Letting Our Children Be Different From Us
There was a time when I quietly wished my child would turn out just like me. Maybe it was a natural instinct — the belief that if I’ve managed to live “right,” then modeling my child after myself would set them up for success too. I wasn’t trying to be selfish. I simply thought I knew what was best. But life, especially as a parent, has a way of humbling us.
As my child grew older, I began to see it — the stark differences. Where I was quiet, they were loud. Where I enjoyed solitude, they sought connection. I used to dive into books, while they preferred building things or sketching images that made no sense to me.
At first, I resisted. I tried to steer them, subtly — suggesting they read more, be less impulsive, follow routines. I thought I was helping. But over time, I realized something deeper: I wasn’t parenting their soul. I was parenting my expectations.
And there it was — the silent truth no one tells you enough: our children were never meant to be us.
Letting go of the dream that your child will reflect you is not easy. Especially when you’ve built a narrative in your head — that the safest, happiest life is one that looks like yours. So we plan, we advise, we warn. But often, what we’re really doing is projecting our unresolved fears.
We forget that our children were born into a different time. Their world is not ours. They face different challenges, carry different questions, and are shaped by forces we never encountered. It’s unfair — even unkind — to expect them to walk the same road we did when the landscape has completely changed.
More than that, they are not us. Even if the world were the same, their souls are not copies of ours. They carry their own passions, weaknesses, longings, and gifts.
A friend once shared with me the story of her teenage daughter who wanted to pursue theater instead of engineering. Her first reaction was alarm — “There’s no future in that,” she said. “It’s not safe.” But with time and many tearful conversations, she saw something else: her daughter came alive in a way she never had in math class. “I realized,” my friend told me, “that it wasn’t about choosing a career. It was about choosing herself.”
That struck a chord in me. Because I think, deep down, many parents just want their kids to be safe, accepted, and fulfilled. But we confuse “fulfilled” with “familiar,” and “safe” with “similar to us.”
Letting your child be different isn’t about being lenient. It’s about being deeply attentive. It’s asking, “Who are you becoming?” instead of “Why aren’t you more like me?”
As I reflect more, I wonder how many of our “parenting efforts” are actually silent efforts to correct our past. Maybe we didn’t get to chase our dream, so we push our children toward the version of that dream we held. Or maybe we were hurt by our differences, so we try to shape our children into something more acceptable, more praised, more typical.
But what if they were never meant to be typical?
What if they were born to be a kind of wild, a kind of beauty, a kind of different — that this world desperately needs, and we simply don’t yet understand?
Parenting is not a project. Our children are not our legacy, at least not in the way trophies are. They are humans entrusted to us, not to mold into reflections of ourselves, but to accompany as they grow into their own shape.
I’ve come to believe that one of the purest acts of love is allowing someone to be fully themselves in our presence — and still remain deeply connected to them. To say, “I don’t fully understand you, but I’m staying. I support you. I believe in who you are becoming.”
We don’t have to approve of every decision. We don’t have to agree with every path. But we do have to respect the sacredness of their individual journey.
I used to think that being a good parent meant teaching my child how to live like I did. Now I think it means learning how to live with who they are.
And if I’m honest, it’s been one of the most stretching, humbling experiences of my life. Because letting my child be different from me has meant letting go of pride. Of control. Of the false sense of certainty that I know what’s best — always.
Now I try to listen more. I ask questions instead of giving answers. I pay attention to what makes their eyes light up, not just their grades or achievements. And slowly, I’m learning to love the mystery of who they are.
Sometimes, all a child really needs to hear is this:
“It’s okay that you’re different from me. You are not wrong for being you. I love you exactly as you are.”
It sounds simple. But it can change everything. Because deep down, every child longs to be seen — not just when they meet our expectations, but especially when they don’t.
That’s the kind of love that frees them. That allows them to grow. That gives them the courage to explore their gifts, fail with grace, and find their own place in the world.
And perhaps, that’s also the kind of love that heals something in us too — the child in us who once wanted the same freedom, the same permission to be different.
Let’s not raise children who are afraid of their uniqueness. Let’s raise children who are rooted in love, confident in their voice, and brave enough to become who they truly are — even if that looks nothing like us.
And maybe, just maybe, in letting them be different… we also discover new parts of ourselves.[*]
