trauma, not truth.

We say "he’s being too harsh" when really, we’re remembering what it felt like to be alone. We undermine, interrupt, or question because our nervous system only knows how to operate from survival.

A Moment of Truth: My Own Story

I remember a day, my kids were 4 and 2, when I watched my husband, to my defense (lol) who is 6’4” and 300 pounds, playing rough with them in the living room. He was chasing, lifting, tossing them onto the couch while they squealed with joy. And all I could feel… was fear.

I held my breath. My body tensed. I thought, He’s too big. He might hurt them.

I didn’t say those exact words, but I moved toward them. I intervened. I was no longer grounded, I was triggered.

He paused, looked at me, and said something that will stay with me forever: “I wish you would just let me be their dad.”

That moment cracked something open in me.

You see, my dad, though present, didn’t roughhouse with me. That kind of physical play wasn’t my normal. It wasn’t part of my template for fatherhood. So when I saw it in real time, even though I trusted the man in front of me, my nervous system defaulted to protection mode. I felt like I had to shield my babies… from someone I love. From someone who loves them.

That realization was humbling. I had to sit with it. Name it. Apologize. And then choose differently.

I asked for grace. I gave myself compassion. And I began to rewrite the story I had inherited: Just because something feels unfamiliar doesn’t mean it’s unsafe.

It's obvious here, that he needed me to protect him from them. The kids are just fine lol, they are enjoying their time with their father.

The Research That Helped Me Reframe

The researcher in me needed more than just emotional processing, I needed understanding. And then I found it:

A 2020 study from the University of Cambridge confirmed that father, child physical play, also known as rough-and-tumble play, is not only developmentally appropriate, it’s deeply beneficial.

“Children whose fathers engage in physical play develop better emotional regulation, reduced aggression, and stronger social skills.”— The Guardian

Roughhousing helps kids learn limits, emotional control, and how to regulate excitement and frustration. It strengthens the father-child bond and supports the child's development of boundaries, problem-solving, and resilience.

So that moment on the couch wasn’t a risk.

It was a gift.

Mama Bears and Nervous Systems

If you’re a mother who finds herself tightening, interrupting, or mistrusting even gentle fathering, I want you to hear this:

You’re not broken. You’re not controlling. You’re not overreacting.

You’re remembering.

Your body is reacting to what it never received. And that’s okay, as long as you don’t stay there. Because the man in front of you? He’s not your father. And your child? They’re not you.

They are receiving something new.

So ask yourself:

Is this moment unsafe… or just unfamiliar?
Am I protecting them from harm… or from something I never had?
What does this moment invite me to feel, grieve, and relearn?

Healing often means letting love take a form you weren’t trained to recognize. Let it.

Reflection, Regulation & Repair: Tools for Both Parents

This is sacred work, not easy, but necessary. When old wounds show up in parenting, you don’t have to ignore them. But you do have to own them. And tend to them.

For the Mother Healing from a Father Wound

Your reactions are not random. They are residue.

Try This:

Body Check-In: Ask, Where do I feel this in my body? What age does this feeling remind me of?
Inner Child Journaling: Write from your younger self to your adult self. Then from your adult self to your child. Give your younger self the protection she didn’t have.
Coping Tools: Deep breaths. EFT tapping. Grounding with physical touch. Step away if needed—not in avoidance, but in preparation for a more grounded return.
Language Shift: Say, "Let’s talk about that moment later. I want to understand your approach. I want us to stay connected."

For the Father Whose Parenting Is Being Policed

You may feel frustrated or invisible. You want to lead and love your children, but it feels like you’re constantly under review.

Marcus, a 34 year-old first-time dad, had a loving but structured father growing up. He came into fatherhood with a clear picture of the kind of dad he wanted to be: calm, firm, engaged, and emotionally grounded. He’s not guessing, he’s intentional. But he’s finding himself increasingly frustrated. Every time he sets a limit or redirects their daughter, his wife steps in, reverses the decision, or critiques his tone. Over time, it feels less like partnership and more like permission.

"I don’t understand why I have to prove myself every time," Marcus says. "I know what kind of father I want to be. I had a good one. But it feels like no matter what I do, she sees me as the problem, and she’s the only one who knows what our daughter needs. It’s exhausting to feel like a guest in your own parenting story.""

Try This:

Stay in Curiosity: *"Can you help me understand what you were feeling in that moment?"
Name the Pattern: *"I feel like I’m being corrected instead of supported. Can we talk about how we parent as a team?"
Reaffirm Your Role: *"I’m not your father. I’m your partner. I want to grow with you."

