I always thought I had this whole parenting thing figured out. Natural living, attachment parenting, being present for my kids in ways my own father never was. I read all the books, went to the workshops, and prided myself on breaking generational patterns.
Then last month, my adult son came to visit. We were sitting on the porch while his younger siblings played in the garden, and he said something that stopped me cold: “Mom, I need to tell you some things about how you raised me that still affect me today.”
My heart dropped. Here I was, writing about gentle parenting and conscious living, thinking I’d done everything right. But as he shared his truth, I realized there were blind spots I never even knew existed. Things I did with the best intentions that actually made his journey harder.
What he told me that day changed everything about how I parent my little ones now. And honestly? It was one of the most valuable conversations of my life.
1. I constantly compared him to other kids
“Remember how you’d always mention what other kids were doing?” he asked. “Like when Sam got into honors math or when the neighbor’s kid made varsity? You thought you were motivating me, but I just felt like I was never enough.”
My stomach churned. I thought I was being encouraging, showing him what was possible. But looking back, I can see it now. Those casual comments about other children’s achievements were my own insecurities talking. Growing up with a father who barely acknowledged my accomplishments, I overcompensated by hyper-focusing on achievement.
Now with my little ones, I catch myself before those comparisons slip out. When my daughter shows me her artwork, I focus on her effort and creativity, not how it measures up to anyone else’s. It’s harder than I thought to break this pattern, but awareness is everything.
2. I solved his problems instead of teaching him how
This one hurt because I genuinely thought I was being a supportive mom. Whenever he struggled with homework, I’d sit down and basically do it with him. When he had conflicts with friends, I’d call other parents to smooth things over.
“You never let me fail,” he said gently. “So when I got to college and real life, I didn’t know how to handle setbacks.”
Have you ever had one of those moments where your whole parenting philosophy gets turned upside down? That was mine. I was so focused on protecting him from the pain I felt as a child that I forgot failure is actually a teacher.
These days, when my two-year-old gets frustrated trying to put on his shoes, I sit on my hands (literally sometimes) and let him work through it. The urge to jump in is still strong, but I’m learning that struggle builds strength.
3. I made my anxiety his responsibility
“You used to get so worried when I’d go anywhere,” he continued. “You’d text constantly, and if I didn’t respond right away, you’d panic. I started lying about where I was going just to avoid stressing you out.”
Ouch. As someone who writes about mindful parenting, this was a tough pill to swallow. My anxiety about his safety became his burden to manage. Instead of dealing with my own fears from my unstable childhood, I projected them onto him.
What really got me was when he said he still feels guilty doing things he knows would worry me, even as an adult. That’s not the legacy I wanted to leave.
4. I dismissed his feelings when they were inconvenient
Remember those moments when kids have big emotions at the worst possible times? Turns out, I had a pattern of minimizing his feelings when they didn’t fit my schedule.
“When I was upset about something, you’d often say things like ‘You’re fine’ or ‘It’s not that bad’ if we were in public or you were busy,” he shared. “I learned to stuff everything down.”
This hit particularly hard because emotional awareness is something I pride myself on now. But back then? I was still operating from my own childhood programming where feelings were luxuries we couldn’t afford to indulge.
With my current little ones, I’m working hard to honor their emotions even when the timing is terrible. Yes, it means we’ve left a few grocery carts full of food behind, but their emotional development matters more than my convenience.
5. I lived through his accomplishments
“Mom, remember how excited you’d get when I won something? Sometimes it felt like my achievements were more about you than me.”
He was right. Every award, every good grade, every accomplishment felt like validation that I was a good mother. That I was nothing like my emotionally distant father. But in making his successes about my worth as a parent, I put pressure on him he never asked for.
These days, when my daughter proudly shows me something she’s learned, I focus on her joy rather than my pride. It’s a subtle shift, but an important one.
6. I never admitted when I was wrong
“You always had to be right,” he said quietly. “Even when you made mistakes, you’d find a way to justify them instead of just saying sorry.”
This one caught me completely off guard. But thinking back, he was absolutely right. I was so afraid of losing authority or appearing weak that I couldn’t model what genuine accountability looked like.
Do you know how powerful it is to tell a five-year-old “I was wrong, and I’m sorry”? My daughter’s face when I first genuinely apologized to her for losing my temper was pure shock followed by the biggest hug. We’re teaching them that everyone makes mistakes, even (especially) parents.
7. I didn’t take care of myself
“You were always exhausted, always stressed, always putting everyone else first,” he said. “I grew up thinking that’s what love looked like, running yourself into the ground for others.”
This might have been the most important revelation. My martyrdom wasn’t noble; it was harmful. By never showing him that I had needs and boundaries, I taught him that self-care was selfish.
The path forward
That conversation with my son was a gift, even though it didn’t feel like it in the moment. He wasn’t angry or accusatory. He was honest and loving, helping me see patterns I was already starting to repeat with his younger siblings.
The beautiful thing about parenting is that it’s never too late to change course. My relationship with my adult son has deepened since that conversation. We talk more openly now, and I’ve finally learned to apologize for the impacts of my well-intentioned mistakes.
With my young children, I’m trying to do better. Not perfect, just better. I mess up daily, but now I own it. I take breaks when I need them. I let them struggle and fail and figure things out. I validate their feelings even when they’re inconvenient.
Most importantly, I’ve stopped trying to be the parent I thought I should be and started being the parent my children actually need. And that starts with listening, really listening, to what they’re telling me, both now and years from now.
