Mindful Parenting: How to Calm Our Kids and Heal Ourselves

“When we show up for our kids in moments when no one showed up for us, we’re not just healing them. We’re healing ourselves.” ~Dr. Becky Kenedy

I wasn’t taught to pause and breathe when I was overwhelmed.

I was taught to push through. To be a “good girl.” To smile when something inside me was begging to be seen.

I was told to toughen up. Not to cry. Not to feel too much.

But how can we grow into resilient humans when we’re taught to hide the very feelings that make us human?

I thought I was learning strength. But what I was really learning was how to disconnect.

And I carried that disconnection into adulthood… into motherhood… into my work… until it begged to be healed.

Becoming a Mother and Seeing Myself Again

When I became a mother, the past resurfaced in ways I couldn’t ignore.

As a school psychologist, I had spent years working with children, guiding them through emotional regulation, supporting teachers and families, and creating safe spaces in classrooms and therapy rooms. But nothing prepared me for what would rise when my own child began to feel deeply.

At the same time, my soul sister, Sondra, was walking through a similar reckoning.

She had spent years creating spaces for children to express themselves through story and imagination, yet still carried parts of her own childhood she hadn’t been taught how to hold.

We were doing meaningful work in the world, but our children cracked something open. Their meltdowns, their restlessness, their big emotions… all of it held up a mirror.

And instead of just reacting, I saw something deeper: myself.

Because even with all my tools and knowledge, I was still learning how to sit with my own feelings too.

When I Teach My Child, I Re-Teach Myself

That’s when I truly understood: When I teach my child mindfulness, I’m not just raising them. I’m re-raising myself.

I’m learning to do something I was never taught: To feel. To breathe. To stay present in the discomfort. To hold space without fixing or fleeing.

And through that process, I’m healing parts of myself that had been quietly waiting for years.

I remember this moment clearly:

My child was on the floor, overwhelmed by emotion. The kind of meltdown that pulls something primal out of you. Every instinct in me wanted to yell. To leave the room. To shut it down.

But instead, I paused. I sat down. I took a breath. And then another. I whispered, “I’m here.”

That moment wasn’t about control. It was about connection. And that’s what changed everything.

What Mindfulness Looks Like in Real Life

I used to think mindfulness had to look calm and quiet, but it’s not perfect.

It’s not silent yoga flows and lavender oils (though we love those, too).
It’s pausing before reacting.
It’s whispering affirmations under your breath when you want to scream.
It’s sitting beside my child, breathing together, without trying to make the feeling go away.
It’s placing a hand on your heart and remembering that you are safe now.
It’s letting your child see you regulate, repair, and return to love.
It’s letting a tantrum pass, not because I stopped it, but because I stayed.
It’s about building homes and classrooms where children don’t have to unlearn their feelings later.

It’s not about perfection. It’s about presence. It’s about co-regulation, what children truly need to feel safe.

Because kids don’t calm down by being told to. They calm down when their nervous system is met with ours. With softness. With breath. With safety.

That’s mindfulness.

That’s the real work.

Healing Myself, Healing My Lineage

The more I practiced this way of parenting, the more I realized I wasn’t just helping my child feel. I was healing emotional patterns that had lived in my family for generations.

I lived in a loving family, but trauma was hard on them. They didn’t know how to regulate their emotions. They didn’t know how to sit with discomfort, how to process instead of project.

So they yelled. They shut down. They pushed through, just like they were taught. And that became the blueprint I inherited, too.

I am part of the first generation trying to raise emotionally attuned children while still learning how to feel safe in my own body.

And it’s not easy. It’s sacred work. It’s spiritual work. It’s lineage work.

Because every time I whisper “I’m here” to my child, I whisper it to the younger version of me who needed it too.

There are moments, gentle, almost sacred, when I hear my child hum softly while striking a chime, eyes closed, saying,“This sound makes my heart feel better.”

No one explained resonance. No one showed them how.

And in that moment, I remember: our children come into this world with a knowing we spend years trying to reclaim.

We believe we’re the teachers. But in their stillness, their play, their pure presence, they become the ones guiding us home.

Planting Seeds of Calm

One day, my son looked up at me with tearful eyes and said, “Mommy, I just need you to sit with me.”

And in that moment, I realized: so did I.

That moment changed everything. It was the beginning of a softer way. A new rhythm rooted in breath, presence, and remembering that we’re not just here to teach our children how to regulate; we’re here to learn how to stay with ourselves, too.

I began to notice the magic in slowing down. To listen. To honor what was happening inside of me so I could meet what was happening inside of them. Not with control but with connection.

Every time a parent sits on the floor and breathes with their child, something ancient is rewritten.

Every time we name emotions instead of shutting them down, we break a pattern.

We don’t just raise mindful children. We raise ourselves.

Because the truth is: Every breath we teach our children to take is one we were never taught to take ourselves.

And now, we get to learn together.