By that point in the NICU, my daughter was more stable, but we were in the part that lingers—the feeding, the waiting, the slow stretch before discharge.

I had been changing her, holding her, and learning her cues. Not perfectly, but consistently. I wasn’t new to it anymore.

One day, I was in the middle of changing her diaper when a nurse stepped in and stopped me. She said it wasn’t safe, and then she took over.

It wasn’t loud or aggressive, but it took the wind out of me instantly. I remember just standing there, trying to process what had just happened.

Then I said, “I guess I’ll just go pump.”

I walked into the pumping room,

locked the door, and cried the entire time.

Later, she apologized for overstepping.

She said she was just trying to protect “her baby.”

But the thing is, she wasn’t her baby. She was mine.

That moment stayed with me, ingrained in my mind.

Reflecting on that interaction, it was painful in a way that’s hard to explain—like a role shift, becoming a stranger, even a danger to your own child. Not because of the task itself, but because of what it implied. That I wasn’t safe. That I wasn’t capable. That even after being there, learning, and showing up every day, I still wasn’t trusted.

Recently, I was sitting in a Family-Centered Care Taskforce Community Exchange session, and another mother—who is also a nurse—shared a nearly identical experience. That stopped me, because this isn’t isolated. It’s a pattern.

In settings like the NICU, safety matters.

Protocols matter.

Clinical judgment matters.

But so does how we bring parents into that space.

The language we use and the way we step in doesn’t just protect the baby. It shapes how a parent sees themselves. In my case, it pulled me out of empowerment and shrank what hope there was in that moment.

There is a difference between guiding and taking over, protecting and displacing, supporting and signaling that someone isn’t capable. And that difference matters more than people might realize.

Trauma-informed care in the NICU isn’t just about what happens during critical events. It’s also about moments like this—moments that seem small clinically but change the trajectory of parent connection.

There are evidence-based ways to involve parents safely in care and to build confidence instead of quietly taking it away. Work in trauma-informed neonatal care, including the frameworks developed by Mary E. Coughlin, emphasizes protecting the parent–infant relationship as part of care, not separate from it.

I never want to be part of a moment like that for another mother.

Not as a nurse.

Not as someone in the room.

Because you can protect a patient without making a parent feel like they are a risk to their own child.

This is exactly the space I am working to change through The Neuro Care Bridge.

Further Reading:

• Trauma-Informed Care in the NICU, Mary E. Coughlin
• Transformative Nursing in the NICU, Mary E. Coughlin