Maybe That's Grace

Every generation parents with the best light it has — and leaves a little more for the next.

The other day, I read a Note by Dr. Amy See, PhD that Debbie Giannioti had restacked. It was about how children often long for connection more than structured activities or elaborate experiences.

It made me think of my ten-year-old's birthday.

The day before, we'd celebrated in the simplest way. He wanted only our immediate family and cousins. He asked for a simple cake. No decorations—just about ten balloons.

I was the one who insisted on getting him a nicer cake and a few more balloons.

He also didn't want any grand gifts or toys. Instead, he asked if he could join music classes. On his birthday, he wanted to visit the temple with me. And he wanted to buy ten little chicks.

He had been counting down the days to his birthday, and I remembered doing the same as a child.

As the day unfolded just as he had hoped—in all its simplicity, surrounded by the people closest to him—he was genuinely happy.

After everyone left, he came to me and thanked me for making his birthday so special.

Later, he went and thanked his father too.

When I later came across Dr. Amy's Note, my mind wandered in a different direction

🌿 Looking Closer

What surprised me wasn't what he wanted for his birthday.

It was what he didn't want.

He didn't ask for toys or gadgets or expensive gifts.

As I sat with that, a thought crossed my mind.

Are children today craving connection because we've become too busy?

For a moment, I wondered if that was true.

But the more I thought about it, the less certain I became.

Because when I look around, I don't see parents who don't care.

I see parents trying.

I see parents reading parenting books after their children have gone to bed. Searching Google and every other resource they can find, hoping to become better parents.

I see them worrying about screen time, emotional regulation, healthy meals, school choices, and whether they're spending enough time with their children. I see parents apologising when they lose their temper. I see them trying to break patterns they grew up with.

If anything, I think parents today are carrying more than ever before.

And then another thought came to me.

Maybe we don't give ourselves enough credit.

Maybe we're so surrounded by messages telling us what we're not doing that we've forgotten to notice what we are doing.

We remember the moments we lost our patience.

We forget the hundreds of ordinary moments we showed up.

The lunchboxes packed before school.

The bedtime stories read through tired eyes.

The endless Google searches trying to figure out whether we're doing the right thing.

The rides to music classes and football practice.

The conversations in the car.

The hugs before bed.

The apologies after difficult moments.

The intentional decisions to do things differently than we were raised.

No one says “Well done!” or appreciate us.

But they matter.

They are the everyday ways we tell our children, "You matter to me."

We spend so much time wondering if we're doing enough that we rarely stop to notice how much we're already doing.

Almost immediately, another thought followed.

Am I being unfair to the generation before us?

I don't think I am.

But I don't think they're the problem either.

My parents loved me.

They worked hard. They sacrificed. They gave me a safe home and opportunities they themselves didn't always have.

Did they get everything right?

No.

But neither will I.

They didn't know everything we know today.

They weren't reading about attachment, emotional regulation, or gentle parenting. Most of them were simply raising children with the understanding, resources, and support they had.

And I think they were gentler and more connected than the generation before them.

My parents often told me about their own childhoods. Before and after school, they were expected to work—helping on the farm, caring for livestock, and finishing whatever chores were assigned to them. They were even threatened with being denied dinner if they didn't. Food was scarce then, and the thought of a lost meal was enough to motivate them to finish their work.

Looking back, I realise they didn't parent me the way they had been parented.

They had already changed the story.

And now it's our turn.

We know more than they did.

Our children will probably know more than we do.

That's how every generation moves forward.

Perhaps, twenty years from now, our children will look back at us and say,

"They didn't know..."

And they'll probably be right.

Not because we didn't love them.

But because every generation has blind spots that only the next generation can see.

Maybe parenting was never about being the generation that finally gets everything right.

Maybe it's about doing the best we can with the light we have, while leaving a little more light for the children who come after us.

🧑 Let's Adultify

Children aren't the only ones who long for connection.

Think about the last time life felt heavy.

Did you need someone to solve your problem?

Or did you simply want someone to sit beside you, listen without judgement, and remind you that you weren't alone?

Connection isn't something we outgrow.

It's one of our deepest human needs.

Maybe that's why my son's birthday took me down this path.

It reminded me that connection is something human beings never stop needing.

Perhaps our children are asking for it.

And perhaps we are too.

🥜 A Nugget to Chew On

Every generation parents with the best light it has.

Our parents gave us what they knew.

We are giving our children what we know.

One day, our children will know things we don't.

That's not failure.

That's how humanity grows.

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❓ Over to You

I'd love to hear your story.

What's one thing your parents gave you that you're deeply grateful for?

And what's one thing you're intentionally trying to give your own children that you didn't experience growing up?

I'd love to read your thoughts in the comments.

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✨ A Small Invitation

This week, whenever the thought "I'm not doing enough" quietly creeps in, pause for a moment.

Instead, ask yourself:

"What did I do today that helped my child feel loved?"

Maybe it was reading one more story.

Maybe it was apologising after a difficult moment.

Maybe it was listening without rushing.

Maybe it was simply showing up.

Write down one small thing each day this week.

You may discover that you're doing far more than you've been giving yourself credit for.

So here's the grace I'm learning to hold.

Give grace to the people who raised you. They parented with the knowledge they had.

And hold grace for yourself. You're parenting with today's knowledge, today's expectations, and today's pressures.

You'll make mistakes.

You'll learn.

You'll wish you'd known more.

That doesn't mean you're failing. It means you're human. Perhaps that's what grace looks like.

Not pretending everything was perfect or lowering the standard.

But refusing to confuse imperfect with unloving. Knowing that every generation is simply doing its best with the light it has.

Maybe that's grace.