Last week, my youngest child approached me, clearly troubled. I could tell something was wrong by the way he was moving around the house. At 14, he’s usually calm, fun, and light-hearted, but I’ve learned to recognise when he’s upset. As he hesitated before speaking, I asked if he was okay. He responded with a simple “yes,” but I knew better. When I inquired further, asking if there was anything he wanted to talk about, he denied it. Although I knew he wasn’t being truthful, I decided to give him the space to come to me when he was ready.
Not long after, while I was deeply engrossed in work, he returned, ready to talk. The look in his eyes and his body language indicated this would be a difficult conversation. I set aside my work, removed my glasses, and gave him my full attention.
As he began speaking, I felt my body tense up. His tone was off—sharp and questioning—without the expected respect, and I felt defensive. How dare he question my decisions? But then, I felt the gentle nudge of the Holy Spirit, reminding me to be still and listen beyond the tone of his voice. He was trying to express genuine concerns and disappointments as best as possible.
When he finished speaking, I acknowledged the tone and gently explained how he could express his concerns more respectfully, even when upset. He hadn’t realised his delivery lacked respect, and I used the moment to teach him about emotional expression. I also recognised that sometimes, when we leave essential issues unaddressed, they can build up, leading to an emotional outburst by the time we’re ready to confront them.
While I was careful not to make him feel wrong for bringing up an issue that was important to him, the conversation made me reflect deeply on my decision-making as a parent. I realised that much of my parenting is rooted in fear—fear born from my knowledge of potential dangers and emotional reasoning. I often feel that they are safe as long as my children are at home. But I’m also aware that I’m raising children who need to be confident and self-assured, know they are protected, and know how to call on God in times of trouble. This fear isn’t entirely rational, yet it feels genuine.
Origin Story
A significant part of my fear stems from my formative years, growing up with an overprotective father who said “no” out of fear. I vividly remember the day I realised my fear drove some of my father’s decisions.
We were rarely allowed to attend community or church events, but one day, my older sister paid for us to go on a church trip. I was in my mid-teens, and we had a great day at the beach. When we returned to the community around 1 AM, everyone was asleep, and the streets were empty.
As the bus pulled into the square, I saw my father standing there, waiting for us. It was then that I understood—his fear of something happening to us had kept him from giving us the freedom to grow.
Despite my intention not to replicate my father’s fear in my parenting decisions, I found that the values I had learned came with me and influenced many of my choices. I became conscious of this ever-present fear and the instinct to say “no” as a default. To counter this, I’ve practised discussing things, praying over decisions, and sharing my concerns with my children.
As I strive to give my children more room to grow, I remain mindful of two things:
- The emotions in my body need regulating.
- The young person I once was, who lived through the fear and lacked the freedoms I’m now trying to give my children.
This process can be exhausting. Sometimes, it’s easier to say “no” than to deal with the flood of emotions and the need to regulate them to remain present and functional for other responsibilities and life events. However, I’m committed to reinforcing my love in words and actions so that as my children explore the world and build the skills to live in it, they do so from a place of emotional security.
Reparenting Myself
The challenge of the teen years for me isn’t so much about dealing with their spontaneity or impulsiveness, which is common among teens. It’s not even about them testing boundaries or challenging authority. The real challenge, and one that I believe many of you can relate to, is giving them what I didn’t have—an emotional connection that allows them the room to grow.
Parenting during the teen years requires me to sit with, face, and address the source of my fears. It demands I use cognitive tools to reframe my thoughts and emotional regulation techniques to calm my body.
Sometimes, these emotional tools tempt me to take the easy way out and say “no.” But that wouldn’t be fair to my children’s growth or myself.
As someone deeply committed to understanding how my origin story impacts my parenting, I’ve had to remain open to how these influences manifest. This commitment is not always easy, but it’s a journey I’m dedicated to and one that can bring about growth and understanding.
Moving Forward
I recognise that my children may need therapy as they grow older because of the way some of my origin stories shaped me as a parent.
As they encounter the impact of my decisions, influenced by my fears and past experiences, I want them to understand that I’m doing my best to make decisions that promote their growth and emotional security. I strive to be honest with them and not blame them for my actions.
Wholehearted living as a parent means embracing the messiness of growth—for both my children and myself. It means acknowledging the fears that drive my decisions and working through them so I can parent from a place of love rather than fear. It’s about allowing my children the freedom to explore the world while knowing they are deeply loved and supported.
As I move forward on this journey, I’m learning to balance my instinct to protect with the need to give my children the space to become who God intends them to be. I believe many of you can relate to this struggle, and I’m committed to achieving a balance as I continue to reparent myself and pass on these gifts to my children.
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