Ever notice how quiet your phone stays except when your adult kids need money, a babysitter, or help moving? If that hits close to home, I need to tell you something that might sting a bit: this pattern probably started when they were still asking for juice boxes and bedtime stories.
I spent over thirty years in human resources at a large manufacturing company, helping people navigate workplace conflicts. You’d think that would’ve made me an expert at family communication too. Wrong.
It took me far too long to realize that my relationship with my own sons was following a script I’d written decades ago without even knowing it.
The uncomfortable truth is that transactional relationships with our adult children rarely appear overnight. They’re usually the culmination of patterns we established when they were young, patterns we thought were good parenting at the time.
You trained them to come to you for solutions, not connection
Think back to when your kids were growing up. How often did conversations revolve around fixing problems versus just being together? I remember countless discussions with my sons about homework, chores, grades, and behavior. But how many times did we just talk about nothing important?
When every interaction becomes about accomplishing something or solving an issue, we accidentally teach our children that our relationship exists primarily for practical purposes. They learn that calling Mom or Dad means getting something done, not just catching up.
I see this clearly now when I think about my older son’s teenage years.
Every conversation seemed to center on his future, his college applications, his career prospects. I pushed him toward a career path that made perfect sense on paper but wasn’t right for him at all. We spent so much time discussing practical matters that we forgot to just enjoy each other’s company.
The result? He learned that our relationship was transactional. Call Dad when you need career advice or financial guidance. The rest of the time? Radio silence.
Your help always came with strings attached
Here’s another pattern I’ve seen both in myself and countless other parents: we give help, but it’s rarely free. There’s always a lesson attached, a suggestion included, or an “I told you so” waiting in the wings.
When your twenty-something calls about car trouble and you help but spend the next ten minutes explaining how they should’ve maintained it better, you’re attaching strings. When you loan money but add a lecture about budgeting, those are strings too.
My younger son finally told me something that changed everything. He said my constant advice felt like criticism, even when I thought I was being helpful. Every time he shared a problem, I’d launch into fix-it mode, complete with opinions he never asked for. No wonder he stopped calling just to chat.
Who wants to feel judged every time they pick up the phone?
You never modeled asking for help yourself
How often did your kids see you vulnerable? Did they witness you asking others for support, admitting mistakes, or acknowledging when you didn’t have all the answers?
If you’re like I was, probably not often. I maintained the image of having it all together, the parent who could handle anything. But what message does that send? It teaches kids that needing help is weakness, that relationships should be one-directional.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned that showing my sons I need them too changes our entire dynamic. When I ask for their opinions or admit I’m struggling with something, it creates space for genuine two-way connection.
The conversations you avoid are the ones that matter most
Want to know what really transformed my relationship with my sons? Apologizing. Not generic apologies, but specific ones for specific mistakes.
I sat down with my older son and apologized for pushing him toward that career path that wasn’t right for him. Told him I was wrong, that I should’ve listened better, trusted his judgment more. That conversation opened doors that had been closed for years.
Most of us avoid these vulnerable conversations. We tell ourselves the past is the past, that bringing up old wounds serves no purpose. But unaddressed hurt doesn’t disappear. It sits there, creating distance, making every interaction feel hollow.
If you’re wondering why your adult children keep you at arm’s length, ask yourself what conversations you’ve been avoiding. What apologies might you owe? What assumptions about their lives have you never questioned?
Breaking the pattern starts with changing your approach
The good news? It’s never too late to change these dynamics, though it takes patience and genuine effort.
I discovered that my sons talk to me far more now that I ask questions instead of offering opinions. Simple questions like “How are you feeling about that?” or “What do you think you’ll do?” work wonders. They create space for actual dialogue instead of me delivering monologues.
Stop treating every call as an opportunity to parent. They’re adults now. They need a friend more than a teacher. Save the advice for when they specifically ask for it, which they will once they trust that calling you doesn’t automatically mean getting a lecture.
Start calling them without an agenda. No checking up, no subtle questioning about their life choices. Just call to say you were thinking about them. Share something funny that happened to you. Ask about their favorite TV show. These small, purposeless conversations build the foundation for deeper connection.
Closing thoughts
If your adult children only reach out when they need something, yes, it hurts. But recognizing that this pattern likely started long ago isn’t about blame. It’s about understanding that you have the power to change it.
The relationship you have with your adult children today isn’t set in stone. Every interaction is a chance to rewrite the script, to show them that your connection can be about more than problems and solutions.
Are you ready to have those difficult conversations, to apologize for specific mistakes, to stop offering unsolicited advice? The choice is yours, but I can tell you from experience that the reward of genuine connection with your adult children is worth every uncomfortable moment it takes to get there.
What’s one thing you could do differently the next time your adult child calls?
