Ever notice how a simple phone call with your parents can leave you feeling like you’re somehow failing at life? Last week, my mom called to “check in,” and within five minutes, I’d heard about how tired I sounded, how the kids probably need more structure, and how she’s “just worried” about us managing everything.
She meant it lovingly, I know she did. But I hung up feeling criticized, exhausted, and questioning every parenting choice I’d made that week.
If this sounds familiar, you’re not alone. There’s this strange phenomenon where the generation that raised us on tough love and “because I said so” now expresses affection through what feels like constant concern and subtle judgment. They mean well, truly. But somewhere between their intention and our reception, the message gets scrambled.
Growing up in a small Midwest town with traditional parents, I learned early that love often came wrapped in worry and suggestions for improvement. Now, as I navigate raising my two little ones with a gentler approach, I’m realizing just how deeply those patterns run.
And I’m learning that understanding these phrases for what they are—misguided attempts at connection—might be the key to preserving our relationships with our parents while protecting our own peace.
1) “You look tired—are you taking care of yourself?”
This one hits different when you’re juggling work, kids, and trying to maintain some semblance of a life. Yes, I’m tired. I have a two-year-old who thinks 5 AM is party time and a five-year-old with approximately 47,000 questions per day.
But here’s what’s happening: our parents see exhaustion as a problem to solve rather than a normal part of this phase of life. They genuinely worry we’re not prioritizing ourselves, but the delivery feels like judgment on our ability to manage our lives.
What they’re really saying? “I love you and I’m concerned.” What we hear? “You’re not handling things well.” The disconnect is real, and it stings every time.
2) “When I was raising kids, we didn’t need all these fancy methods”
Oh, this one. Every time I mention something about gentle parenting or explain why we’re choosing to handle tantrums differently, I can see it coming. The raised eyebrow, the slight head shake, then boom—there it is.
My parents are slowly coming around to what they call my “hippie parenting,” but not without resistance. They see my research-backed approaches as criticism of how they raised me. I see their comments as dismissive of my efforts to break cycles and parent more consciously.
The truth? They’re trying to relate and share their experience. But when everything from car seats to screen time has evolved since the 80s, their “we turned out fine” feels less like wisdom and more like minimizing the thought we put into raising our kids.
3) “I’m just trying to help”
Usually said after offering unsolicited advice about everything from sleep schedules to what we’re feeding the kids. Last month, I mentioned the kids were going through a picky eating phase, and suddenly I was drowning in suggestions about hiding vegetables and “just making them sit there until they eat.”
This phrase is their get-out-of-jail-free card, their way of saying their intentions were pure even if the impact was hurtful. And you know what? Their intentions probably were pure.
But intention doesn’t erase impact, and constantly defending their advice as “just helping” invalidates our feelings about receiving it.
4) “You’re too sensitive”
The classic boomer response when we try to set a boundary or express that something hurt our feelings. I recently told my mother that her comments about our relaxed routine were stressing me out, and this was her immediate response.
What makes this particularly painful is that many of us are actively working to honor our emotions and model emotional intelligence for our kids—the very thing our generation often lacked growing up. Being called “too sensitive” for having boundaries feels like punishment for growth.
They think they’re helping us toughen up. We experience it as dismissal of our feelings and needs. The gap between these two realities is where relationships fracture.
5) “I don’t want to interfere, but…”
Everything after that “but” is absolutely interference, and we all know it. This phrase is like a warning shot across the bow—brace yourself, unsolicited advice incoming.
Whether it’s about our parenting, our marriage, our home, or our careers, this phrase pretends to respect boundaries while actively crossing them. It’s the verbal equivalent of knocking while already opening the door.
The irony? They genuinely think adding this disclaimer makes it better. In their minds, acknowledging they shouldn’t interfere somehow gives them permission to do exactly that.
6) “Your kids need more structure/discipline/rules”
Translation: “You’re too permissive and your kids are going to be spoiled.” This one particularly stings when you’re intentionally choosing a different path than the authoritarian style many of us grew up with.
Every time my kids have a normal kid moment in front of my parents—a meltdown, a refusal to share, a bout of wild energy—I brace for this comment. They see chaos where I see childhood. They see permissiveness where I see respect for my children’s emotions and developmental stage.
What hurts most? The implication that we’re failing our kids by not parenting exactly as they did, despite many of us working hard to heal from aspects of that very parenting style.
7) “In my day…”
Nothing good ever follows this phrase. It’s always a comparison where the present comes up short. In their day, kids were more respectful, parents were more in charge, life was simpler, and everyone was better off.
Maybe that’s true in some ways. But this constant comparison invalidates the very real challenges of raising kids today—from social media to school shootings to a pandemic that turned parenting upside down. We’re not raising kids in their day. We’re raising them now, with all the complexity that brings.
Finding our way forward
Here’s what I’m learning: these phrases aren’t really about us. They’re about our parents’ anxieties, their need to still feel needed, their struggle to understand a world that’s changed dramatically since they were in our shoes. Recognizing this doesn’t make the comments less frustrating, but it does help me respond with more grace.
I’m working on setting boundaries with my family about parenting choices while still honoring the love behind their concern. Some days I nail it, clearly and kindly redirecting the conversation. Other days, I bite my tongue so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t bleed.
What helps most is remembering that I’m modeling something important for my own kids—how to maintain relationships while maintaining boundaries, how to honor your own path while respecting others’ experiences, and how to break cycles with love rather than anger.
Our parents may never fully understand our choices. They may keep wrapping their love in worry and their support in suggestions. But we get to choose how we receive it, how we respond to it, and ultimately, how we’ll do it differently with our own grown children someday.
Because if I’m honest, I really hope that thirty years from now, my kids feel safe enough to tell me when my well-intentioned words miss the mark. That would mean I’ve raised them to honor their own feelings and experiences—even when they conflict with mine. And isn’t that exactly what we’re all trying to do?
