Perfect Parenting Doesn't Guarantee Results

Not that it even exists, but supposing you even COULD be the "perfect parent," it still won't insulate you from the heartache of parenting.

This morning I spent time journaling through a workbook a friend got me recently, The Mindful Self-Compassion Workbook.

The focus for today was on noticing the differences in how we tend to speak to our friends and loved ones when they go through a hardship, versus how we tend to speak to ourselves.

To a friend who’s experiencing something difficult we might naturally ooze compassion and kindness, saying things such as:

• What a hard thing you’re going through

• I’m sorry you’re experiencing this

• It won’t be like this forever

• In some ways, this is kind of normal and expected, you’re not uniquely messed up

• You’re doing a great job, even if it doesn’t feel like it

Whereas when we encounter challenges in our own life we might bring out the inner critic with harsh judgment such as:

• You’ve really messed up this time… again!

• You’re such a failure and a loser

• You’ll be alone and sad forever

• This is your fault… anyone else would’ve done better

• You suck, and this current situation is proof of that

Self Compassion involves learning to talk to ourselves at least as compassionately as we talk to our loved ones.

One of the prompts in the journal is to reflect on a current challenge and then walk through various questions like, “What messages are you sending yourself about this,” and, “What might you say to a friend if they were going through this,” and so on.

The thing that came up for me was some challenges I’m currently experiencing with one of my kids and, sure enough, I found all the above negative-self-talk bombarding my mind:

• I’m a terrible parent

• I’m recreating all the worst parts of my childhood for my own kids

• I suck at being a dad

• If I was a better parent then this wouldn’t happen

If Only I was a Better, More Perfect Parent

That last line is what really jumped out at me.

This idea that, if I was better—or, more precisely as my mind tends to put it, if I was “perfect”—then I wouldn’t be going through what I’m going through with my child.

Which is as silly as it sounds once you say it aloud, but often times for me this is what it takes to finally notice the absurdity of my inner critic: saying it out loud.

Because if even there is such a thing as being a “perfect parent” (and I’m fairly certain there is NOT), it would not guarantee the parent would be protected from the kinds of heartaches and disappointments that come with having and raising and being in relationship with their children.

I’m gonna write that sentence again, but in a fancy, call-out quote sort of way:

Even if a parent could parent perfectly, it would not guarantee them protection from the kinds of heartaches and disappointments that come with having, raising, and being in relationship with their children.

Jesus once told a parable that I find surprisingly comforting as a parent.

The Prodigal Son, aka, The Parable of the Pain that Even a Perfect-Parent Feels

Few stories in the Gospels have delivered as many “aha” and “oh wow” moments for me as the parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32). It seems like each reading reveals another layer into the human experience.

A while back, while preparing for a sermon, I revisited this passage and noticed something interesting that I’d like to share here.

I believe that one of the things Jesus was doing with this parable was illustrating the kind of love that God has for us. It’s a parental love. It’s unconditional.

And it does not hinge on “deserving,” as both sons errantly believed it to be (e.g., the younger son believed he did not deserve his father’s love, while the older son believed he did deserve it).

In order to make his point about the kind of love God embodies, Jesus uses an earthly father as a representation of God. And while I can appreciate that the following extrapolations no doubt stretch the parable farther than Jesus likely intended it to, I still find them to provide value and comfort to me, so perhaps they will you too.

Here’s what occurred to me…

If the father in the story represents the Divine (which I think it does),

then it’s reasonable to conclude that as a father/parent he is probably pretty darn good.

Maybe even the best… or you might say, the epitome of what a father can be.

And if that’s the case (and I think it is),

then what does it say that both of his sons had, well, issues?

Okay, perhaps “issues” is the wrong word here… that may not be the fullest depiction of the situation. Rather, we might more accurately say that the relationship between father and son(s) had issues.

• Issue #1: The younger son all but wished that his father was dead (that’s the subtext behind his request for his share of the inheritance, something that was due him normally upon the death of the father). Once he got his wish fulfilled, the young man just took off. Left home. And not in a, “let’s celebrate our baby boy finally leaving the nest” sort of way. No, it surely broke the father’s heart.

• Issue #2: The other son, the eldest, also seemed to have strains in his relationship with his dad. You can hear the resentment, the bitterness in his voice when he not only refuses to join his brother’s party but then files his complaint to dad for never giving him celebratory meats in the past.

My hunch is (and again, I know I’m stretching the parable here) that the father in the story probably did a pretty good job (even a great one!) of raising his sons with the kinds of messages and support structure that ought to have ensured they both knew they were loved and cared for.

And still…

The young son takes off in a rebellious hasty decision.

The eldest son whines with entitlement and rejects the family connection.

I’m sure we’ve thought about the sadness in the father’s heart when the young (prodigal) son up and leaves, but have you considered how hard it must have been to hear your eldest son totally miss the point on something so essential? When the father replies to his son’s complaint with, “Everything I have has always been yours,” you can hear the grieve in his voice… as though he’s saying,

“How have you missed this point so completely? I’ve spent your whole life trying to raise you with this fundamental truth.”

All You Can Control is You

In this story I read about a really really good parent (I mean, it is God after all), who raises his children in the best possible way (I’m assuming), and yet still he experiences fracturing, misunderstandings, tension, and disappointment in his relationships to his sons.

If that’s not a word of encouragement to us as parents, I don’t know what is.

Because here’s the thing: as much as you may be crushing it as a parent (and by the way, and for the record, I know that I am not “crushing it” as a parent… I have a lot of growth possibilities…. but I do believe I’m showing up as best as I know how, doing the best I can),

but even if you’re doing everything right, you still cannot control the outcome.

Why?

Simple… your child is their own person. And relationships always involve two people. (BTW, that’s to say nothing of all the other factors that muddle up relationships: history, other humans, trauma, personalities, conflicting traits, stress, etc).

All you can do is control you. That’s it.

You cannot control them, therefore you cannot control the outcome.

Now, before I end this I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention that yes, of course, there are times when parents really have done something(s) to muck up the relationship in a way that mostly explains the why behind the fracture in relationship. The point of this article is not to absolve all parents of responsibility.

I’m not saying, “Well hey, sometimes kids are just gonna be all, I wish you were dead and give me money, or, Why don’t you ever do nice things for me?!”

This article is not intended to hand waive away legitimate complaints by children toward their parents. There are very good reasons why sometimes, for some situations, kids need to establish boundaries with their parents. And this might very well cause pain to the parents (but also, let’s not center the parent’s pain over and against the pain of the kid who had to draw the boundary in the first place!)

In fact, this is a question I routinely ask of myself: What is my role in this? Are there things I can do differently? Where can I improve? And so on.

The main thing I wanted to share was how the above insight (from The Prodigal Son) helped to dissolve an illusion I had unconsciously been living by.

Which is to say, I was living as though if I did everything right as a dad, then I’d never have conflict with my kids… or at least, never have kids that feel like I’ve held them back (the younger son) or done them dirty (the older son).

While it might be true that I’ve done those things (or things similar to them), it might also be true that I’ve done really pretty well as a dad all things considered, and yet the parent-child relationship can still be really complicated, confusing, and hard.

Those are my thoughts, anyway.

What do you think about all this?