Being Parented by Your Parents
Needing your parents is actually pretty cool.
There’s something nobody tells you about growing up: at some point, you might actually want your parents to parent you again.
As a kid, I didn’t want to be told what to do. As a young adult, I had an “I got this” attitude. And honestly? I had receipts.
Good grades. Internships. Well-paying job out of college. Got married young, had a kid, built a house, started a business. Want to go on a trip? Done. Paid. Want to buy something? Done. Want to try something new? No problem. Life was easy. I willed things into existence. I didn’t need help.
Then my mom died when I was 25. It caused some depression and sadness, and it made me angry about things I shouldn’t have been angry about — like having an awesome new stepmom, or fighting with bosses at work over stuff that didn’t matter.
The cracks in my “I got this” identity started earlier than I realized — but I first noticed them running my business. I quit my job with a huge ego thinking I’d build something that crushed it. The company sustains us, but there were months without clients. Clients who didn’t pay. Deals that fell through or got delayed. Projects we lost money on because we estimated wrong. Falling on my face in sales calls. Learning about taxes, payroll, all the random stuff nobody warns you about. Early arguments with my business partner that tested things — we’re good now, we can make it through anything.
Somewhere in all of that, I started to realize that I didn’t “got this” — I just got lucky. Bad stuff happens to people, and it was starting to happen to me. The self-sufficiency myth was cracking, but I hadn’t fully accepted it yet.
Then my wife left for another guy.
Suddenly I needed to heal from that, stay sane, raise my daughter, and run my business — all at the same time. But it wasn’t just healing. I also had to re-find myself after years of erasing who I was to try to make things work. I started going back to church. I found God again. And I realized that good things had come from Him all along — I’d just been taking credit for them.
Life got weird in ways I couldn’t have predicted. Fridays are transition days now — coparenting days where my daughter goes from my house to her mom’s. On Friday I’ll watch her in the morning, take her to school, squeeze in some work, pick her up, play with her, then drop her off with mom. And then after a jam packed day of dad life, I’ll somehow chain prayer night, hibachi with the boys, a comedy open mic, and going dancing that same night. Other nights I’m locked in at home being a dad, maybe working after she goes to sleep. Grieving, rebuilding and laughing — sometimes all in the same week. I have the ultimate responsibility in life, but also have to let myself be a little weird as I re-find myself.
Through all of the painful and whacky times, I leaned heavy on my dad and stepmom.
They didn’t need to tell me what to do. I’m an adult, and the whole situation was uncharted territory for all of us. They just sat with me. Sometimes they offered advice. Sometimes I pushed back — “You could never understand.” And they were okay with that.
I called them one to two times a day that first month. Sometimes it was more stressful for them than it was for me. I’d talk fast, not sure how to make it through the day. Brain fog made work impossible. All my energy went to being present for my daughter, who I still watched most workday afternoons. There were even times we had to get off the phone because it was just too much for all of us.
I still call them a few times a week when I get triggered. They sit with me. They give me good advice. I trust them.
I think about that Kendrick Lamar song “Momma” a lot. There’s a verse where he lists everything he knows — morality, spirituality, loyalty, respect, the highs, the lows — and then it ends: “Until I realized I didn’t know s***, the day I came home.”
I felt that. I used to say so many gassed up things in my head. I know this, I got that, I don’t need anyone. I’m HIM. Then life fell apart and I realized I didn’t know anything.
The day I came home was when I opened back up to my dad. When I accepted my stepmom. When I leaned on my cousins and made new friends who could help me heal.
My dad was pretty stern and a little judgy growing up. He wouldn’t say it, but my sister, friends and I would. That’s just how my whole family is, including me sometimes. But as an adult? He surprised me. He softened in ways I didn’t expect.
And when your life is falling apart, there’s too much pain to worry about getting offended anyway. I just needed family. Love. Help. Community. So I shared my mess, and if I felt judged, I’d say so. It worked out. Now we don’t have to walk on as many eggshells.
The first time I told him everything, I had a panic attack. I didn’t know how he’d react. It felt so good to get it out. It hurt him too — he felt bad he wasn’t there, didn’t know. Sometimes I wondered if he was more mad at her than I was. But I couldn’t comfort him because my life was the one falling apart, and I had to stand up for myself about that.
My stepmom lost her husband before she met my dad. She knows pain. She doesn’t have a mean bone in her body. She volunteers, helps people — all kinds of people. It’s just what she does.
My dad processes out loud. She says less.
I remember sitting in their living room one night — me and my dad talking fast like we always do, going back and forth about everything happening. She was quiet on the couch, just listening. Then she chimed in with the wisdom and advice we needed ten minutes ago.
That was it. She’s not my mom. But she’s my mom. For the rest of her life and mine.
I used to be overprotective with my daughter. I didn’t let my parents help much. I’m self-employed, so if she needed dad, I’d stop work. I took half days constantly. I was always there.
Now they watch her so I can work. My cousin nannies for us. I let them have her sleep over. My stepmom treats her like my mom would have.
Because I accept help now, my daughter gets to know that other adults care for her. That she’s safe and loved by more people than just me. That’s a gift I couldn’t have given her when I was still white-knuckling through life alone.
I’m a parent now, and I need to be parented more than ever.
But it’s different this time. I want it. I need it. Without their help, being a parent and working amidst all this chaos would have been impossible.
I’m also adult enough to know when to say no to their advice. Not because they’re wrong — just because sometimes I want to do things differently, and that’s okay. That’s the thing about being parented as a grown-up. I get the best of it. The love and wisdom without the power struggle.
If you’re my age — early thirties, maybe a new parent — and you’re realizing how hard it all is, this is for you. I hope your life doesn’t fall apart like mine did. But I do hope you realize how helpful it is to have parents as an adult, if you’re blessed enough to have them there for you. It’s okay to need them. It’s okay to call them twice a day when things get hard. It’s okay to accept the help you used to decline.
And if you’re a parent reading this, wondering if your adult kid will ever come around — they might. We all come around eventually. Sometimes it just takes everything falling apart first.
One day my dad and stepmom will be gone. But their parenting will live on. Because when Kenzie is grown and her life gets hard, I’ll sit with her the way they sat with me. I’ll be there because they showed me how.
Needing your parents is actually pretty cool.
