Eliza Hartley
I always thought I was being a good mother.
Checking in often, offering advice, making sure my children had everything they needed—even when they were well into adulthood.
But then, the phone calls became less frequent. Invitations to visit started drying up. Conversations felt stilted, as if they were choosing their words carefully around me.
I told myself they were just busy. Careers, relationships, the demands of life—I blamed everything except the one possibility I didn’t want to face: maybe I was the problem.
It wasn’t until a close friend gently pointed it out that I saw it clearly. My “helpful guidance” wasn’t coming across as love—it was control. And it was pushing my children further away.
That realization shook me. But what I wasn’t prepared for was how hard it would be to unlearn the habits I thought were signs of good parenting.
How I realized my “help” was actually control
At first, I defended myself.
I wasn’t controlling—I was just being a caring mother. Was it so wrong to check in frequently? To offer advice when I saw them struggling?
But then my friend asked me a simple question: Do they actually ask for your advice, or do you just give it?
That stopped me in my tracks. I replayed our recent conversations and saw them in a new light. My son hesitating before answering my calls. My daughter sighing when I reminded her—again—about something she already knew. The way they seemed relieved when conversations ended quickly.
I thought I was being supportive. In reality, I was micromanaging their lives under the guise of love.
It wasn’t easy to admit, but once I did, everything started making sense.
The biggest lie parents tell themselves
For years, I believed that being a good mother meant staying involved in every aspect of my children’s lives.
I told myself that if I wasn’t offering advice, checking in constantly, or making sure they were making the “right” decisions, then I was failing them.
But here’s what I’ve come to realize: love doesn’t mean control. And involvement doesn’t mean interference.
The more I tried to guide them, the more I was actually taking away their independence—the very thing I had spent years preparing them for.
They didn’t need me to solve their problems or remind them of things they already knew. They needed me to trust them. To let them figure things out on their own. To be there when they asked, not when I decided they needed me.
That shift in perspective changed everything.
How I rebuilt my relationship with my children
The hardest but most important thing I did was step back.
I stopped offering advice unless they asked for it. I stopped calling or texting just to check if they had done something I thought was important. Instead, I made a conscious effort to listen more and trust that they could handle their own lives.
At first, it felt unnatural. I worried they would think I didn’t care. But something surprising happened—when I gave them space, they started coming to me on their own.
Our conversations became lighter, more natural. They no longer felt like check-ins or lectures but real, meaningful connections. My children felt respected, and in turn, they wanted me in their lives—not out of obligation, but because they chose to include me.
If you’re feeling your children pulling away, ask yourself: are you giving them the space to come back?
Letting go isn’t easy, but it’s the only way to build a relationship based on trust, not control.
Taking a step back and reclaiming my own life
Letting go of control wasn’t just about improving my relationship with my children—it was about reclaiming myself.
For so long, I had wrapped my identity around being a mother, believing that my job was to guide, protect, and ensure my children’s success. But as they grew into independent adults, I struggled to see where that left me.
The truth is, many of us follow roles and expectations without questioning them. We assume that being a “good parent” means constant involvement. That love means fixing. That our worth is tied to how much we do for others.
But stepping back taught me something deeper: when I stopped trying to control everything outside of me, I found more power within myself.
If you find yourself in a similar situation, here are a few things to consider:
- Take responsibility for your role in the situation—it’s not about blame, but about regaining your power to change things.
- Question the beliefs you’ve been taught about parenting—do they truly serve you and your children?
- Acknowledge the discomfort of letting go instead of ignoring it with blind positivity.
- Reconnect with who you are beyond your role as a parent—what do you truly want for yourself?
- Embrace the journey of self-exploration and personal growth—because when you grow, your relationships grow too.
Parenting doesn’t end when our children become adults—but it does evolve. And sometimes, the best way to love them is to trust them enough to let go.
The beauty of this journey is that the more I learned to release control, the more I found clarity in other areas of my life too. It’s not just about parenting—it’s about learning how to live fully, without being weighed down by expectations that no longer serve us.