Let her see that you are building something new, not repeating the past.

And What About the Father Who’s Never Had One?

We often talk about the woman with a father wound. But what about the man who never had a model?

He isn’t just raising a child, he’s raising himself while doing it.

He’s building a blueprint from scratch. Trying to lead without having been led. Trying to nurture while learning what nurturance even is. And when his parenting is challenged, it doesn’t just hurt, it destabilizes.

Fathers who grew up without fathers may carry the silent weight of shame. Not from what they did, but from what they never received. They may ask, "What if I’m not enough? What if I’m doing it wrong?"

Luis, a 37-year-old father of three, grew up in a household where his mother did everything. His father left when he was five, and he never looked back. As a dad, Luis has tried to be everything his father wasn’t: reliable, present, affectionate. But when his wife recently commented that he’s “too passive” with their oldest, something broke open.

“I wanted to scream,” Luis admitted in session. “She doesn’t know how hard this is for me. I didn’t have anyone to teach me this. I’m making it up as I go, but I’m trying, so hard. And when she questions it, it feels like I’m already failing a test no one prepared me for.”

Luis didn’t need fixing. He needed room to grow without fear. He needed to be trusted. To be reminded that love doesn’t only come with a script, it can come with a willingness to show up, even when you weren’t shown how.

To those fathers: Your presence is a legacy in motion. You are not behind. You are becoming.

Try This:

Name What Was Missing: Reflect or journal on what you didn’t receive as a child, not to dwell, but to make intentional choices. Ask yourself, “What did I long for? How can I give that to my child in a way that feels authentic to me?”
Let Vulnerability Be a Bridge: Tell your partner, “I didn’t grow up with this. I’m learning as I go. I need encouragement, not correction.”
Build Your Village: Seek fatherhood mentorship through friends, community groups, or father-centered books/podcasts. You’re not alone, even if it sometimes feels that way.
Celebrate Effort Over Image: You don’t have to perform perfect fatherhood. Your child needs your presence, your willingness to try again, and your emotional availability.

You don’t need to be perfect. You need to be present.

Becoming a Reflective Parent: Healing While Raising

When trauma shapes your parenting, survival becomes your default. But healing invites reflection.

Reflective Parenting means:

Pausing before reacting
Responding from intention
Understanding your own triggers
Choosing attunement over control

Reflective parenting isn’t soft. It’s strong. It requires courage. It requires accountability. It requires presence.

What Is a Reflective Mother?

She is not perfect. She is present. She is not all sacrifice or all control. She is attuned, responsive, growing.

She brings softness and structure. She holds space for feelings without becoming consumed by them. She chooses curiosity over criticism. Presence over performance.

She says:

“I can hold my child’s emotions without absorbing them.”
“I will not make my partner my enemy.”
“I am parenting through healing, not hiding.”

What Is a Reflective Father?

He is not absent. He is emotionally engaged. He is not rigid or detached. He is steady, expressive, and available.

He brings strength, boundary, presence, and guidance. He offers protection that isn’t rooted in fear, but in consistency.

He says:

“I will be the father I never had.”
“I will model presence and patience.”
“I will lead with love, not legacy alone.”

Why Your Child Needs Both: Across Ages and Stages

Your child’s needs shift as they grow, but one truth remains consistent across all developmental stages: children benefit deeply from the balanced presence of both reflective mothering and reflective fathering. When parents show up with attunement, structure, emotional regulation, and complementary energies, children grow up feeling safe, secure, and seen.

Ages 0–5: The Foundation of Safety and Trust

In these early years, a child's brain is forming the architecture of attachment and safety. They need consistent, predictable presence from caregivers who model emotional regulation and security.

Reflective Mother	Reflective Father
Soothing voice and touch	Protective tone and presence
Reading emotional cues	Teaching boundaries and limits
Creating routines that nurture	Creating routines that structure
Being a safe base for exploration	Encouraging brave exploration with support

Tool for Parents: Practice co-regulation. When your child is upset, one parent can lead with nurturing comfort while the other offers grounding stability. You’re not competing, you’re co-holding the moment.

Ages 6–11: The Stage of Identity, Discipline, and Belonging

This is when children begin building a sense of self outside the home, at school, with peers, in structured environments. They need encouragement, guidance, and consistency.

