Cloudy with a Chance of Clarity
One beam, one teen, and one Taylor Swift lyric I can’t ignore.
Parenting demands so much of us- our time, our energy, our hearts.
We sacrifice sleep, set aside careers, shift our dreams, and carry emotional loads no one else sees.
We show up again and again, offering love, food, guidance, transportation, reminders, corrections, and endless care.
And if we're not careful, we begin to believe that all this giving earns us a kind of moral immunity. That because we give so much, we are good. That our perspective is not only valid, but superior. We think we see clearly- because we're the parent, the one with more experience, more knowledge, more investment.
Funny story about this:
Recently, we lined up a few therapy sessions for our teen.
Communication had been breaking down, and we wanted to make sure he had someone to talk to beyond us.
After about six weeks, the therapist invited us all together.
I thought, Perfect. This is the moment where the real communication happens.
I had visions of our son and my husband finally bridging their differences.
After all, they were the ones who needed to work things out.
Then came the question:
“What do you wish your mom would do differently?”
I sat there- ready. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting much.
I figured he might pause and say something mild.
But he didn’t miss a beat.
“Be more consistent,” he said gently and clearly.
Oof.
He went on to explain that it’s hard for him to know what to expect.
That sometimes I’m hands-on, sometimes hands-off.
Sometimes I’m deeply involved, and other times I suddenly step back.
The rules, the expectations- they shift.
He wasn’t angry. He was honest.
I thought, Wait. My husband’s frustrating patterns are better than my relentless efforts? Could it actually be better to be a consistently “mid” parent than an inconsistent but superior one?
(I learned so much about myself just writing that sentence.)
My husband jumped in to support me:
“I think mom tries a lot of things because she wants to figure out how to best support you.”
He meant it kindly, and I appreciated it.
But I could feel the truth of what our son had said, deep in my chest.
So I took a breath and said:
“Wow. That must be hard- to feel like the ground is always shifting. Thank you for telling me.”
I continued,
“It’s scary being a parent. I don’t always know if I’m doing enough… or too much. Sometimes I get scared, and when I do, I react. I don’t always parent from a clear, grounded place. I’m sorry. I’ll really work on this, especially now that you’ve brought it to my attention.”
And I have.
That moment shifted something.
Not just in the dynamic between us- but in me.
It reminded me of that Taylor Swift lyric (yes, I’m quoting her):
“Hi. I’m the problem, it’s me.”
But it also reminded me of a hard and beautiful scripture teaching that calls us back to a deeper truth:
“Why do you notice the splinter in your brother’s eye, but do not perceive the wooden beam in your own?”
- Luke 6:41
In other words:
Don’t assume you’re seeing clearly.
Check for the beam in your own eye.
It’s there- and it’s clouding your vision.
We often think our children are the ones who need correcting.
And sure, they often do. They’re growing, learning, maturing.
But if we pay attention- really pay attention- we’ll see that they’re also revealing truths to us.
Truths about how we move through the world.
Truths about our blind spots, our habits, our contradictions.
The invitation isn’t to shame ourselves.
It’s to be open. To grow. To receive the mirror with grace.
Sometimes, if we’re lucky, someone we love will say:
“This is what I see.”
Our son’s words were a gift. So were my husband’s.
So was the therapist's gentle structure.
In the end, we all walked away with an action item:
Mine was to be more consistent.
My husband’s was to be more curious before jumping in with orders or assumptions.
Our son's was to show more respect, even when he didn’t agree.
We all have something to work on.
And we all have something to learn from each other.
There is wisdom in experience.
But experience can also entrench us.
Blind us.
Make us believe our vantage point holds the complete truth of things.
Sometimes, it takes our children to help us see clearly.
We spend our days trying to teach them how to grow up. What if they are also teaching us how to wake up?
In solidarity,
A Blessing for the Journey:
May you have the courage to see yourself clearly,
the humility to learn from those who love you,
and the grace to begin again each day.
🌱 Support Raising Us – Choose Your Amount!
I’m so grateful for any support you feel moved to give. Your contribution will help me continue sharing meaningful reflections on family, growth, and connection.
💛 Thank you. Every little bit helps, and I appreciate you being part of this journey!