Updated: Jan. 14, 2023
Originally Published: June 19, 2021
Last summer, as my daughter Mia approached her 10th birthday, my parents spent a lot of time with my kids, and during those moments, I discovered something enlightening. My dad, in particular, started sharing his insights about Mia and her younger brother, Max, more than ever. One evening after dinner, he mentioned that if he had any worries about Mia, it was that we seemed too close. He cautioned me about the pitfalls of over-identifying with her and being too closely intertwined.
I frowned at him, realizing his concern echoed one of my own deepest worries. But then I reminded him of how adventurous Mia was—she went to sleepaway camp before any of her friends, and she did it all on her own, without a familiar face beside her.
Dad nodded thoughtfully, fingers steepled under his chin. “You might be right, Em,” he replied, his expression contemplative. His acknowledgment of Mia’s adventurous spirit reinforced our similarities and his deep understanding of my joys and anxieties. It also took me back to my own childhood, specifically a pivotal moment in fourth grade that shaped my understanding of independence.
I vividly recall preparing for ice skating in gym class, where we needed a note from a parent to skate without a helmet. Mortified at the thought of donning a helmet, I badgered my mom for the note all evening. Finally, she turned to me, hands covered in mixing batter. “Ask your father,” she sighed. I found my dad in the living room, engrossed in a hefty German history book. He agreed to write the note but, to my horror, penned: Recognizing that risk is an inherent and important fact of life, we gladly permit Emily to skate without a helmet.
I begged him for a normal note, but he just chuckled, finding amusement in my embarrassment. His response? “You can turn in this note or wear the helmet.” Fuming, I stormed to my room, probably blasting some cheesy pop music. The next day, I handed that note to my gym teacher, cheeks burning with humiliation.
Over the years, I’ve come to see that my dad was poking fun at what he deemed a ridiculous rule. This moment spoke volumes about how my parents valued independence and encouraged us to embrace the world’s risks and adventures. I’ve internalized this lesson deeply; I feel proudest of my kids when they show self-reliance and bravery. Watching them take risks fills my heart with joy, even more than witnessing their skillful accomplishments.
Yet, I sometimes worry: Am I pushing them away too quickly? Am I emphasizing autonomy too much, making them doubt the closeness of our bond? If I celebrate their willingness to venture away from me too exuberantly, will they forget to return? This is the delicate dance of parenting—balancing closeness and separation.
Moreover, autonomy is linked to my perspective on the world. I want my children to understand that while they are my universe (along with their dad), they are not the only stars in it. Stepping outside the comfort zone—beyond my protective embrace—feels like the only way for them to grow. It’s a gentle nudge, reminding them of the vast world beyond our family—a world where they can bravely face the embarrassment of turning in a quirky note and still skate away, helmet-free.
I keep this in mind when I worry about stretching the bond we share or when I feel judged for my parenting choices. I firmly believe that teaching my kids independence means helping them find their place in their own lives without confusing that with being the center of the universe. I don’t want to raise children who think everyone else’s lives should revolve around them because that’s simply not how the world works. By helping them learn to stand on their own—both literally and figuratively—I’m encouraging them to trust themselves, recognize their own power, and understand their agency.
Ultimately, trusting my children as independent beings demands that I trust myself as their parent. I need to believe they will act responsibly, confident that I’ve provided them with the tools for appropriate behavior—like making eye contact with adults and being cautious around speeding cars. It has taken me a while to realize that I do trust myself; my actions with my children prove it.
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In summary, trusting my kids to be independent is a reflection of my own self-trust as a parent. It’s a continual balancing act between nurturing their autonomy and maintaining our connection, helping them understand their place in a much larger world.