Reflective Mother	Reflective Father
Affirms emotions and friendships	Affirms responsibility and effort
Supports emotional literacy	Models problem-solving and persistence
Creates a safe space to share	Teaches accountability with warmth
Models empathy	Models resilience and boundaries

Tool for Parents: Create a shared language for correction and affirmation. Use agreed-upon phrases and values when redirecting behavior so your child feels consistency, not contradiction, between you.

Ages 13–18: The Season of Autonomy, Testing, and Transformation

Teens test boundaries not to push you away, but to know you’ll still be there. This season requires patience, steadiness, and a non-anxious presence from both parents.

Reflective Mother	Reflective Father
Listens with openness and empathy	Sets boundaries with consistency
Normalizes emotional ups and downs	Models calm through conflict
Offers reassurance through transition	Encourages responsibility and future-thinking
Models vulnerability and grace	Models strength rooted in self-control

Tool for Parents: Schedule one-on-one check-ins with your teen. Moms and dads should each hold space for different kinds of conversations: the heart and the world, the internal and the external. Let them see strength in both forms of care.

No matter the age, your child needs more than one way of being loved. They need more than one voice of wisdom. More than one model of strength.

Together, you show them that love is layered, healing is possible, and safety can be both soft and strong.

Parenting in Partnership: From Projection to Alignment

You are not rivals. You are co-authors. You are both healing while building. Both becoming while parenting.

Try This:

Weekly Parenting Check-Ins: What worked? What felt hard? What triggered us?
Repair in Front of Kids: Show them that love includes repair. Model humility, compassion, and accountability.
Use “We” Language: "We are both learning. We are both essential. We are a team."

Final Reflection: The Legacy You’re Building

This post is part of an ongoing series under the Reflective Rivers framework, where we explore the quieter currents of trauma and the healing required to interrupt its flow.

This piece is the third reflection in a growing series exploring how trauma, especially the silent, unseen kind, shapes our relationships, our parenting, and our capacity for connection.

Now, we turn to parenting. Because for many women, especially those healing from the father wound, the presence of a loving, engaged father in their child’s life doesn’t just stir gratitude. It stirs grief.

When the Father I Needed Becomes the Father He Is

There’s a version of fatherhood many women grow up imagining.

It’s shaped by longing, not memory. By highlight reels, not lived experience.

They dream of father-daughter dances. Of being walked down the aisle. Of a strong, protective hand on the shoulder of their first boyfriend saying, “Take care of her, or else.”

They imagine warmth. Strength. Safety. Wholeness. Because when a father is absent, physically, emotionally, or both, those gaps get filled with fantasy.

But when that little girl becomes a mother and begins parenting alongside a present and engaged father, whether her husband or a co-parent, those dreams and wounds don’t disappear. They wake up. And they start to speak.

For many women, it begins in the smallest moments. The way he lifts the child without hesitation. The way he speaks firmly, not out of anger but leadership. And yet, your body clenches. Your throat tightens. Your instinct is to soften what he just said, to explain or buffer his tone.

You may not even realize it’s happening. Until you do.

When Unhealed Wounds Show Up in Parenthood

You wanted him to show up. You wanted a father for your child, the very thing you didn’t have. And then… he did.

But now you’re triggered by the way he disciplines. You tense when his voice is firm. You step in when he sets a boundary. You find yourself interrupting, correcting, even doubting his choices in real time.

Why?

Because it doesn’t look like what you imagined. Because your nervous system wasn’t trained to recognize healthy masculinity. Because the real thing feels different from the romanticized version.

What you’re experiencing isn’t failure, it’s trauma.

Jasmine, a 33-year-old mother of two, shared: "Every time my husband raised his voice to correct our son, I felt this knot in my stomach. I didn’t realize it then, but I was reliving something. I wasn’t reacting to him. I was reacting to my past."

It’s Not Just a Feeling, It’s a Trauma Response

If you grew up without a present, safe, and emotionally attuned father, your nervous system adapted to his absence. It had to.

You may have learned to:

Rely only on yourself

Stay on high alert for disappointment

Mistrust leadership from men

Anticipate abandonment instead of stability

You became both the protector and the protected. The inner child who needed care and the adult who assumed it would never come.

So now, even when your partner shows up, when he does the very thing you always said you wanted, your body still doesn’t feel safe. Not because he is unsafe, but because presence itself is unfamiliar.

Your child has something you never had. And that can feel beautiful. And it can feel heartbreaking.

You begin parenting from protection, not presence. From fear, not trust. From trauma, not truth.

