As the final college acceptance letters arrive, I find myself reflecting on the bittersweet emotions that come with my daughter’s impending departure. While I thought I’d be ready for the mix of loss and relief, this transitional phase is proving to be more challenging than I expected. For her, college marks the start of a thrilling new chapter, but for me, it feels like the closing of a significant one. The sound of her opening those envelopes is like the crack of sealing tape, closing off her childhood and preparing it for scrutiny.
Like every parent, I’ve stumbled along the way, and now I’m grappling with a minefield of parenting regrets. These regrets vary widely—from the trivial, like wishing we had ironed crayon shavings between wax paper to create “stained glass,” to the substantial, such as the decision to move when she was transitioning from sophomore to junior year of high school. That change felt as smooth as switching dentists mid-root canal.
When she struggles to concentrate, I often point fingers at myself for allowing too much screen time or for getting her a cell phone too early. I talked about setting up allowances and chores, yet I lacked the discipline to enforce them. If she doesn’t unload the dishwasher or splurges on a $30 lipstick, I feel responsible. Now, when she takes long showers, I worry that I didn’t instill in her a strong sense of responsibility.
There were fleeting moments when she might have been open to learning new skills or developing interests, and I missed those golden opportunities. I often introduced her to books at the wrong time—like suggesting Catcher in the Rye before she could appreciate Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. I signed her up for sailing lessons when she was too tall for the little boats, leading to more bumps on the head than fun. Maybe if I had shared my love for the Rolling Stones with her sooner, she’d appreciate them instead of dismissing my taste as “ancient.”
I envisioned myself becoming a different type of parent—a more engaged version, but reality had other plans. I thought I’d be the parent who read countless bedtime stories, yet I often found myself dozing off before we even hit the classics. Our crafting adventures were limited to gluing macaroni on paper. I never imagined I’d be the one to miss recreation department registration deadlines regularly. I longed to be as fun as my relatives in Michigan, who would throw spontaneous Easter egg hunts for their kids long after they had grown up. Yet, I avoided decorating eggs because of the messy vinegar smell, and one year, we even skipped the Christmas tree altogether.
I’ve never been the “Tiger Mom,” and now I ponder whether that’s the reason some parents push their children into every activity imaginable. Is it genuine concern for their growth, or are they just afraid of becoming like me, wallowing in missed opportunities? Are those piano lessons and sports practices merely a form of emotional insurance? Why do we even perceive childhood as a packaged product? My parents certainly didn’t; we just lived it, and then we grew up.
Part of me wishes I could redo parts of my parenting journey, but without the diapers, spills, and tantrums. I’ve contemplated becoming a foster parent or adopting, although I’m aware I might be too old and tired for that now, and my husband isn’t on board. When my 15-year-old son asked why I’d want another child at this stage, I blurted out, “Because I’m finally ready to be a parent!” Who am I kidding? I’d have to change fundamentally to become a different kind of parent. I don’t thrive under pressure. Keeping charts and calendars feels impossible when I can’t even stick to a simple to-do list. Camping? No thanks. Skiing? Too much money and gear. Watching soccer practice in the cold and drizzle? Not my idea of fun. I often crave my own downtime.
Regret might not be the right term for what I’m experiencing, as it usually stems from negative outcomes. Yet, my daughter, Olivia, has turned out wonderfully, despite a parenting style I’d describe as “benign neglect.” She works hard, volunteers, and keeps us laughing with her sharp wit. So what if she never starred in the school play or competed in chess tournaments? Who cares if her shelves are filled with books instead of trophies? She’s a cooler kid than I could’ve ever scripted, even if I never taught her how to sew (I don’t know how). At least she knows to roll a lemon on the counter before slicing it for extra juice!
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In summary, parenting is a journey filled with lessons, missed opportunities, and unique moments that shape our children. While I may not have been the perfect parent, I cherish the incredible person my daughter has become.