Anthia Moore on Healing Childhood Trauma, Setting Boundaries, and Breaking Generational Patterns

Ross: What inspired you to write your first book?

Anthia: The Remembering was inspired by my own journey of healing and returning to myself. For many years, I carried experiences from childhood that I didn’t fully understand were still affecting the woman I had become. I learned how to survive very early, but survival and healing are not the same thing.

As I began doing the deeper work of understanding myself, loving myself, and healing the younger versions of me, I realized that my story was bigger than just me. There are so many women walking through life carrying wounds they learned to hide because they had to be strong.

Writing The Remembering became a way for me to give those women a mirror. I wanted to say, “I see you. I’ve been there too.” This book isn’t only about what happened to me. It’s about what happens when a woman decides that her past will no longer determine who she gets to become.

Ross: Your book opens up about your childhood, including the experience of growing up without your mother consistently present. How did those early experiences shape the woman you became and your eventual journey of healing?

Anthia: Growing up without my mother consistently present created an abandonment wound before I even had the language to describe it. As a child, you don’t always understand the circumstances of adults. You simply wonder, “Why wasn’t I enough for you to stay?”

Those experiences made me independent and resilient, but they also taught me to become strong before I should have needed to be. I learned how to suppress emotions, adapt, and keep moving.

Later in life, I began realizing that some of the things I called strength were actually survival mechanisms. Healing required me to go back and meet that little girl with compassion instead of judgment. I had to remind her that she was worthy of love even when people she loved couldn’t give it to her in the way she needed. That changed everything. Instead of continuing to search outside of myself for what I didn’t receive, I began learning how to give those things to myself.

Ross: You left home at just 16 years old. Looking back, what do you understand now about that young version of yourself that you may not have understood then?

Anthia: At 16, I thought I was simply doing what I needed to do. I didn’t recognize the courage it took to leave home while I was still in school and try to figure life out.

Looking back now, I see a young girl who was incredibly brave but also carrying far more than a 16-year-old should have had to carry.

For a long time, I viewed that version of myself through the lens of survival. Now I view her with tenderness. I don’t ask, “Why did you do that?” I ask, “What did you need?”

That question became an important part of my healing. She didn’t need judgment. She needed safety. She needed reassurance. She needed someone to tell her that her feelings mattered and that she deserved to be heard.

Today, I can be that woman for her.

Ross: A major theme throughout The Remembering is healing the inner child. What does inner child healing mean to you, and why is it so important for women who have experienced abandonment, disappointment, or childhood trauma?

Anthia: Inner child healing means acknowledging the parts of ourselves that are still carrying emotions, beliefs, fears, and unmet needs from childhood.

We can become adults, build careers, raise families, and take care of everyone around us while still having a younger version of ourselves quietly asking to be loved, protected, seen, or chosen.

If we don’t become aware of those wounds, they can influence our relationships, boundaries, self-worth, and the way we respond to rejection or abandonment.

For me, inner child healing isn’t about living in the past. It’s about finally giving ourselves what we needed so that the past doesn’t continue controlling the present.

Sometimes healing begins with a simple question: “What did I need then that I can give myself now?”

Ross: You write about becoming a mother and realizing that you wanted your children to experience something different from what you experienced. How did motherhood change the way you viewed your own childhood and healing journey?

Anthia: Motherhood became one of my greatest mirrors.

As I loved and cared for my children, there were moments when I realized just how much children need emotionally—not only food, clothing, and shelter, but reassurance, affection, consistency, safety, and the freedom to have a voice. Giving those things to my children made me recognize some of the things I had needed as a child.

That realization could be painful, but it was also healing. I had a choice. I could repeat what I knew, or I could consciously create something different. Motherhood made me more intentional about healing because I understood that my children weren’t only listening to what I told them—they were watching how I loved myself, how I allowed others to treat me, how I handled my emotions, and whether I honored my own boundaries. I wanted them to inherit love, not just survival.

Ross: Your story is deeply connected to breaking generational patterns. What does breaking generational trauma mean to you, and how can one woman begin changing patterns that have existed in her family for generations?

Anthia: Breaking generational trauma means becoming conscious of what has been passed down and deciding what ends with you.

Sometimes we inherit patterns without realizing it—silence, abandonment, unhealthy relationships, emotional unavailability, people-pleasing, fear, or the belief that women must sacrifice themselves in order to be loved. One woman can change generations simply by becoming aware.

She begins asking questions: Why do I respond this way? Why do I keep choosing this? Where did I learn this? Does this belief actually belong to me? Then she begins choosing differently. Breaking generational patterns doesn’t mean blaming the women who came before us. Many of them were surviving with the tools and awareness they had. We can honor their survival while choosing something different for ourselves and the generations coming after us. Sometimes honoring our ancestors means continuing their traditions. Sometimes it means healing what they weren’t able to heal.

Ross: You explore trauma bonds and how they can sometimes feel like soulmates. Why do unhealthy relationships sometimes feel so intense, and how can someone recognize the difference between trauma bonding and genuine love?

