Seeing the Child In Your Parent

For most of our early years, we view our parents as roles rather than people. Naturally, they are just Mom or Dad. Titles weighted with expectation, routine, and responsibility. We see them as providers, protectors, rule-makers, and even problem-solvers. We see them for what they do for us, far more than who they've been to themselves.

But before they were parents, they were children. Much like us, once small people with big dreams. They imagined futures that may have looked nothing like the lives they eventually lived. They wanted to be singers, athletes, artists, or even explorers. They fought for their own freedom, chased adventure, and yearned for love. Somewhere along the way, responsibility arrived, and suddenly, survival became louder than desire. Their dreams folded neatly away, not necessarily abandoned but postponed—indefinitely.

Do you ever watch your parents get excited over something small or try something new? When they chase joy instead of efficiency. It can often feel so unfamiliar, even uncomfortable, because we're so used to being the ones who are allowed to explore while they hold everything together.

Do you ever wonder what your parents wanted when they were young? The truth is, many of us never ask.

I have always spent a lot of time with my mom. Some people even joke that I might just be her favourite accessory. Since childhood, my mother and I have spent a significant chunk of time in the car together. From commutes to school, drop-offs at sleepovers, shopping dates, and errands, our time in the car has always been where we make our deepest connections. With uninterrupted time together, we have no choice but to chat the time away.

As I've grown older and even moved away from home, it became quite clear to me why I cherish these car rides so much. It's where I get to meet her inner child. This is where I hear stories about the mischief she got up to in school. Or the games she would play with her sisters. The places she explored with her friends, and the cherished memories she has of her parents and the beautiful life they built for them, despite growing up in apartheid South Africa. I listen attentively as I imagine this vibrant young girl I will never meet. Imagine how she walked, and wonder if I'd still recognise her laughter if I travelled back in time. I listen attentively, but what she doesn't know is that in those stories, she confesses the dreams she never got to live and desires that still linger in her heart.

Being a single parent, my mom has conditioned herself to always put the needs of her children before her own. She is the kind of person who will do for others and completely forget about herself. As I've grown older, I have come to realise that my support and gratitude for her doesn't have to look like admiration for her sacrifices, but rather permission to let her ease into her softness.

She turned 60 last year, and it has been an absolute pleasure watching her reconnect with her playfulness and curiosity. In the years leading up to this milestone, my mother has allowed herself to travel to destinations she has been dreaming of since I was a child. She joined a pilates class and pushes herself to new strengths every time she hops on that reformer. This weekend, she will attend her very first swimming lesson and conquer a lifelong fear. The best part? I have been right by her side through it all. Her cheerleader, tearfully watching and reminding her that she is so deserving of all of life's joys. Oh, how our roles have switched.

Sometimes loving our parents means loosening our grip on our expectations. Our parents lived entire lives before us and will continue to live lives after we fully step into our own. Yet, we often freeze them in time, locking them into the years when they raised us, when their identities were shaped around our needs. We forget that their story didn't begin with our birth.

Seeing your parent as a full person can be disorientating. It means acknowledging their disappointments, their compromises, and most heavily, their grief for paths not taken. It means coming to terms with the fact that some of their frustrations were never about you, but more about themselves. Accepting this truth can soften old resentments and complicate simple narratives. More than anything? It can also be deeply humanising.

Allowing our parents the space to reconnect with their inner child invites them to reclaim parts of themselves that were buried under duty and expectation. It gives them the freedom to experience wonder without apology. And maybe in doing so, we learn something too. We learn that dreams don't expire just because time passes.

I encourage you to ask your parents questions. Not just about what they have done in life, but about things they wanted. Take note of what lights them up. Acknowledge that they are more than just your parents; they are someone who once looked at the world with new eyes. Someone who still carries that child inside them who is waiting quietly to be seen.

And maybe the most loving thing you can do is to finally look.