Henry VIII married Catherine - 1543

When Henry VIII married Catherine Parr in 1543, Elizabeth was ten years old. By then, Elizabeth had endured the execution of her mother, Anne Boleyn, her father’s unpredictable treatment, and years of uncertainty about her status. Catherine Parr changed that.

Unlike many of Henry’s earlier queens, Catherine embraced her stepchildren. She welcomed Elizabeth into her household, ensuring she received the best education of her generation. Parr supervised Elizabeth’s tutors, including William Grindal and Roger Ascham, who encouraged her mastery of Latin, Greek, French, Italian, and theology. Catherine herself was a published author, with works such as Prayers or Meditations (1545), and Elizabeth witnessed firsthand how an educated woman could wield both intellect and influence.

Elizabeth deeply valued Catherine’s care. In one letter, she wrote: “God hath given me such a mother in your Grace, that I cannot but ever praise Him for it.” Catherine provided what Elizabeth had lacked since Anne Boleyn’s death—maternal affection and stability.

Yet, Henry’s presence was always a shadow. His moods were dangerous, his approval fleeting. At times, he praised Elizabeth’s brilliance before ambassadors; at others, he ignored her or reminded her of her illegitimacy. As trauma scholar Judith Herman notes, “children subjected to capricious authority learn to live with fear and vigilance as constants.”¹ Catherine’s love mattered all the more because Elizabeth knew how easily it could vanish in her father’s volatile court.

Through Catherine, Elizabeth gained more than affection—she gained tools for survival. Catherine taught her how a woman could balance intellect, faith, and political awareness, lessons Elizabeth would later use as queen.

Thomas Seymour Affair - 1547

Henry VIII died in January 1547, leaving Catherine free to remarry. She quickly wed Thomas Seymour, the Lord High Admiral and uncle to the young King Edward VI. At first, Elizabeth continued to live in Catherine’s household, seemingly secure under her stepmother’s protection. But soon, the situation took a darker turn.

Thomas Seymour began to pay inappropriate attention to the fourteen-year-old princess. He entered her chambers early in the morning, tickled her, and made suggestive remarks. Catherine initially dismissed these actions as playful, even joining in on one occasion. But as the behavior escalated, it caused scandal within the household.

For Elizabeth, this was another devastating betrayal. A stepmother who had once represented stability distanced herself when Seymour’s advances became too obvious to ignore. Elizabeth was removed from the household and placed elsewhere, an abrupt separation that left her vulnerable and isolated. Historian David Starkey argues that this period profoundly shaped Elizabeth’s guarded nature, teaching her the dangers of misplaced trust.²

Modern trauma theory sheds light on the impact. Bessel van der Kolk observes in The Body Keeps the Score that “childhood betrayal by trusted caregivers often results in profound mistrust and difficulties in forming safe attachments.”³ Elizabeth’s experiences with Seymour and Catherine Parr reinforced the lesson that even those closest to her could not always be relied upon.

The scandal marked the end of Elizabeth’s brief period of stability. It was a turning point: Elizabeth learned to guard her emotions, control her behavior, and trust few people fully. This emotional restraint would become central to her reign, protecting her in moments of political danger but leaving her personally isolated.

On September 7, 1533, Elizabeth Tudor was born at Greenwich Palace, the daughter of King Henry VIII and his second wife, Anne Boleyn. Her arrival was a moment of both celebration and disappointment. For her mother, it was a triumph: Anne had secured her position as queen by giving birth to a legitimate royal heir. For her father, however, Elizabeth’s birth was a bitter blow.

When the child was revealed to be a girl, Henry’s initial joy quickly cooled. While Elizabeth was baptized with full royal ceremony at the Church of the Observant Friars, the king’s disappointment was obvious. He had expected a prince, not a princess.

Though Elizabeth was acknowledged as legitimate at birth, her position was precarious. Henry reassured himself that a son would surely follow soon—but the tension over her gender cast a shadow from her very first days. Elizabeth’s sex became the defining factor of her early life and the root of much of the trauma she would later endure.

No letters from Elizabeth to Parr survive after this time. While Elizabeth had previously expressed affection and loyalty through her correspondence, her silence following the scandal is striking. As historian Judith Herman notes, betrayal by a trusted caregiver can leave a deep and lasting wound, particularly for children, and Elizabeth’s response — withdrawing from Parr — reflects this dynamic. The absence of written communication itself becomes a testimony to the trauma she experienced: Parr’s abandonment disrupted the trust Elizabeth had cultivated, and for a young girl already scarred by her mother’s execution and her father’s distant treatment, it was another profound loss.