There’s a quiet shift that happens when you become a parent.
One day you’re the center of your child’s little world—the one they run to, the one they imitate, the one whose approval lights up their face.
But as they grow, that admiration doesn’t automatically stay. It becomes something we earn—not through perfection, but through presence, humility, and integrity.
And here’s the thing I’ve learned (usually the hard way): our kids watch everything.
They remember the tone we use, the way we handle frustration, the moments when we either choose control or choose connection.
If we want them to look back with admiration—not just love—we have to let go of a few habits that quietly chip away at that bond.
Let’s talk about eight of them.
1) Constantly needing to be right
When my daughter, Ellie, was four, she corrected me about the name of a bird in our garden. I almost brushed her off—because, of course, I knew it was a sparrow. But then I looked closer. She was right. It was a finch.
That small moment reminded me how hard it can be, as parents, to admit we’re wrong.
Somewhere between wiping noses and juggling bedtime routines, it’s easy to slip into “authority mode,” where we feel the need to be right all the time. But if we never model humility, how will our kids learn it?
Owning our mistakes shows kids that respect goes both ways—that we value truth more than ego.
When you get it wrong, say it out loud: “You’re right. I messed that up.” Those are the moments that stick. They teach our kids that being human is okay—and that integrity is stronger than pride.
2) Dismissing their feelings because they seem “small”
Ever told your child, “It’s not a big deal,” when they were in tears? I have. More than once. And every time, I regret it later.
To us, the broken crayon or playground slight might seem tiny—but to a child, it’s their whole world in that moment.
When we minimize those emotions, we don’t make them tougher; we make them quieter. And quiet kids grow into adults who second-guess their feelings.
Instead, what if we just witnessed? Sometimes I kneel beside my son, Milo, and say, “That really hurt, huh?”
That one sentence changes the entire atmosphere. He feels seen. And once he feels seen, the storm passes faster.
When we hold space for their small hurts, we’re actually building big trust.
3) Talking more than listening
It’s easy to fill the silence with lectures, right? Especially when we’re tired or running late. I’ve caught myself doing it—rambling about what they should do differently—while they tune out halfway through.
But admiration doesn’t come from being the loudest voice. It comes from being the one who listens. When we really listen, without jumping to correct or advise, our kids feel respected.
That’s what earns their trust later—especially when they’re teenagers.
Lately, I’ve been trying a small shift: instead of giving an answer right away, I ask, “Do you want me to listen or help solve it?”
Most times, Ellie just wants to be heard. Milo, being two, mostly wants a snack. But that question reminds me that connection comes before correction.
4) Making everything about performance
The world already measures our kids by grades, trophies, and milestones. They don’t need us adding to the scoreboard.
When I catch myself praising Ellie only for what she does (“Great job coloring!”), I try to balance it with who she is: “I love how patient you were with that picture.” It shifts her focus from performance to character.
Dr. Carol Dweck, author of Mindset, explains that “praising intelligence or talent puts a child in a fixed mindset,” while praising effort and strategy helps them stay curious and confident.
I want my kids to feel proud of trying, not terrified of failing.
Because one day, when I’m older and they’re grown, I don’t want them to admire my achievements—I want them to admire how I showed up: imperfect, persistent, and kind.
5) Letting screens replace presence
I’ll be honest—this one still stings. There are nights when I catch myself scrolling while my kids play nearby, telling myself I’m “just checking something quickly.”
Then I look up, and Ellie’s pretending to read to Milo with a stuffed bunny as her audience. And I missed it.
Our kids won’t remember every dinner we cooked, but they’ll remember how present we were. That doesn’t mean you need to toss your phone in a lake.
But it might mean setting little rituals—like “no phones during breakfast,” or “no screens after storytime.”
It’s not about perfection; it’s about attention. Admiration grows from those quiet, ordinary moments when they know we’re truly there.
6) Holding grudges instead of offering grace
Kids mess up—a lot. They spill juice, break toys, forget promises. Sometimes, they even shout hurtful words in the heat of emotion.
But holding onto those moments builds walls instead of bridges.
Forgiveness is what softens the edges of family life. It says, “I love you even when you get it wrong.” And believe me, they’ll mirror that compassion later when we’re the ones making mistakes.
When Ellie spills smoothie on my favorite rug, I take a deep breath (or five).
Then I remind myself: one day, I’ll want her to offer me that same grace when I forget something important.
Because admiration doesn’t grow from fear—it grows from forgiveness.
7) Ignoring your own growth
If we want our kids to admire us later, we have to keep growing ourselves. Not in a hustle-culture kind of way—but in how we learn, heal, and evolve.
Our children notice when we try to be better listeners, or when we apologize more quickly.
They see when we pick up a new hobby, or admit we don’t know everything. Those things matter.
I’ve learned that modeling curiosity—like saying, “I’ve never tried that before, let’s learn together!”—keeps us human and relatable.
It tells them adulthood isn’t the end of growth; it’s the continuation of it.
8) Forgetting to enjoy them
Sometimes, in the swirl of parenting goals—healthy meals, tidy homes, bedtime routines—we forget the simplest truth: our kids just want to enjoy us.
They want us to laugh at their made-up songs, to dance in the kitchen, to get muddy in the garden.
These are the memories that build lifelong admiration—the kind that isn’t about authority but about affection.
When I think about my own parents, the moments that make me smile aren’t the lectures or rules; they’re the days we got caught in the rain or stayed up telling stories.
That’s the legacy I want to leave for Ellie and Milo.
Because one day, when they’re adults reflecting on their childhood, I don’t want them to say, “Mom had it all together.” I want them to say, “Mom really enjoyed us.”
Closing thoughts
Parenting isn’t about raising perfect kids—or being the perfect parent. It’s about relationship. And relationships thrive when they’re rooted in humility, empathy, and joy.
If we can let go of the need to be right, to control, to rush, or to perform, we make space for something better: connection.
The kind that lasts long after they’ve outgrown our laps and started living their own stories.
One day, when we’re older and our children have families of their own, I hope they’ll look back and see not a flawless parent—but a real one.
Someone who tried, who grew, who laughed, and who loved them out loud.
That’s the kind of admiration that never fades.
