Parenting doesn’t end when our kids turn 18—it just changes shape.
Some days it feels gentler; other days, trickier.
I’ve learned (sometimes the hard way) that what worked when our children were small can backfire once they’re grown.
Good intentions aren’t enough.
If anything, good intentions paired with old habits can create a perfect storm that drives distance into the relationship.
What follows isn’t finger-pointing; it’s a field guide from someone who’s walked around the block a few times—first as a dad, now as a granddad—who still wants Sunday dinners, real conversations, and easy laughter with the people he loves most:
1) Offering advice when they asked for a listener
Be honest: When your adult child shares a problem, how quickly do you shift into “fix-it” mode? I used to be the human equivalent of a YouTube tutorial.
New job stress? I had a résumé tip.
Apartment search? I knew a guy.
Dating drama? Pull up a chair, I’ve got a sermon.
The trouble is, unsolicited advice often lands like criticism.
It says, “I don’t trust you to figure this out,” even if we don’t mean it that way.
Adult children—like all adults—crave agency.
They want to tell their story without being interrupted by a wrench and a solution.
A simple shift changed everything for me: I ask, “Do you want me to just listen, or do you want my two cents?” Most of the time, they want an ear.
When they do want counsel, they say so.
Even then, I try to keep it short and ask questions: “What options are you considering?”
Questions respect their brains, while lectures don’t.
If you’re tempted to fix it, take a breath and replace the hammer with curiosity.
You’ll be amazed how much closer the conversation feels.
2) Treating them like teenagers in adult clothing
Here’s a blind spot many of us carry from the years of curfews and car keys: We keep parenting as if our kids still need permission.
We overstep without meaning to—commenting on their budgets, their hair, their partners, their neighborhoods, and their parenting (if they have kids), as if we still own the scoreboard.
I once caught myself saying, “You should really buy a house; renting is throwing money away.”
My son kindly replied, “Dad, I’m not you in 1988.”
That line went straight to my ribcage—he was right.
His economy, his city, his goals—all different.
My advice was a time capsule masquerading as guidance.
Adult children don’t want a parole officer; they want a parent who treats them as a peer.
That doesn’t mean we’re equals in wisdom or life miles; it means we honor their adulthood.
Try swapping directives for respect: “I’m curious how you decided on that,” instead of, “That’s a mistake.”
If you’re itching to offer a warning, package it as a story from your own life—no moral-of-the-story bow at the end, just the lesson you learned and the room for them to make their own choice.
3) Helping with strings attached
Financial gifts, spare bedrooms, childcare, an extra car—our help can be a blessing.
However, if support comes bundled with expectations, reminders, and a carefully itemized ledger, it stops feeling like love and starts feeling like leverage.
Nothing pushes grown kids away faster than the sense that every “yes” binds them to a future “should”.
Years ago, we helped one of our kids through a rough patch.
We did it gladly—but I caught myself bringing it up later when we disagreed about a holiday plan: “After all we did…”
The words tasted sour even as they left my mouth.
I apologized, and meant it.
If you want your generosity to glue the relationship instead of peel it apart, decide in advance: This is a gift, or this is a loan—with clear terms.
If it’s a gift, never use it as a bookmark in future arguments; if it’s a loan, put it in writing like adults do, and keep emotions out of it.
Your “help” isn’t help if it undermines their dignity.
Ask what would actually be useful before you assume.
4) Ignoring boundaries and privacy
Pop-ins used to be charming when our kids were eight and their friends were building blanket forts in the living room.
Pop-ins at thirty—when they’re juggling work, kids, and the only window all week they had to breathe—can feel like an invasion.
Boundaries are how adults love each other without resentment.
Want a strong relationship with your adult children? Learn their preferences and stick to them.
Text before calling if that’s their rhythm, ask before offering parenting tips in front of the grandkids, or check whether a weekend visit actually works for them.
If they say no, don’t huff and puff. Accept the “no” like a grown-up, and the door will open more often.
A boundary is not a rejection; it’s an instruction manual.
Respecting boundaries doesn’t shrink the relationship but, rather, it makes it safe.
5) Leading with criticism, comparison, and “shoulds”
“Should” is a heavy word.
It drips with all our decades of experience and all the ghosts of our own parents’ expectations.
“You should call more,” “You should really go back to church,” and “You should have a plan by now.”
Each “should” adds an invisible brick to a wall our kids have to climb to reach us.
Comparisons do similar damage that even positive comparisons can bruise.
They create an audience instead of a family.
I’m not saying we can’t have standards or values—I am saying tone matters.
When in doubt, choose closeness over correctness.
6) Using guilt and nostalgia to steer the relationship
We boomers are experts in the two-step of guilt and golden memories.
A little sigh, a mention of “how we did it in our day,” a recollection of sacrifices made—and suddenly our adult kids are carrying a backpack they didn’t pack.
Nostalgia is a beautiful visitor and a terrible driver.
It’s fine to reminisce about simpler times, but beware the subtext that “back then was better” or “you owe us because we struggled.”
Our kids didn’t choose our sacrifices; we did.
Love doesn’t send invoices and guilt is even trickier because it can get results.
You might wring an extra holiday visit or a Friday night phone call out of it.
However, like watering a plant with soda, you’ll get growth that looks lively until it isn’t.
Resentment piles up and calls become obligations (not choices).
Try trading guilt for clarity.
Say what you want without the frosting: “I’d love a monthly dinner together. Would the first Thursday work?”
If they say no, ask what could work and then—and this is the hard part—let them decide.
The best relationships with adult children are chosen, not coerced.
7) Refusing to apologize, adapt, or learn new tricks
If there’s one mistake that can turn temporary distance into something permanent, it’s digging in.
“This is just who I am.”
“I’m from a different time.”
“Everyone’s too sensitive now.”
Those lines might feel like armor, but to your child, they sound like a locked door.
I still remember the first time one of my kids said, “Dad, that joke isn’t funny,” about a line I’d used for years.
My instinct was to defend myself—explain the context, the era, the intent.
Then I caught myself and said, “Got it. I won’t use it anymore.”
The conversation moved on—more importantly, our relationship did too.
Apologies don’t erase the past, but they grease the hinges of the present.
Learning new communication styles, new pronouns, new tech, new expectations around holidays—none of that means abandoning who we are.
It means we care enough to stay fluent in the language of the people we love.
That kind of humility builds more trust than a decade of lectures ever could.
Closing thoughts
Most of us became parents wanting the same thing: healthy, loving connections that last.
The good news is, relationships with our adult children aren’t fixed; they’re living things.
They respond to warmth, respect, and a willingness to grow—even in our sixties and beyond.
Here’s the question I’m carrying into this week: What’s one small change I can make that would make it easier for my adult child to want to be around me?
