Before becoming a mom, I had a kind of naive confidence. I thought that with enough love, attention, and consistency, nothing could surprise me. I believed good intentions, instincts, what I learned at home, and of course my partner’s support would be enough. But being a mom today is a whole different ballgame. I’m not saying it’s worse, but what worked in our childhood often just doesn’t cut it anymore.
And I wasn’t even a “late” mom—I was actually young compared to my peers. There’s a 27-year age gap between my daughter and me, yet sometimes it feels like we’re from two different universes. What I considered normal at nine years old—walking to school alone, popping into the store or grandma’s, or even camping away from my parents for a week—is almost unimaginable now. Not just because of her, but because the world around us has changed so much.
So while I try to keep up with her pace and understand her needs, I’m relearning what “good parenting” means today. And it’s not just emotional—it’s a daily strategic challenge. I already carry three big decisions in my backpack—and I’m sure many more are coming.
Where’s the line—and who draws it?
The advice to “set boundaries” sounds great—until you’re neck-deep in it. No one tells you what boundaries, when, how, or in what tone to set them. And you have to do it without damaging your relationship, but also without falling into the trap of “just let them because they’re still a kid.”
We parent very differently than our own parents did. There’s no physical punishment, no “respectful distance” that shaped most of our childhoods. No “as long as you live under my roof” monologues either. We ask, listen, and try to explain instead. But I don’t feel it makes things easier (quite the opposite). Plus, this new generation won’t accept authority just because someone is older. They question, debate, and reason—and often with good cause. Sometimes my kid’s argument is stronger than mine. In those moments, I want to smile and cry at the same time: should I stay firm or be flexible?
Maybe the hardest decision isn’t just “yes or no,” but why I say yes or no right now (because that question will definitely come).
It’s tough to weigh when and where to be “tougher” and when to hand over the reins. (And if I do hand them over, it has to be intentional—not just because I’m out of patience or energy.)
Mastering the art of letting go in practice
We’re not at classic teen drama yet, but I can already feel the breeze of that stronger phase coming. Meanwhile, a heavier realization has been on my mind for years: I have to start letting go. Right now. But that’s much harder than saying it out loud.
When it comes to trying something new and “grown-up,” I’m torn between encouraging her to try and the mental replay of every possible scenario. It’s not just “should I let her or not,” but how much and in what way. Because the world around us is faster, louder, scarier.
While we roamed freely in parks, played capture the flag in the woods without smartwatches, and only knew it was time to go home when streetlights came on, things are very different now.
I thought there’d be a moment when decisions get easier: she’s old enough now, so this is allowed. But I realized there isn’t. Just small steps, one after another, each “try it alone now” wrapped in love and worry. I need to learn how to give the most—less worry, plenty of encouragement.
How far should I push—and when should I let go of expectations?
This might be the most sensitive spot. My daughter has so far earned great grades effortlessly. But if something doesn’t work out on the first try, she drops it instantly—angry and impatient. Then it’s up to me to decide whether to offer empathy or confrontation.
And reality knocks again: often they learn pointless stuff. I scratch my head when our reading comprehension task involves translating almost archaic words from Hungarian to Hungarian—words not used in everyday speech for decades. Or when she struggles with material that will have zero use in real life. She’s nine but fully aware of this. This generation hates wasting time—especially on what they see as meaningless.
So as a parent, I have to figure out when to say, “You’re right, this really doesn’t add much to your life, let’s drop it,” and when to hold firm with, “Sometimes you have to do things that don’t make much sense.”
Of course, more and more often, even that doesn’t work. But maybe my job isn’t to win every time, just to be there when she wants to try again.
Sure, there will be much bigger, truly life-changing decisions ahead for us, but these have been my first real tough lessons. Moments when I realized my “I’ll just figure it out instinctively” approach won’t cut it anymore. These require attention, discipline, plenty of flexibility, and sometimes admitting I still have a lot to learn.
And if, despite all my efforts, my child ends up in therapy one day, maybe it’ll be enough to remember that if she’s carrying a lighter load, I might not have done such a bad job after all.
