You know how the proverbial cobbler’s kids often go without shoes?
Well, it’s also true that parenting experts will knock themselves silly banging their heads against walls with their own teens.
You’d assume the degrees proudly framed on our walls, the yearly accumulation of CEUs, the impressive reading lists, and decades of focus on parenting principles would find us bravely facing off with adolescence.
Calm. Confident. Squinting as we whisper, “Bring it on!”
But the truth is, all parents get distracted.
(Them: Mom, what’s for dinner? Me: Just let me send this email. Them: You said that half an hour ago! Me: Fine. Fruit Loops it is.)
And all parents eventually show some fatigue. Our eyes show it. Our because-I-said-so comebacks show it. Our lack of skills to successfully engage in the battle of wills—or on behalf of our children—are dead giveaways.
AND . . . it’s also true that most of us desperately try to “do right” by our kids.
So how do we balance the ideal with the “real” of parenting? Can we share the truth of what is happening in our family with others who are struggling with theirs?
Yes. But it takes more than using a sweet Anne Shirley voice and nightly repeating, “Tomorrow is another day, with no mistakes in it.” Though that oft-repeated mantra is a great parenting hack.
Lucky for you, we’ve snagged a mere three ways for you to keep from buying into the perfect parent myth—while still committing to upgrade your parenting prowess.
I bet you’re tired of carrying that guilt.
Let it go by remembering . . .
Comparison is the thief of joy . . . so catch it and lock it away
It’s not just teens who are routinely beat up by the parade of perfect parents in our media. My daughter shared an influencer’s reel of making Fruit Loops for her kids’ breakfast. From scratch! Yes. It’s a thing.
When we find ourselves at the end of a long day—exhausted and scrolling—we are unwittingly exposing ourselves to the staged, polished, and edited versions of someone else’s good ideas. It might look effortless as a finished product, but it wasn’t.
They are scripted, re-recorded, and captioned with the wisest and pithiest advice AI could spit out on the subject. Oh, and also reshot when their pooch was showing.
But this happens in person too. For example, most of my young adult children chose not to go to college. Just when I think I’ve made peace with it—the fact that they somehow missed the overt message from all the football games at our alma mater or the framed snapshot of us in our caps and gowns on the bookshelves—the month of May rolls around.
Suddenly I’m flooded with beaming graduates smiling up from gold foil announcements and 20-image Instagram posts reminding me of my parenting failures.
The disappointment and mental chatter rush to my mind as quickly as the blood to my cheeks. (Maybe we shouldn’t have homeschooled them over some of those years. Or perhaps we stuttered when reminding them they are the first in five generations not to attend that university.)
Suddenly we can only see our rejected dreams—and miss the opportunity to cheer them on in how they are brilliantly chasing down their own. Never mind the good that is being accomplished; we deeply feel the let-down of a kid who didn’t get everything on his wishlist from Santa.
One day, while whining to another mother about this troubling lack of desire for higher education, I was taught a valuable lesson. Though her daughters were studying law and nursing at different universities, she admitted, “Yeah, but your kids want to have kids. I can’t figure out what I did to make my daughters not want to have babies.” What a revelation! She felt disappointment too?
To combat this tendency to focus on our lacks, we teach our Trustyy Herd parents to imagine themselves holding a massive yellow highlighter in their arms. Then to take the top off that marker and sweep it back and forth over one great thing your kid is doing. Make it pop off the page and hit you between the eyes when your attention starts wandering to greener pastures.
Okay, we’ve caught and locked up “comparison.” Now let’s talk about you . . .
Parents can be moody . . . so teens walk on eggshells
The stereotypical moody teenager is a regular character in sitcoms and at our dinner table. They have ways of sucking the joy out of the room with an exaggerated eye roll or a crusty comment. Just cast your mind back to this morning, and you’ll probably be able to fill in more colorful details on this character.
But we parents are frustratingly human too. We come saddled with a physical body that gets tired and chemically imbalanced. We have social stressors (i.e. fruit-loop-making influencers), pressures at work, and feelings of ineptitude.
Though we try to be the adults in the room, there are times we slip into self-centeredness.
“If we are carrying the weight of the world, shouldn’t the world revolve around us?” we ask. Uh, no can do.
But here’s some good news: it’s natural to feel ebbs and flows in our energy, outlook, and ability to maintain our wise minds. We aren’t horrible. We aren’t losers. We’re parents doing the best we can with the resources we have—and the foggy memories of how we were parented.
Cut yourself some slack when you slip into one of those valleys. You may notice family members tiptoe out of whatever room you enter. That’s a good sign that you’re normal . . . not yourself.
Those crow’s feet and gray hairs you’re battling will attest to the fact that you’ve been around a while—and know from experience that you’ll eventually come through this mood.
And if you are being intentional about it, you’ll come out knowing yourself and your family just a little bit better for the hike it took.
Repeat after me: “Tomorrow is another day with no mistakes in it.” Thanks, Anne.
So what about apologies? Yes, let’s go there . . .
Model mistakes . . . and recoveries. It’s in our job description.
One of the most vivid images of my lack of perfect parenting was as I stood on the landing at the top of the stairs. My 16-year-old son and I were arguing about the sorry state of his bedroom. He has a firm command of the English language and wields it like a pithy screenwriter for Law & Order.
The more rounds we went in the argument, the more befuddled I became. I felt like I was losing control.
We both knew I’d finally lost it when I screamed at him until spit literally flew out of my mouth. My eyes widened in shock. Well . . . that was lovely. I couldn’t believe how unladylike I had become and what a ghastly visual that must have produced for him. It became one of my most regretful mothering lowlights.
I shut my mouth tight (no one wanted anything else flying out) and stomped down the stairs to shed a frustrated and mortified tear or two in private.
Later that night, I stepped my humbled and subdued self back up the stairs to find my son. “My love? I’m sorry I lost control like that. I know better. I should have walked away sooner when we started raising our voices.”
True to this boy’s warm and forgiving nature, he said, “I’m sorry too, Mom. I love you.” And just like that (insert a snap), it was over. The tension seeped out of my body.
It’s not necessarily a bad thing for a teen to see their parents flare or flub up. It’s normal. It happens. And we never promised we’d be perfect. (Because if we did, we’d have been called out as ignorant and arrogant.)
The flip side of an interpersonal parenting mistake is that we have the opportunity to model the recovery too. We can be the leader our families need and demonstrate how to recover hope, goodwill, and the relationship.
To Sum Things Up
We get it. You’re not perfect. We’re not perfect. And parents will likely never be. But let’s review the three truths that can help you continue on your journey to be just a little more perfecter . . .
Comparison is the thief of joy . . . so catch it and lock it away for good: Pull out the massive yellow highlighter and get some perspective on the blessings embedded in the teen you’ve been given.
Parents can be moody . . . so teens walk on eggshells: Sometimes there is a Freaky Friday role reversal between parent and teen. When it happens, stop it, change it, and allow yourself some grace.
Model mistakes . . . and recoveries. It’s in our job description: When you catch yourself mid-tirade—or in any other misstep—follow through with a sincere apology and watch the magic melting of the ice that was beginning to frost over your relationship.
How do we escape the myth of parenting perfection?
We become intentional students of the role of parents. We study the scripts. We watch others for ideas. We ask for direction.
We bring our years of love and insight to bear on the relationship with our teen.
Oh, and revealing a hidden box of Fruit Loops from the pantry is another effective parenting tool. Your family will think you are perfect . . . even if it is only for that perfect moment.
To family success and happiness!
Roxanne