My younger son calls me maybe once a month. My older one? We have a standing weekly phone date every Sunday. Same parents, same upbringing, vastly different communication styles. And you know what? I’ve learned that neither approach means one loves me more than the other.
This whole thing got me thinking about a pattern I see everywhere these days. Parents of adult millennials wondering why their kids don’t reach out more. Why visits feel scheduled rather than spontaneous. Why asking for help seems to be the last thing on their children’s minds.
The answer isn’t what most parents want to hear. It’s not about love or lack thereof. It’s about how we raised them.
We taught them not to need us
Think back to the 80s and 90s when many millennials were growing up. What were the parenting buzzwords? Independence. Self-reliance. Don’t be a burden. Stand on your own two feet.
I remember telling my boys constantly that they needed to figure things out for themselves. When they were young, I was right there, hands-on dad mode fully activated. But as they hit their teenage years and my work got more demanding, I shifted gears. I pulled back, thinking I was doing them a favor by forcing independence.
“You’re smart enough to handle this yourself,” I’d say. Or “You don’t need me to solve this for you.”
Sound familiar?
We thought we were building strong, capable adults. And in many ways, we succeeded. But somewhere along the way, we accidentally taught them that needing support — even from us — was a sign of weakness.
The self-sufficiency trap
Here’s what really opened my eyes. A few years back, my younger son was going through a rough patch at work. I found out about it weeks after the fact, through his wife. When I asked why he hadn’t called me, he said something that stuck with me: “I didn’t want to bother you with my problems.”
Bother me? His own father?
But then I remembered all those times I’d praised him for handling things on his own. All those moments I’d celebrated his independence like it was the ultimate achievement. No wonder he internalized the message that coming to me for support was somehow falling short.
The psychologist Erik Erikson talked about different life stages and the conflicts we face in each. For young adults, it’s intimacy versus isolation. But when we’ve raised a generation to prize self-sufficiency above all else, we’ve tipped the scales toward isolation without meaning to.
Different kids, different distances
What makes this even more complex is that every kid processes these messages differently. My older son calls every week like clockwork. We chat about everything and nothing — the weather, his kids, what he’s cooking for dinner. My younger one texts sporadically, usually with specific questions or updates.
For years, I’ll admit, this bothered me. Why couldn’t my younger son just pick up the phone more? Was I closer to one than the other?
Then his wife mentioned something in passing. She said he talks about me all the time, quotes things I’ve taught him, uses me as a sounding board for parenting decisions — just internally, not externally. He carries our relationship with him differently than his brother does.
Both approaches are valid. Both sons love me. They just show it through different communication styles shaped by personality and, yes, those independence messages we hammered home.
When helping becomes criticizing
There’s another piece to this puzzle that took me way too long to figure out. For years, whenever my sons did call or visit, I’d jump into problem-solving mode. They’d mention something — anything — and I’d immediately offer advice.
“You should try this…”
“Have you considered…”
“When I was your age…”
My younger son finally told me straight out: “Dad, sometimes I just want to talk. Not every conversation needs to end with a life lesson.”
Ouch. But he was right.
I thought I was being helpful, sharing my wisdom. But to him, it felt like constant criticism. Like nothing he did was quite good enough without my input. No wonder he started calling less. Who wants to chat with someone who makes you feel like you’re always falling short?
The generational echo
Now I watch my sons raise their own children, and it’s fascinating. They’re making different choices than I did. More emotional availability. More “it’s okay to need help.” More connection without conditions.
But they’re also making their own mistakes. Different ones than mine, sure, but mistakes nonetheless. And that’s okay. Each generation has to figure out their own balance between independence and interdependence.
My grandkids are growing up with parents who are trying to thread a different needle — teaching self-reliance without making needing others feel like failure. Will they overcorrect in the opposite direction? Maybe. That’s how the pendulum of parenting swings.
Breaking the pattern
So what can we do as parents of adult millennials who want more connection?
First, stop taking it personally. The distance isn’t about you. It’s about decades of cultural messaging about what it means to be a successful adult.
Second, meet them where they are. If texting works better than calling, text. If they prefer scheduled visits to surprise drop-ins, schedule them. Fighting their communication style only reinforces that you don’t really get them.
Third, and this was huge for me, stop offering unsolicited advice. Just listen. Be present. Let them know you’re available without making them feel like they’re weak for potentially needing you.
Finally, share your own struggles and times you’ve needed help. Break down that wall between “parents who have it all together” and “kids who are still figuring it out.” We’re all still figuring it out, no matter our age.
Closing thoughts
The irony isn’t lost on me. We raised our millennial children to be exactly what we thought we wanted them to be — independent, self-sufficient, capable. Then we wonder why they don’t lean on us more.
But here’s what gives me hope. Recognizing the pattern is the first step to changing it. Every time we resist the urge to immediately problem-solve, every time we accept their communication style instead of demanding ours, every time we show our own vulnerability, we chip away at those old messages.
Will it transform overnight? Of course not. We’re working against decades of conditioning. But relationships are living things. They can evolve, grow, change shape.
So here’s my question for you: What message did you inadvertently send your kids about needing others? And more importantly, what message do you want to send them now?
