Was That for You or for Them? Parenting Without a Guidebook
What If I Got It Wrong?
My daughter — who shows up in almost everything I write, whether she knows it or not — has been one of my greatest teachers. Sometimes through joy. Sometimes through pain. I still call her “kiddo,” even though she’s been grown and living her own life for years now. And I miss her — not just the sound of her in the house, but the ease of her being nearby. She’s grown into herself, and I’m incredibly proud of her. There are days when I want to take credit for the woman she’s become. But do I really deserve that credit?
Because the truth is, I made mistakes. A lot of them. I brought my own pain into our relationship. She carried pieces of my baggage that never should’ve been hers. And when you’re caught in the cloud of your own struggle, you don’t always see what you’re doing — or the damage it might cause later.
I know she loves me. And she knows I love her. In many ways, we’re close. But we’re also distant. Not just in miles, but in how we connect. We’re a lot alike — maybe too alike. We keep our guard up. We manage our feelings in silence. She’s worn a mask for most of her life, and I’ve seen it. I still see it. And I can’t help but feel I had something to do with that.
Who Was That Really For?
There are moments I look back on now — decisions I made, things I enforced, boundaries I drew — and I have to ask myself: Was that for her… or was that for me? Was I trying to protect her? Or was I trying to manage my own fear? Was I giving her freedom or keeping her small because it made me feel more in control?
I didn’t ask those questions at the time. I thought I was doing what parents are supposed to do — keep them safe, guide them, make sure they didn’t get hurt. But parenting without clarity… without healing… means some of those choices were more about calming my own discomfort than meeting her actual needs.
It’s hard to admit that. I see now that sometimes I didn’t give her room to feel things fully, because I didn’t know how to handle big emotions — hers or mine. If she was upset, I wanted to fix it fast. If she was unsure, I rushed to answer instead of letting her find her voice. I thought I was helping. But sometimes, I was just avoiding the uncomfortable.
And then there were the quiet things. The clothes I picked out. The way I steered her away from risks. The subtle messages about how to show up in the world — not too loud, not too sensitive, not too “much.” I wonder now how many of those messages stuck. How many were echoes of my own upbringing… and how many were just me trying to keep things calm.
What I Didn’t Know Yet
I didn’t grow up with a map for this kind of parenting. I didn’t have an emotional instruction guide. What I had was survival — doing the best I could with what I knew at the time.
So much of what I passed on wasn’t intentional. It was inherited. Patterns I didn’t even recognize until much later. Silence. Self-protection. Making sure the world couldn’t get too close. I didn’t teach her to mask her emotions — not on purpose. But I modeled it, and sometimes that’s even more powerful.
And while I was trying to shield her from the things that hurt me, I didn’t realize I was also teaching her to stay small. To stay quiet. To stay guarded. That’s not what I wanted — not even close. But when you haven’t healed your own story, it’s hard to write a new one for someone else.
Still, I take responsibility for the weight she carried that wasn’t hers to hold. And in that same breath, I’m learning to forgive myself. Not to excuse the pain — but to loosen the grip of shame. Healing asks for both: honesty and compassion. Responsibility and forgiveness. One without the other keeps you stuck. Together, they help you move forward.
Lessons in Hindsight
Over time, she’s taught me things I didn’t even know I needed to learn. Not through lectures or long talks — just by being who she is. I’ve seen how she navigates the world. How she’s claimed her space. And sometimes, I see little ways she’s moved away from the way I did things. It stings a little. But it also makes me proud.
There are definitely things I would do differently now. Slower responses. More questions, fewer assumptions. More space for her feelings, even when they made me uncomfortable. I’d listen more — not just to her words, but to the silences in between.
And yet, there are things I wouldn’t change. The way I showed up even when I was messy. The way I stayed, even when I was overwhelmed. The way I loved her with everything I had, even if it wasn’t always the version she needed.
What I Know Now
Parenting isn’t just about raising a child — it’s about raising yourself, too. You don’t get to skip your own growth just because someone depends on you. If anything, it makes the work more urgent.
I can’t go back. I can’t rewrite the early chapters. But I can keep growing. I can keep softening. I can keep repairing where it’s needed, and honoring what’s already whole.
And maybe most importantly, I can forgive the version of me who didn’t know yet — who parented from the fog, but always with love.
Because this is what growth really asks of us: to take responsibility and to forgive ourselves at the same time.
Final Thoughts
If you’ve ever looked back and wondered Was that for them or for me? — you’re not alone. If you’ve felt proud and guilty at the same time, you’re not alone. If your adult child feels close but far, connected but guarded — you’re not alone.
This isn’t about blame. This is about reflection. About letting the truth surface so something softer can live in its place. You loved them the best way you knew how. And now, maybe you’re learning new ways.
That matters, too.
Responsibility doesn’t cancel out love — and forgiveness doesn’t erase what was hard. They can exist together.
Call to Action
If this resonates — if you’ve ever wrestled with the after-questions of parenting — you’re welcome here. Leave a comment. Share a story. Or simply sit with this and know you’re not the only one still learning.
This might be the start of something. A thread I’ll follow in time.
