Motherhood

What is the True Measure of a Good Parent?

If you steal a glance at my Instagram page, you’ll find a feed filled with snapshots of joy: family vacations, safaris, dinners out, and elaborate home-cooked meals in our quaint little town. The photos tell a story of happiness, a carefully curated narrative that reflects the general warmth and love in our family. And for “authenticity,” I sprinkle in a few of those relatable mishaps—like the time the dog dragged half a forest into my freshly mopped living room, or the all-too-familiar scene of a carton with precisely half a swallow of juice left, a testament to one of my kids’ insistence that technically they didn’t finish it.

People look at our family and marvel. They listen to how Marshall and I have always spoken to the kids with respect, how we’ve modeled apologies when we were in the wrong, and how we’ve emphasized that they have autonomy over their bodies. We’re often praised as “good parents.” But this year, I’ve found myself questioning that honorable mention.

2024 has been a year of reckoning. With one child on the cusp of her 20s and the others firmly planted in their teens, the natural push and pull between young adults and their more seasoned parents has taken root—and sprouted. The conflicts that come with asserting independence versus enforcing boundaries have become more frequent and intense.

Midway through the year, these tensions reached a boiling point. What followed was something I never imagined: a full-on Cold War. For 90 days—yes, three months—I was not on speaking terms with my children. The ones in the U.S. stopped calling, and for the child still at home, our interactions were reduced to frosty passes in the hallway. No eye contact. No words. Just silence.

I was hurt. Deeply. Some of the things said during our conflict cut me in ways I didn’t know were possible. And for my own peace and sanity—and theirs—I chose silence. At first, it felt like the right thing to do. Space. Distance. Time to reflect. But as the days turned into weeks, and then months, I started to wonder: Was this really what a good parent would do? When day 60 came and went with no apology, I had settled in my heart that perhaps my relationship with three out of my four children had run its course.

This is the era of “no contact,” after all. I see more and more people cutting ties with their parents over slights—real or perceived. Was this to be our destiny? The thought haunted me. We had always been hailed as wonderful parents. I had been praised as a great mother. But how great could I be if my children weren’t even speaking to me?

So, what is the true measure of a good parent?

Eventually, we found our way back to each other. Slowly. Cautiously. Everyone treading more gently, with more reverence. The raucous ribbing and carefree jokes that once filled our home and phone calls have quieted—at least for now. In their place is a new dynamic, one that feels more fragile and, perhaps, more serious.

I’ve always wanted a friendship with my kids. And for years, I had one. We laughed together, shared inside jokes, and confided in one another. But 2024 changed those dynamics. It made me realize that parenthood isn’t static. It evolves. Sometimes, it requires you to be an authority figure. Sometimes, it demands that you step back and let your children find their way—even if it hurts.

There’s no manual for this part of parenting. No guidebook for how to navigate the moments when your kids, now adults or nearly there, challenge the very foundation of the relationship you’ve built. What I’ve come to understand is that being a good parent isn’t about avoiding conflict or maintaining a perfect facade. It’s about showing up—even when it’s hard. It’s about being willing to listen, to apologize, to forgive, and to rebuild.

The true measure of a good parent, I think, lies in the willingness to adapt. To let go of the fantasy that you’ll always be the hero in your children’s eyes. To accept that sometimes, the most loving thing you can do is give them space to be angry, to grow, and to come back when they’re ready. And maybe in that space, they will learn and understand that you are human too.

Our family is healing. We’re learning to navigate this new terrain together, one cautious step at a time. And maybe that’s what good parenting looks like in this season: not perfection, but persistence. Not always harmony, but always love. Because at the end of the day, isn’t that what we all want? To know that, even in the messiness of life, we are loved?

So, here’s to the parents who keep showing up. Who embrace the messy, the complicated, and the imperfect. Who understand that the true measure of a good parent isn’t in the Instagram highlights, but in the quiet, unseen moments of grace.

I’m learning. We’re all learning. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.

What do you think? How do you define a “good parent”? Share your thoughts in the comments—I’d love to hear your perspectives.