The other night, Matt’s (my partner) mom called to check in, and somehow we ended up talking about screen time. She couldn’t understand why I limit what Ellie watches, saying she raised Matt just fine with TV on all day.
I felt that familiar tightness in my chest—the defensiveness that comes when someone questions your parenting.
But then I paused. Took a breath.
What if I tried to actually see it from her perspective instead of just defending mine?
That conversation shifted something for me. It made me realize how often we all stay trapped in our own generational bubble, unable or unwilling to understand why someone from a different era thinks the way they do.
And honestly? That’s a shame. Because there’s so much we miss when we can’t see beyond our own experience.
With this in mind, I am going to dive into six ways we can see beyond our own experience, for the better of all.
1) Remember that context shapes everything
Here’s what I’ve come to understand: my mom’s generation grew up in a world where questioning authority wasn’t really an option. Her parents said something, and that was that. No discussion, no explanation—just obedience.
So when she gets uncomfortable with how I talk to Ellie about her feelings, asking “tell me more” instead of just saying “because I said so,” it’s not that she thinks I’m wrong. It’s that it feels foreign to everything she knew as normal.
My generation was raised with a bit more room to ask questions. We grew up as psychology and child development research became mainstream. Attachment parenting wasn’t even a term when my mom was raising us.
Different times created different perspectives.
When I remember that my parents’ strict approach came from their own childhood in an even stricter home, it’s easier to have compassion. They were doing their best with what they knew. Just like I’m doing my best with what I know now.
2) Let go of the need to be right
This one’s hard for me. I’m a recovering perfectionist, and I used to think that if someone disagreed with my parenting choices, one of us had to be wrong.
But that’s not actually how it works, is it?
When Matt’s dad suggested we let Milo “cry it out” at six months because “it worked for all his kids,” my first instinct was to launch into research to prove why my way was right and his was outdated.
Instead, I tried something different. I said, “I can see that approach worked really well for your family. For us, responding to Milo’s cries feels right, even if it means less sleep.”
No debate. No winner. Just two valid perspectives from two different generations.
The relief in his face told me everything. He wasn’t trying to undermine me—he was trying to help based on what worked for him.
3) Ask questions instead of making assumptions
Last month at the farmers’ market, I ran into a woman I knew from my teaching days.
She’s probably twenty years older than me, and when she saw Ellie helping me sort vegetables, she made a comment about how kids today don’t know hard work like they used to.
I could’ve gotten defensive. Could’ve listed all the ways Ellie contributes to our household.
But instead I asked, “What kind of work did you do as a kid?”
What followed was this beautiful conversation about her childhood on a farm, waking before dawn to help with animals, the responsibility she carried that I honestly can’t imagine for a five-year-old today. She wasn’t criticizing Ellie—she was remembering a completely different childhood reality.
“Tell me more about that” is something I say to my kids constantly, but I forget to use it with older generations too. When we ask instead of assume, we usually find there’s more understanding available than we thought.
4) Recognize what you’ve inherited (even if you’ve changed it)
I make everything from scratch just like my mom did. I have a garden just like she did. I’m careful with money just like she was.
The difference? She did those things out of anxiety and scarcity. I do them from a place of intentional choice and values around sustainability.
Same actions, completely different energy.
It took me years to see that distinction. To recognize that even as I’ve created a different family culture with more emotional openness, I’ve still inherited so much from the generation before me. And that’s not a bad thing.
When my mom visits and sees me making bone broth in the slow cooker or hanging cloth diapers on the line, there’s this flicker of recognition in her eyes. She might not understand all my parenting philosophies, but she understands working with your hands and making do.
That shared ground matters.
5) Hold space for both/and thinking
I recently finished reading Rudá Iandê’s book “Laughing in the Face of Chaos,” and one insight really stuck with me about how we’re not meant to be static replicas of those who came before us, but dynamic expressions of life flowing through us.
That resonates with this idea of generational empathy.
My parents’ generation often thinks in either/or terms. You’re either strict or permissive. Kids either respect authority or they’re spoiled.
But I’m learning to hold both/and instead.
I can respect my dad’s work ethic AND choose to prioritize presence over productivity. I can appreciate how my mom kept an immaculate house AND be okay with toys scattered across my living room. I can honor the ways previous generations showed love through provision AND also make space for emotional connection.
It’s not rejecting what came before. It’s building on it.
When I approach conversations with this both/and mindset, there’s less friction. Less feeling like I have to choose between honoring my parents and being myself.
6) Practice repair when you miss the mark
Last week I snapped at Matt’s mom when she suggested Milo might sleep better if we stopped co-sleeping. I was exhausted, touched-out, and her comment felt like judgment even though she probably meant well.
Later, after the kids were asleep, I called her back.
“I’m sorry I was short with you earlier. I know you’re just trying to help, and I appreciate that you care about Milo’s sleep. It’s just that this is working for our family right now, even if it looks different than what worked for you.”
She was quiet for a moment, then said something that surprised me: “I wish I’d felt free to make different choices when I was raising my kids. I’m glad you do.”
That moment of repair opened up something between us that defensiveness never could have.
I practice repair with Ellie and Milo constantly—it’s part of how I want them to learn that relationships can weather mistakes. But I forget to do it with older generations too. To acknowledge when I’ve been dismissive or impatient with perspectives that differ from mine.
Nobody gets it right all the time. Not me, not my parents, not my kids someday when they’re navigating parenthood with their own new ideas.
What matters is coming back to connection.
Final thoughts
Here’s what I keep coming back to: every generation is doing their best with what they know in the time they’re living.
My grandparents raised kids in post-war scarcity. My parents raised kids in a world that valued achievement and control. I’m raising kids in an era that prioritizes emotional intelligence and connection.
None of us are wrong. We’re just different.
The real gift—both for ourselves and for the generations that bookend us—is when we can see beyond our own experience long enough to understand someone else’s. To ask questions instead of defending positions. To find the common ground that exists even across vastly different approaches.
This doesn’t mean abandoning your values or parenting however your parents think you should. I’m still going to choose gentle boundaries over fear-based discipline. I’m still going to prioritize organic food and limit screens and respond to my kids’ feelings.
But I can do all of that while also having empathy for generations who made different choices. While also learning from their wisdom. While also acknowledging that someday, Ellie and Milo might parent in ways I don’t fully understand—and that’ll be okay too.
Because that’s how it works. Each generation builds on what came before, takes what serves them, releases what doesn’t, and creates something new.
The art isn’t in proving we’re right. It’s in staying curious, compassionate, and connected across the gaps.