Anthia: Intensity can easily be mistaken for intimacy. When someone activates an old emotional wound—especially abandonment, rejection, inconsistency, or the need to be chosen—the emotional pull can feel incredibly powerful. There can be highs and lows, distance and reunion, uncertainty and relief. Because the emotions are so strong, we may interpret the connection as something extraordinary. But intensity doesn’t automatically mean love.

Healthy love doesn’t require you to abandon yourself in order to keep another person. It doesn’t keep you constantly questioning your worth or wondering where you stand. Genuine love allows room for honesty, consistency, respect, accountability, emotional safety, and reciprocity.

One of the most important things I’ve learned is that butterflies aren’t always confirmation. Sometimes they are our nervous system responding to something familiar. Healing teaches us that peace can be passionate too.

Ross: How can a woman begin reclaiming her voice after years of being silenced, overlooked, or conditioned to put everyone else before herself?

Anthia: She can begin with the smallest word: no.

No to what drains her. No to relationships that require her silence. No to shrinking herself so other people can remain comfortable.

Then she can begin saying yes.

Yes to her needs. Yes to rest. Yes to her creativity. Yes to boundaries. Yes to speaking honestly.

Yes to becoming someone she may have been taught was “too much.”

Reclaiming your voice doesn’t mean becoming loud. It means becoming truthful.

For me, writing was part of reclaiming mine. Every page allowed me to give language to things I once carried silently.

There is something powerful about realizing, “I am allowed to tell my own story.”

Ross: What role does creativity play in healing, and why do you believe creativity can help women reconnect with parts of themselves that may have been lost during years of survival?

Anthia: Creativity gives the soul somewhere to speak.

When we spend years surviving, life can become centered around responsibility: taking care of children, working, paying bills, solving problems, and taking care of everyone else’s needs.

We can forget to ask ourselves, “What makes me feel alive?” Creativity brings us back to that question.

Writing, painting, dancing, singing, gardening, designing, cooking, making something with our hands—these things can reconnect us with parts of ourselves that existed before survival became our identity.

My writing helped me turn pain into purpose. The experiences were still real, but they were no longer just things that happened to me. I could create meaning from them.

There is freedom in realizing that you are not only the woman who survived your story.

You are also the woman who gets to create what comes next.

Ross: For the woman who has spent years being strong for everyone else but secretly feels exhausted, lost, or disconnected from herself, what would you want her to hear?

Anthia: I would tell her: You are allowed to put yourself down on your own list of people who deserve your love. You don’t have to earn rest. You don’t have to constantly prove your strength. You don’t have to save everyone. And you don’t have to disappear in order to love other people. Ask yourself who you are underneath all the roles you carry—mother, daughter, partner, caregiver, friend, employee. Who is the woman underneath all of that? Go meet her. She may be tired. She may have dreams you’ve forgotten. She may have things she has wanted to say for years. Listen to her. Your next chapter doesn’t require you to become someone else. Sometimes it begins by remembering the woman who has been there all along.

Ross: Ultimately, when a reader closes The Remembering, what do you hope she remembers about who she is, what she deserves, and who she is becoming?

Anthia: I hope she remembers that she was always worthy. Before the abandonment. Before the heartbreak. Before the mistakes. Before the relationships that made her question herself. Before anyone made her believe she had to earn love. She was worthy. I hope she remembers that healing doesn’t erase her story—it changes her relationship with it.

Most importantly, I hope she understands why I called this book The Remembering. This isn’t about becoming someone completely new.

It’s about remembering the woman underneath the wounds. Remembering her voice. Remembering her power. Remembering her dreams. Remembering that she deserves reciprocal, healthy love. Remembering that she can choose differently. And remembering that she has permission to become everything survival once prevented her from being.

Ross: What is your profession aside from writing?

Anthia: Outside of writing, I have worked in healthcare as a caregiver, CNA, and Home Health Aide for more than two decades. Caring for others has been a significant part of my life and has given me an intimate understanding of vulnerability, compassion, dignity, and the importance of simply being present with another human being.

That work has influenced my writing as well. Whether I’m caring for someone physically or encouraging a woman through my words, compassion remains at the center of what I do. I’m also expanding my work into healing-centered spaces, including breathwork, meditation, and exploring ways to support individuals and families through major life transitions.

Ross: What can readers expect next from you?

Anthia: The Remembering is the beginning. I am continuing to write, and one project especially close to my heart is a children’s book centered around self-love and daily affirmations. I want children to begin learning early what so many adults spend years trying to remember—that they are worthy, lovable, powerful, and enough exactly as they are.

I’m also building Moore Love, an organization rooted in hope, healing, compassion, and community, with a particular heart for women and children while welcoming anyone who resonates with its mission.

My future work will continue connecting the things I care deeply about: writing, healing, self-love, creativity, community, and helping people remember who they are. There are many more books inside of me. The Remembering simply opened the door.

Link To Order Anthia's Book The Remembering