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."
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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."
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