We say "he’s being too harsh" when really, we’re remembering what it felt like to be alone. We undermine, interrupt, or question because our nervous system only knows how to operate from survival.

A Moment of Truth: My Own Story

I remember a day, my kids were 4 and 2, when I watched my husband, to my defense (lol) who is 6’4” and 300 pounds, playing rough with them in the living room. He was chasing, lifting, tossing them onto the couch while they squealed with joy. And all I could feel… was fear.

I held my breath. My body tensed. I thought, He’s too big. He might hurt them.

I didn’t say those exact words, but I moved toward them. I intervened. I was no longer grounded, I was triggered.

He paused, looked at me, and said something that will stay with me forever: “I wish you would just let me be their dad.”

That moment cracked something open in me.

That realization was humbling. I had to sit with it. Name it. Apologize. And then choose differently.

I asked for grace. I gave myself compassion. And I began to rewrite the story I had inherited: Just because something feels unfamiliar doesn’t mean it’s unsafe.

The Research That Helped Me Reframe

The researcher in me needed more than just emotional processing, I needed understanding. And then I found it:

A 2020 study from the University of Cambridge confirmed that father, child physical play, also known as rough-and-tumble play, is not only developmentally appropriate, it’s deeply beneficial.

“Children whose fathers engage in physical play develop better emotional regulation, reduced aggression, and stronger social skills.”— The Guardian

Roughhousing helps kids learn limits, emotional control, and how to regulate excitement and frustration. It strengthens the father-child bond and supports the child's development of boundaries, problem-solving, and resilience.

So that moment on the couch wasn’t a risk.

It was a gift.

Mama Bears and Nervous Systems

If you’re a mother who finds herself tightening, interrupting, or mistrusting even gentle fathering, I want you to hear this:

You’re not broken. You’re not controlling. You’re not overreacting.

You’re remembering.

Your body is reacting to what it never received. And that’s okay, as long as you don’t stay there. Because the man in front of you? He’s not your father. And your child? They’re not you.

They are receiving something new.

So ask yourself:

Is this moment unsafe… or just unfamiliar?

Am I protecting them from harm… or from something I never had?

What does this moment invite me to feel, grieve, and relearn?

Healing often means letting love take a form you weren’t trained to recognize. Let it.

Reflection, Regulation & Repair: Tools for Both Parents

This is sacred work, not easy, but necessary. When old wounds show up in parenting, you don’t have to ignore them. But you do have to own them. And tend to them.

For the Mother Healing from a Father Wound

Your reactions are not random. They are residue.

Try This:

Body Check-In: Ask, Where do I feel this in my body? What age does this feeling remind me of?

Inner Child Journaling: Write from your younger self to your adult self. Then from your adult self to your child. Give your younger self the protection she didn’t have.

Coping Tools: Deep breaths. EFT tapping. Grounding with physical touch. Step away if needed—not in avoidance, but in preparation for a more grounded return.

Language Shift: Say, "Let’s talk about that moment later. I want to understand your approach. I want us to stay connected."

For the Father Whose Parenting Is Being Policed

You may feel frustrated or invisible. You want to lead and love your children, but it feels like you’re constantly under review.

Try This:

Stay in Curiosity: *"Can you help me understand what you were feeling in that moment?"

Name the Pattern: *"I feel like I’m being corrected instead of supported. Can we talk about how we parent as a team?"

Reaffirm Your Role: *"I’m not your father. I’m your partner. I want to grow with you."

Let her see that you are building something new, not repeating the past.

And What About the Father Who’s Never Had One?

We often talk about the woman with a father wound. But what about the man who never had a model?

He isn’t just raising a child, he’s raising himself while doing it.

He’s building a blueprint from scratch. Trying to lead without having been led. Trying to nurture while learning what nurturance even is. And when his parenting is challenged, it doesn’t just hurt, it destabilizes.

Fathers who grew up without fathers may carry the silent weight of shame. Not from what they did, but from what they never received. They may ask, "What if I’m not enough? What if I’m doing it wrong?"

“I wanted to scream,” Luis admitted in session. “She doesn’t know how hard this is for me. I didn’t have anyone to teach me this. I’m making it up as I go, but I’m trying, so hard. And when she questions it, it feels like I’m already failing a test no one prepared me for.”

Luis didn’t need fixing. He needed room to grow without fear. He needed to be trusted. To be reminded that love doesn’t only come with a script, it can come with a willingness to show up, even when you weren’t shown how.

To those fathers: Your presence is a legacy in motion. You are not behind. You are becoming.

Try This: