When Tina Strambler held her firstborn son in her arms at twenty years old, she felt something she had never experienced before: belonging.
“He was mine,” she says simply. “Truly mine. Not the system’s. Not a judge’s. Not a caseworker’s. He was a piece of me that no one could take away.”
That moment in 1996 didn’t just change Strambler’s life—it set her on a path she had been preparing for her entire childhood without even knowing it. Becoming a mother meant becoming something else, too: the woman she had needed when she was young.
“I didn’t get to grow up in a healthy home,” Strambler reflects. “I didn’t get to keep my siblings close. I didn’t get a picture-perfect beginning. But I got something even more powerful: I got to create the family I always dreamed of.”
No Blueprint, Just Determination
Strambler’s own childhood offered no blueprint for healthy motherhood. Born in Louisiana, she and her two siblings were sent to live with an aunt and uncle in Midland, Texas, after their parents became unable to care for them. What followed was years of abuse—physical, emotional, sexual.
“When I became a mother, I didn’t know what a healthy mother-child relationship looked like,” she admits. “I only knew what it wasn’t. I knew it wasn’t fear. I knew it wasn’t confusion. I knew it wasn’t feeling like you had to earn love.”
What she did have was a fierce determination to be different.
“No generational curse, no trauma, no past mistake was going to touch my babies,” Strambler says firmly. “I poured everything I had and everything I never had into them: love, consistency, routine, warmth, safety, affection, boundaries, support, encouragement, stability.”
The Village That Taught Her How
While Strambler didn’t have a model of motherhood from her biological family, she did have something almost as powerful: the lessons learned during her 13 years at High Sky Children’s Ranch in Midland.
The cottage parents who tucked her in at night. The counselors who helped her process trauma. The structure that taught her how to create a stable home. The routines that made her feel safe. All of it became part of how she raised her own children.
“I found myself repeating the things High Sky taught me without even thinking,” she says. “‘Put your laundry away neatly.’ ‘Everyone helps with dinner.’ ‘Make your bed every morning—it starts your day right.'”
Those weren’t just chores, she realized. They were gifts.
“They gave me confidence. They gave me structure. They gave me a sense of pride in taking care of my space and myself. And later, they became part of how I raised my own children.”
The Weight of Breaking Cycles
For Strambler, motherhood carried a weight that mothers from stable backgrounds might never fully understand. Every choice felt like a chance to either repeat the past or rewrite it.
“When I disciplined my children, I did it gently—with guidance instead of cruelty,” she explains. “I thought about the punishments I endured—the beatings, the hours of standing until my muscles gave out, the dog bowl on the floor. And I chose something different. Every single time.”
She thought about the nights she lay awake as a child, afraid of footsteps in the hall. So she made sure her children’s nights were peaceful—tucked in, safe, loved.
She thought about the times she felt invisible, unseen, unheard. So she made sure her children knew they mattered—that their thoughts, feelings, and voices counted.
“I became the mother I wished I had,” she says. “The protector I prayed for as a child. The safe place I needed growing up.”
What Each Son Taught Her
Strambler and her husband Roderick raised three sons: Darius, Dedrick, and Donovan. Each boy, she says, taught her something essential.
“Darius, my firstborn, taught me responsibility and purpose,” she reflects. “He made me grow up fast and made me realize just how strong I truly was.”
Dedrick, their second, arrived in 1998 during a time when Strambler and Roderick were still learning how to be adults and parents at the same time. “He taught me balance and patience,” she says.
Donovan, born in 2001, came after they had weathered enough storms to understand how precious life really was. “He taught me joy and gratitude.”
Through each of them, Strambler learned something about herself.
“Every time I hugged my boys, a part of me healed,” she says softly. “Every time I tucked them into bed safely, a memory of my own unsafe nights softened.”
Healing Through Loving Them
People don’t always talk about this part of motherhood, Strambler says—how raising children forces you to re-experience your own childhood in a new way.
“Through them, I saw what love was supposed to feel like,” she explains. “Through them, I learned to forgive myself. And through them, I learned to forgive the world.”
She wasn’t a perfect mother—she’s quick to acknowledge that. But she was present.
“I was there for the scraped knees, the school projects, the late-night talks, the sports games, the heartbreaks, the moments where all they needed was someone to say, ‘I’m proud of you.'”
And in showing up for them, she showed up for herself.
The Proof in the Next Generation
Today, Strambler’s sons are grown. Two went off to college. One built a career and started a family of his own. All three became men with big hearts, strong values, and bright futures.
“We did it,” Strambler says quietly. “Two young kids who fell in love after graduation night built a life out of nothing but commitment and faith.”
Now a grandmother of four, Strambler experiences a new layer of healing she didn’t know existed.
“It is healing in a way that words can’t describe,” she says, “watching my grandchildren experience the love, the stability, the family foundation I worked so hard to create.”
She thinks often of the cycles she broke—not just for herself, but for the generations that follow.
“I broke the cycles. I changed the story. I built the home I once dreamed of. And my children get to live in the warmth of that healing. That alone makes everything worth it.”
A Message for Mothers Healing Themselves
For any mother who is parenting while healing—who is trying to give her children something she never received—Strambler offers this:
“You are not alone. You are not too broken. You are not too damaged to be the mother your children need. Every time you choose gentleness over harshness, presence over absence, love over fear—you are healing. Not just them. Yourself.”
She pauses, letting the words settle.
“I became the mother I never had. And in doing that, I became the woman I was always meant to be.”
