Indulgent. Neglectful. Authoritarian.
Just reading those words sends a shiver down my spine. The very names are enough to make any parent anxious. I can almost guarantee that if I were to dive deeper into their characteristics, I’d find myself checking off 8 out of 10 traits listed.
Have you ever given in to your kids’ requests?
Do those Dr. Dre headphones they insisted on count? BINGO! Mark that down on the Indulgent square.
What about those nights when dinner was the last thing on your mind for four or five days? BINGO again! Fill in the Neglectful row.
And let’s not forget that time you stood firm about not getting them a smartphone, even when every other kid in the neighborhood had one. Winner! Stack all your red tokens in the Authoritarian pile.
Parenting is my top priority—it’s what occupies my thoughts from the moment I wake up until I drift off to sleep. It fills my days with joy and sometimes leaves me feeling drained. I cherish being a mother, and for the past 20 years, it’s been my whole world. Yet, I often still feel lost. At times, the fear of not knowing what I’m doing can be overwhelming. Nothing compares to the uncertainty I feel in this role, not even that one time my high school boyfriend convinced me to join a Civil War reenactment.
Every night, I remind myself: Forgive yourself as you forgive them. I carry a note in my wallet that says, “Mistakes are part of learning.” I even have a yellow Post-It on my dresser that reads, “You don’t just move on; you learn.” These reminders guide me through the dark moments of parenting, helping me navigate until I feel confident again. Yet just when I think I’ve got a handle on things, the landscape shifts once more, leaving me feeling disoriented.
It’s a familiar echo of my own childhood, where I often felt invisible and unappreciated in a crowded house. That lingering sense of loneliness makes me question whether I’m providing my children with what they truly need. Balancing their independence with guidance is a delicate dance. Growing up, I often felt voiceless, which led to my withdrawal. Now, I’m on the other side, as my three kids turn to me, expressing their gratitude but also pushing back against my influence.
They’ve always felt safest with me, even in infancy, when I’d have to shower with them peeking in to keep them calm. I remember those days vividly, when I had to announce every little thing I was doing, whether it was going to the bathroom or doing laundry. But now, I can shower without any interruptions.
My youngest is now 13 and starting conversations that feel like a challenge rather than an invitation. He’s navigating the tricky path between boyhood and young adulthood. As he figures out who he is, I must be careful not to interfere with this important journey. He’s caught between wanting to stay close to me and the expectations of his peers—a tough spot for any teen. Just because he hands me an invitation to a “fight” doesn’t mean I have to engage. Instead, I can keep my arms open, ready to catch him if he falls. The choice to connect or pull away is ultimately his, and I want him to always feel secure in my presence.