We grow up together
On parenthood and what we pass on
Research on autonomy-supportive parenting helps explain the broader principle. It involves taking children’s perspectives seriously, explaining expectations, and giving them opportunities to make choices and take initiative. This can happen alongside clear boundaries and involvement. A review of research connected this approach with motivation, the internalization of values, and healthier adjustment.
That fits what I wanted to give them: the confidence to question something, understand why they were being asked to do it, and develop their own judgment.
At one point in high school, my daughter was having difficulties within a group of friends. The kind of thing that can happen in those early teenage years. She felt a little left out and found it difficult to stand up for herself. Her teacher suggested she speak with the school social worker, and I was invited for a conversation.
The woman told me that the issue was that my daughter came from a household that was “too harmonious.” She had never even had a fight with her brother. Which, honestly, had made my life very easy. I had been relatively strict over the years. I wanted to provide clarity, and respect was very important to me. But there was very little conflict between us, hardly any at all actually. In her view, that harmony and my protectiveness had given my daughter little opportunity to practice standing up for herself.
That gives another side to what I wanted for them. I had tried so hard to protect them from experiences that could damage them in the way my own experiences had damaged me. But some difficult experiences also give us opportunities to learn how to respond. I had been aware of the possible negative side effects of my approach throughout the years, but I still had to act on what felt more important to me. I figured I could give them safety and support, while hopefully leaving sufficient room for them to develop that ability themselves. Apparently not always, but I guess there are worse issues to have. I’m sure I’ll hear about it when they’ve fully adulted.
Mistakes and where to put your effort
I have always taught my kids that they are allowed to make mistakes, and that they do not have to be good at everything or outperform anyone. A lot of what they are asked to learn is not even worth all of their effort. Save that for the things that really matter to you, or really interest you. That is where you dedicate yourself. Also, a lot they are asked to learn is colored. School history lessons for example, were complemented at home from the book Roofstaat.
Remember parenthood is my example, but we’re still talking about teaching and paying forward in any way.
Research on parents and children offers a useful connection to the earlier piece on talent. Parents who saw failure as harmful tended to respond with more concern about performance and ability, and their children were more likely to view intelligence as fixed. In that study, children’s beliefs about intelligence were more closely linked to how their parents viewed and responded to failure than to whether their parents believed intelligence could develop. This connects back to the earlier piece on talent: your starting point is not the whole story. How we respond when a child struggles can help them understand that.
What we say about mistakes needs to be reflected in how we respond when one happens. The experience itself is part of growth, whatever the result. If we want someone to feel free to learn, our response needs to help them recognize that.
If my kids said there was no use going to a certain class, instead of the socially acceptable answer, I could tell them they are right. But some things in life simply have to happen. Unfortunately, you could say, but it is the case. Some people find my approach odd, or even a bad example. But in my opinion, accepting that certain things simply need doing, and treating them accordingly, is a useful lesson.
You do not have to love every task or give everything your full dedication. You can understand why something needs doing, do what it requires, and save more of your energy for what really matters to you.
Maybe that connects autonomy with accepting life. You learn to question what deserves questioning, while becoming less occupied with resisting everything you would rather not have to do.
What I see now
Looking at them now, I see two highly intelligent, stable, socially capable young adults with great zest and love for life, interests and opinions, and incredible kindness toward others. We share a home life of friendship, humor, a lot of laughter, and an incredible amount of love.
They have also helped me grow a great deal. The same determination that made me stand up for them could sometimes make me ready to fight before they needed me to. They taught me to calm down. As they grew older, they helped me recognize that they could judge situations and stand up for themselves. I could remain available while trusting them to take more of that responsibility.
What we pass on
Again, these questions apply beyond motherhood. When someone turns to us for guidance, we bring our understanding, our experience, and our defaults. We can notice whether we are helping them develop their own judgment or expecting them to adopt ours. We can pay attention to how we respond when they disagree, make a mistake, or choose differently from what we imagined.
This brings me back to the Gibran poem in my parental home: loving someone while recognizing that their thoughts and their life are their own.
That is what I hope to have given my children: the room to become themselves, and the certainty that they never have to carry anything alone.
Teaching a lesson to someone else can be one of the best ways to learn it ourselves. Taking that teaching seriously challenges us to examine our own understanding and question our assumptions. Their questions can reveal something we have not considered. Their experiences can make us reconsider something we thought we understood. We bring what we know, while remaining willing to learn through the act of sharing it.
