What Being a Parent Teaches You About Your Parents: The Three Stages of Seeing Clearly
- Bobby Jakucs, Psy.D.
- 1 day ago
- 5 min read
Updated: 1 day ago
“The most extraordinary thing in the world is an ordinary man and an ordinary woman and their ordinary children.” — G. K. Chesterton
There’s a moment in early childhood when your parents are everything. They are superheroes. They are wise, powerful, and seemingly invincible. They can fix what’s broken, heal what’s hurt, and make sense of the world’s chaos. If something goes bump in the night, they make it go away.
Then, at some point—often in adolescence but sometimes later—you see the cracks. You realize they don’t have all the answers. You see their flaws, their inconsistencies, their fears. Maybe you even resent them. You may even think, “I will never do things the way they did.” You are certain that, given the chance, you’d parent, love, and live “better” than they did.
And then, one day, you have children of your own.
St. John Paul II, in Familiaris Consortio, called children “the gift of a new responsibility” from God. And with that responsibility everything–including how you see others in the world, and especially how we see our parents–begins to change.
We’re going to look at how being a parent teaches you a few things about your parents. But to do that, we need to look at exactly what being a parent really means.
The “Good Enough” Parents
G. K. Chesterton once quipped, “If a thing is worth doing, it is worth doing badly.” When it comes to parenting, there is a good degree of truth in that. Because, despite what a casual scroll on social media would suggest, there are no perfect parents. Fortunately, the vast majority of us have what psychiatrist Donald Winnicott called, “good enough” parents.
The “good enough” parent is the one who creates a holding environment by responding to a child’s needs. Not perfectly but sufficiently. This allows a child to tolerate frustration and, over time, develop the capacity for autonomy.
For Winnicott (and thankfully for all of us parents) we don’t need to be perfect. Meaningful presence is far more important than perfect performance. Even our mistakes-when acknowledged and met with love-teach children something essential: that missteps are survivable.
While Winnicott focused on early childhood attachment, the amazing thing is, we still learn from our parents. Especially once we have children of our own.
Stage One: The Hero Worship
This is the golden age of childhood, when your parents are larger than life. They are the ones who know everything. Their word is truth. They are the providers, protectors, and problem-solvers. Psychologists call this as a period of 'secure attachment'—when a child depends on their caregivers for stability and trust in the world. If that trust is met, children are free to explore and create. And again, Winnicott and others highlight that this does not have to be done perfectly. Just good enough.
In some ways, this stage is a kind of innocent faith. You don’t question whether they have it all together, and you don’t see their doubts or sleepless nights. You just know they are there and that is enough.
Stage Two: The Great Disillusionment
Then, somewhere along the way, reality intrudes. Maybe you notice how stressed they are. Maybe you see them lose their temper. Maybe you begin to see their insecurities, fears, and limitations.
For many, this is a painful stage. It can lead to rebellion, frustration, or a sense of alienation. Some people stay stuck here, trapped in resentment or disappointment. Others soften, learning to accept their parents’ humanity while still holding them accountable for their flaws.
This stage often parallels a realization many of us carry into adulthood: that life is messy, that no one has all the answers, and that being an adult doesn’t come with a manual.
Stage Three: The Grace of Seeing Clearly
And then, for many, something shifts. Often it happens when you become a parent yourself.
Suddenly, you realize how terrifying it is to be responsible for a life. How exhausting it is to balance love and discipline. How hard it is to make decisions, knowing that every choice shapes a tiny person’s future.
You look back, and instead of seeing only their flaws, you see their efforts. You see their sacrifices. You understand, perhaps for the first time, that they were doing the best they could with what they had. You respect them. Not because they were perfect, but because they kept showing up.
Research published in Psychological Science and related journals consistently demonstrates that while parenting is demanding, it is also associated with higher life satisfaction, more positive emotions, and—perhaps most importantly—a deeper sense of meaning. Parenting has a way of revealing meaning not despite exhaustion and sacrifice, but through them.
Viktor Frankl called this posture toward suffering tragic optimism. The capacity to affirm life’s meaning even amid hardship. It’s a theme I’ve written about before, and one I regularly return to. It sits at the very heart of parenting.
The demands of parenting are great, but so too is the joy. And part of that joy comes in realizing no one has it all together. And that’s ok.
If your parents were good ones, you admire them more than ever. Their flaws don’t disappear. But they carried them the best they could. And so can we.
What Being a Parent Really Teaches You
This arc mirrors the spiritual journey in many ways. At first, faith is simple: childlike trust in a God who seems all-powerful and ever-present. Then, as we grow, we experience doubt, questioning, and even rebellion. But if we continue the journey, we often return to faith with a deeper, more mature understanding—one that accepts mystery, struggle, and imperfection.
Likewise, our view of our parents says something about our own growth. The final stage isn’t about pretending they were perfect. It’s about realizing that love isn’t about perfection.
It’s about persistence, self-sacrifice, and grace.
Love is not a feeling, nor a performance, but a choice. One where imperfect parents, carrying all their doubts and flaws, say, “Yes, despite it all I choose you, my dear one.”
Not every time. Not perfectly. But "good enough."
St. John Paul II spoke of parenthood not as a skill set to be mastered, but as a vocation—a calling that forms the one who answers it. Parents are not asked to be perfect, but faithful: to show up, to sacrifice, and to love through their limitations. Seeing our parents this way does not excuse their failures. But it situates them within the human drama of answering a call without a script.
And if we’re lucky, maturity gives us the grace to say “thank you” before it’s too late.