Here’s something I’ve been thinking about lately: we spend so much time teaching our kids how to say “please” and “thank you,” but what about teaching ourselves how to earn their genuine appreciation as they grow? There’s this assumption that kids should naturally appreciate everything we do for them, yet many parents I know feel increasingly disconnected from their children as the years pass.
I watch families at the farmers’ market sometimes, and you can almost see it—the teenagers walking three steps ahead, the eye rolls when mom suggests stopping at the vegetable stand, the quick “yeah, whatever” responses. Then I see other families where the teens are actually engaged, laughing with their parents, asking their opinion about which tomatoes look best. What’s the difference?
After watching my own kids grow and reflecting on my relationship with my father (who worked long hours and kept things surface-level despite our nightly family dinners), I’ve noticed certain behaviors that create walls instead of bridges. If you’re hoping to feel more appreciated by your children as they get older, these are the habits worth examining.
1. Constantly reminding them what you’ve sacrificed
“Do you know how much I’ve given up for you?” Sound familiar? Maybe you’ve said it, maybe you’ve heard it. Either way, it lands like a stone in the stomach.
Last week, my friend was venting about her teenager’s attitude. She’d just launched into the whole “I quit my job to raise you” speech when she caught herself and said, “Oh god, I’m becoming my mother.” We both laughed, but there was truth there.
Here’s what I’ve learned: our sacrifices were our choices. Yes, parenting involves giving up things—sleep, spontaneity, that pottery class you’ve been eyeing for three years. But when we weaponize these sacrifices, we’re basically telling our kids they owe us for existing. That’s a debt they never asked to carry.
Instead of tallying up what you’ve given up, try focusing on what you’ve gained. When I catch myself starting the sacrifice speech, I pivot. “Remember when we spent all Saturday at your science fair?” becomes “That volcano you made was incredible—you worked so hard on getting the proportions right.”
Your kids will appreciate you more when they don’t feel like walking guilt-trips.
2. Refusing to admit when you’re wrong
Growing up, my father never apologized. Not once. Even when he’d clearly made a mistake, there was always a justification, a reason why it wasn’t really his fault. Those family dinners we shared every night? The conversations stayed surface-level because real connection requires vulnerability.
I’m creating a different family culture with my kids. When I lose my patience (which happens more than I’d like), I practice repair quickly. Just yesterday, I snapped at my daughter for spilling juice right after I’d mopped. The look on her face stopped me cold.
“I’m sorry,” I told her. “That wasn’t about the juice. I’m tired and I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair.”
You know what she said? “It’s okay, Mama. Everyone gets grumpy sometimes.”
When we model taking responsibility, our kids learn that everyone makes mistakes—and more importantly, that relationships can recover from them. They’ll appreciate this authentic version of you far more than some impossible perfect-parent facade.
3. Making everything about you
Have you ever tried sharing something exciting with someone, only to have them immediately relate it back to themselves? Your kid comes home thrilled about making the team, and you launch into your high school sports glory days. They’re struggling with a friend, and suddenly you’re deep into a story about your own teenage drama.
I get it—we’re trying to connect, to show them we understand. But what they often hear is that their experiences aren’t interesting enough on their own.
Try this instead: ask questions. Real ones. When my son tells me about his day, I resist the urge to compare it to mine. “What happened next?” “How did that make you feel?” “What do you think you’ll do?”
Every evening after the kids are in bed, my husband and I check in with “How was your day really?”—and I’ve started using a version of this with my kids too. Not “How was school?” which gets you “Fine,” but specific, curious questions that show you’re genuinely interested in their world, not just waiting for your turn to talk.
4. Dismissing their feelings or interests
“You’ll understand when you’re older.”
“That’s not real music.”
“You’re being too sensitive.”
These phrases shut down connection faster than anything. When we dismiss what matters to our kids, we’re essentially telling them their inner world isn’t valid.
My daughter recently discovered some YouTuber who makes videos about organizing. Do I understand the appeal? Not even slightly. But you know what? She lights up when she talks about color-coding systems and the perfect eraser holder. So I watch videos with her sometimes, and I ask questions about why she likes certain organizers better than others.
It would be so easy to say, “This is silly, go read a book.” But appreciating us isn’t about agreeing with everything we value—it’s about feeling that we value them, weird interests and all.
5. Never letting them see your real struggles
This one’s tricky because we want to protect our kids from adult worries. But there’s a difference between burdening them and being human in front of them.
My father provided well for us, but his emotional distance meant I never really knew him. He was a provider, a rule-maker, a homework-checker—but not a person with fears, dreams, or bad days.
When I’m having a tough day now, I’ll say something like, “I’m feeling frustrated about something at work, so I might need a few quiet minutes before we play.” I don’t dump adult problems on them, but I let them see that everyone struggles sometimes.
This transparency teaches them that it’s okay to not be okay, and it helps them see you as a whole person worthy of empathy and appreciation, not just a parenting robot programmed to meet their needs.
The path forward
Changing these patterns isn’t easy. I still catch myself mid-sacrifice-speech sometimes, or realize I’ve just hijacked my kid’s story with one of my own. But awareness is the first step.
What I’ve discovered is that appreciation can’t be demanded or guilt-tripped into existence. It grows naturally when children feel seen, heard, and respected as individuals. When they watch you own your mistakes, value their perspectives, and show up as a real person rather than a perfect parent.
Some evenings, when we’re all sprawled on the living room floor building yet another cushion fort, I think about those surface-level dinners from my childhood. We’re creating something different here—messier, louder, more honest. My kids might not thank me for every packed lunch or driven mile, but when my daughter randomly hugs me and says, “You’re a good mama,” or when my son asks for my opinion on something that matters to him, I know we’re building the kind of connection that lasts.
That’s the appreciation that really counts—not the obligatory Mother’s Day card kind, but the genuine connection that comes from seeing and accepting each other as we really are.