We grow up together.
In the restroom of my parental home hangs a poem by Kahlil Gibran, called “On Children.” In it, he writes: “You may give them your love but not your thoughts, / For they have their own thoughts.”
Throughout this series, we have explored what shapes us as we grow up, what helps us develop, and how we begin to choose our own direction. We have looked at the labels about what we are good at, the beliefs about money, and the self-image we learned to protect. This piece looks at it from the other side. What does it mean to be the one passing things on?
I approach this through motherhood, because raising my children is where these questions have been most personal to me. But they also apply when we teach, mentor, lead, or support someone. What assumptions do we pass on? How do we respond when someone struggles or questions us? And do we keep consciously giving them room to develop their own understanding and direction?
Where it began
As a teenager and young adult, I lived with a lot of shame. It brought self-isolation, loneliness in the mental sense, and having to do everything myself, without always being able to. I struggled on many fronts. It made me who I am, and in hindsight I see how all of it contributed to my growth, and I am grateful for that. The past or how anyone(‘s patterns) may have treated me doesn’t matter to me now, it’s how I got here. But I have always known that I didn’t want this for my children.
Much of what I had struggled with came from other people’s defaults: their preconceived beliefs, their expectations, and what they assumed about me, especially as a young mother. From an early age, I also saw things in life and society that I did not like. Before I could explain what I wanted to do differently, I already felt resistance to simply accepting how things were supposed to be.
That attitude, and probably above all my own experience, later shaped how I raised my children. Why should obeying someone in authority, such as a teacher, matter more than their wellbeing and emotional safety? Why should familiar expectations determine what they were allowed to question or choose? Replacing default with intention became part of motherhood, too. For me, it was only about what would help them develop while feeling safe and supported, rather than simply repeating how things were supposed to be done. In a sense, it’s not fair to do everything in your power to protect someone else from harm. But I had to.
From the time they were very young, I decided I would always be open with them. I knew how shame could keep you from telling someone what was happening and receiving support, and I never wanted that for them. I realized that if I wanted them to feel they could share anything with me, I had to lead by example. At the appropriate level, I would share anything with them. I wanted sharing to be something we were used to, in the hopes that when something difficult happened, they would be comfortable to come to me..
Dobermom
I became a mother young, at age 20, and I had an almost incomprehensible drive to succeed and be the absolute best for them. As I have shared in earlier pieces, I built my career while raising them largely on my own, and we have been through a lot together. My experiences, and what we experienced together, made me extremely protective.
I was nowhere near the awareness and understanding I have now, or the softness with which I approach life today. That softness was there for my children. But toward the world around us, especially when I felt they needed protecting, I could be very fierce.
My former sister-in-law calls me Dobermom, as in I have Doberman energy when it concerns my kids. I would fight for my children in any situation where it might be needed.
That protectiveness came from wanting them to have someone who would always stand beside them. I knew from experience how much pain the absence of that could cause. As they grew older, that sometimes meant learning to stand back.
Really seeing them
Being open was only part of it. Every single day, in the hectic life I led for a long time, I made sure I made time to watch closely and search for what might not be obvious: what they might not be telling me, how they were really doing, might they have experienced something they’re not saying? I wanted to really see them, so that no experience could get past me without my being able to help.
When I could see that something was worrying or frightening them, I could be very persistent. I would keep asking and pushing, lovingly but firmly. They could find me really annoying at times. If something was wrong, I gave them very little chance to keep carrying it without telling me what was happening. I had promised them there was always something I could do to help, and I wanted them to experience that.
Very early on, they became comfortable sharing things with me. Over time, I could see that they experienced very little shame around telling me what was happening in their lives. That was exactly what I had hoped for: that shame would never stop them from coming to me.
Not too obedient
Obedience to authority was a big thing when I grew up. I chose to raise my children differently. They have always been a little timid by nature, and very kind, which perhaps made it possible to teach them this without it turning into defiance.
I told them that teachers are there to serve them. If they did not feel socially safe or well at school, they did not have to stay. They did not need to put themselves through situations that felt traumatic. They could always just walk out, walk home, and mom had it. It was occasionally used, but never abused.
I wanted them to trust their own experience, including when someone in authority seemed to expect them to set it aside. Someone having authority does not automatically mean that how they treat you is right, or that you have to accept it.
Gibran (1923)
Haimovitz & Dweck (2016)
Joussemet, Landry & Koestner (2008)