“The people closest to us should be most likely to believe our descriptions of reality and to care when we’re hurt.” - Deborah Tuerkheimer

Having the mother wound is hard enough. The last thing anyone healing after a difficult, absent, or abusive mom needs is judgment—especially from people who’ve never walked a day in our shoes.

Yet, even in 2025, it’s still frustratingly common for mother wound survivors to share our stories—only to be met with skepticism, dismissal, or outright disbelief.

These reactions don’t just sting—they reveal an unfortunate reality: we still live in a culture that would rather defend mothers who cause harm than believe the children who were hurt by them.

And it isn’t just strangers online. Family, friends, and even some therapists still get it wrong.

As both a mother wound survivor and a therapist who supports fellow survivors through recovery, I’ll say it plainly: we’re tired of being misunderstood, and we deserve better.

In this article I’m unpacking four phrases mother wound survivors never want to hear again—and offering compassionate alternatives that actually help.

If you’re here because you want to better support a survivor in your life, thank you. Your willingness to learn means more than you know.

1. “At least you have a mom.”

Ah, the classic “at least.” It might sound comforting at first, but when you stop and think about it, it actually minimizes someone’s pain instead of acknowledging it.

Imagine saying:

• “At least you have a head,” to someone with a migraine.

• “At least you have a husband,” to someone experiencing domestic violence.

• “At least you have a car,” to someone broken down on the side of the road.

You can feel how dismissive that would be. So when mother wound survivors hear, “At least your mom’s still alive,” what we hear is, “Your pain doesn’t count.”

Better alternatives:

• "That sounds so painful. I’m really sorry you went through that.”

• “I can see how hard this is for you. You don’t deserve that.”

• "I’m here for you. What kind of support would help right now?”

Validation opens the door to feeling heard. Minimization shuts it.

2. “She did the best she could.”

This one is often said with good intentions—but it’s rarely received that way. To someone living with the mother wound, “She did the best she could” can sound like: “Stop feeling how you really feel.”

Acknowledging that a mother was limited or wounded doesn’t erase the pain they caused. Good intentions don’t cancel out impact.

If your surgeon operated on the wrong organ, your dog-sitter never showed up, or your mechanic installed bad brakes, you wouldn’t brush it off with, “They did their best,” would you? Of course not. You’d rightfully point out the harm and expect accountability.

Mother wound survivors are no different.

Instead of rushing to make excuses, try saying:

• “I’m so sorry your mom hurt you. You didn’t deserve that.”

• “It must be so painful to be let down by someone who was supposed to protect you.”

• “Your feelings are valid. It’s okay to grieve what you didn’t receive.”

Healing starts with being believed.

3. “Your mom’s nice to me.”

I understand where this comes from—it’s based on how the person has experienced the mom in question. But here are two important truths:

1. Harmful people are rarely harmful to everyone.

2. We can’t know how someone is treated by another person better than they do.

It’s common for abusers of all kinds—including mothers—to be highly skilled at curating a polished version of themselves for the outside world. They can be gregarious with the neighbors, kind to strangers, and extremely generous towards extended family and still be controlling, manipulative, or emotionally volatile behind closed doors.

In fact, this contrast is part of what makes the mother wound so confusing. It’s not that the survivor is exaggerating; it’s that both versions of the mother can exist at once.

When someone says, “Your mom’s nice to me,” it might seem harmless, but what the survivor hears is: “I don’t believe you.”

Instead, try:

• “I believe you. I’m listening.”

• “That must be really painful.”

• “No one deserves to be treated that way.”

  
  

Empathy means honoring someone’s truth, even when it’s different from your own experience.

4. “Someday she’ll be gone.”

This phrase is often meant to make the other person feel all sorts of guilty, but when we aren’t the ones who were hurt, a victim’s choices about their abuser are none of our business.

Yes, someday all of us will be gone—but this doesn’t give anyone a free pass to cause harm. Telling someone to overlook abuse because their mother won’t live forever isn’t compassionate; it’s manipulative and cruel.

You wouldn’t say, “Someday that boss who fired you because you’re a woman will be gone,” or “Someday that person who stole your e-bike will be gone.” We know that the fact that everyone alive today will someday be gone doesn’t erase wrongdoing.

Instead of trying to speed-run someone’s healing, try:

• “You deserved better from your mom.”

• “It makes sense that this is hurtful for you.”

• “I’m so sorry she harmed you. That’s not something any child should have had to deal with.”

Uncomfortable emotions are not a sign of failure—they’re the hallmarks of healing. The more we allow ourselves to bear witness to another’s pain, the more we make space for connection, understanding, and real repair.

Final Thoughts

When someone opens up to you about their mother wound, they’re handing you something sacred. How you respond matters.

Invalidating comments, even well-meaning ones, only serve to deepen their pain. But empathy, curiosity, and compassion can create space for real healing.

If you’re walking this path yourself, please know this: your story matters, your pain is real, and healing is possible.

And if you’re supporting someone through this, thank you for choosing to be a compassionate person in a world that so often isn’t.