I am a terrible parent. It’s ok. It hurt when I was first informed of it but I have had a few years for it to sink in and I am ok with it now.
This is going to be one of those articles that I put out that is more catharsis than meaningful practical, tactical advice or wisdom.
I have yet to meet a heart that has not had its share of breaking. It is an inevitable consequence of something so powerful and fulfilling and overwhelming as love that it should also contain within it the capacity to be as debilitating, mournful, and suffering as a broken heart can be.
I know that some people will never care about being the cool parent. I know that some parents see their role as a trainer, guide and disciplinarian, and believe that the best way to raise desirable adults is to not be too indulgent to their children’s whims.
As the year winds down, and the holidays approach, we are reminded that this is the season to be grateful and giving.
I would never claim to be a great parent. I think most parents have their lingering little doubts about how good they are at raising their children and if the things they are doing will serve their children in the long run.
This post is different from what I usually write. I am not sure of any real, relatable lessons that might be hidden in this very personal bit of writing, but my hope is that reaches deep into the hearts and souls of other people who might have gone through something similar.