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Why perfect parenting isn't the goal
What our children really need from us, and why getting everything right isn't the answer.
By Lisa Taylor
Family Therapist and Author
Family Therapist and Author
What our children really need from us, and why getting everything right isn't the answer.
I never thought I’d be the kind of parent who yelled at her children or grabbed them roughly when they didn’t do what I wanted.
I had seen parents with short fuses and judged them. I thought I would be different. But I have been that parent. I have yelled, and I have grabbed my children roughly when I was overwhelmed.
The moment I realised I was at my limit.
When I was 36, with three children and a part-time teaching job, I was trying to do everything perfectly for my beautiful family. One night, under the weight of pressure that had been building for a long time, I snapped. I sent the children to their rooms, turned off the stove and left the dinner I’d just burnt. Then I sank to the kitchen floor.
I was ashamed of my anger, frustrated that no one was listening, hurt that no one was helping and lost about what to do next. I reached for the phone book (yes, we had those back then) and began looking for somewhere I could go. Not forever, just long enough to sleep and pull myself together.
In that moment, I realised that blaming my children or my husband wouldn’t help me understand what was happening. I had placed enormous pressure on myself to get everything right: the children, the house, the meals, the family life we could all be proud of. Some pressure came from expectations I had absorbed; some came from the practical and emotional work of holding family life together. I had come to believe it was all mine to get right. The pressure was costing me my happiness, my steadiness and my connection with the people I loved.
Parenting is not easy. We can say that to one another, but it’s hard to understand the pressure and mixed emotions until we are in the thick of it. So much of the work is invisible: remembering, organising, anticipating, soothing, noticing what might go wrong and trying to hold everyone together. Even when we love our children deeply, the load can leave us depleted.
If you’ve ever reacted in a way that didn’t feel like you, then wondered afterwards what happened, you’re not alone. For many parents, the pressure they’re carrying spills into the relationships they’re trying so hard to protect.
For years, I believed that being a good mum meant keeping my children happy and making sure our days ran smoothly. After my own mother died, when my children were very young, I clung even more tightly to the things I could control. The house was spotless. Meals were planned down to the last snack. Playdates were organised with military precision. On the outside, it looked as if I had everything together. On the inside, I was grieving and running on fumes. I remember a small but familiar battle over toast. My four-year-old wanted triangles today, not squares like yesterday. It sounds minor now, but at the time I stood at the kitchen bench thinking, What am I doing wrong?
The harder I tried to keep things under control, the more my children seemed to struggle. There were tantrums, tears and withdrawal. One child began lying; another clung and cried over everything. I responded by tightening the rules and managing more. I wanted to get it right so badly that I couldn’t see how much fear was driving me.
I wasn’t only trying to manage my children’s behaviour. I was trying to manage my grief and my fear that, if I let go, something else might fall apart. My grip came from love, but fear was steering it. My children could feel the tension, even if they didn’t have the words to explain it.
This is the trap I describe in The Perfect Parent Trap. It is quiet and confusing. You are trying harder than ever, yet feeling less confident than you expected. You read the books, listen to the podcasts, try the strategies and still end the day wondering if you’re getting it wrong. Slowly, you begin to doubt yourself. You look outward for the next answer and lose trust in your own instincts.
The pressure to be a “good mum” can make ordinary family life feel like a test we are always failing. If our child is distressed, we wonder whether we should have handled it differently. If they don’t cooperate, we wonder whether we have set the wrong boundary. If we lose our patience, we take it as proof that we are not the parent we hoped to be.
In my work as a family therapist, I see how easily stress can pull our attention away from the person in front of us. When we are overloaded, our minds are busy scanning ahead, solving problems, remembering what still needs to be done or bracing for the next difficult moment. We can be physically beside our children while our attention is somewhere else entirely.
Children often notice that shift. They feel the pace in our voices, the tension in our bodies and whether we are available to them. They may not know that we are worrying about work, the shopping, an ageing parent or the many demands waiting for us. But they can sense when we are distracted, rushed or emotionally far away.
When our attention is caught up in pressure, it becomes harder to be curious about what might be happening for our child. We can see only the behaviour that needs to stop, rather than the child who is tired, overwhelmed, disappointed or asking for connection in the only way they know how. This doesn’t mean we should ignore behaviour or never set limits. It means that our own state affects what we notice and how we respond.
In my therapy room, I often meet mothers who feel responsible for holding everything together: caring for children, supporting partners, keeping up with work and managing the details of daily life. I know that pressure. My own parenting left me questioning why I reacted as I did and what was happening beneath my children’s behaviour. Reading, researching and wrestling with those questions eventually led me to study and become a family therapist.
In my work and in my book, I call the emotional imprints we carry Heartprints. They are shaped by what we have lived through and learned about safety, belonging, love and whether our needs will be met. Under pressure, a child’s behaviour can touch an old hurt. When a child doesn’t listen, we might feel dismissed, as we once did. When they ignore us, an old feeling of not being good enough can surface. Our reaction may be carrying more than the moment in front of us.
One question I return to is: Am I responding to the child in front of me, or reacting from the child within me?
The question isn’t there to make us judge ourselves. It creates a pause: What is being stirred in me? What might my child need, and what do I need to respond with a little more steadiness?
Good enough parenting doesn’t mean we never yell or feel overwhelmed. It means noticing when we’ve got it wrong, taking responsibility and returning to connection. Repair might sound like: “I’m sorry I yelled. You didn’t deserve that. I was frustrated, and I’m going to try again.”
An apology doesn’t undo a hard moment, but it shows our children that relationships can hold honesty and repair. When we own our behaviour and try again, they learn that they can have difficult feelings, make mistakes and still be loved. They don’t have to be perfect to stay connected.
Over time, I began to soften. I let the house get messy. I stopped trying to schedule every moment. I sat on the floor with my children and did nothing in particular. I paid more attention to the relationship than to whether everything was going according to plan.
Nothing changed overnight, and I did not become a perfectly calm parent. But the tension in our home began to ease. I was less focused on controlling behaviour and more able to ask what was happening for each of us. I became more honest about my reactions and more willing to repair when I got it wrong.
Good enough parenting is not giving up or caring less. It is letting go of the belief that love can be measured by how well we perform. Our children need care, connection and a parent who can notice what is happening within themselves and return to the relationship after a hard moment. It means allowing ourselves to be human while we do the important, imperfect work of raising them.
My children did not get a perfect mother. They got a mother who was learning to be present, who could say sorry and who kept returning to the relationship. That’s what our children need: not perfection, but a real and imperfect parent who can take responsibility and reconnect after a hard moment. When we allow ourselves to be human, we give our children permission to be human too.
Lisa.
Lisa Taylor is a family therapist, leadership and relationship consultant, keynote speaker and author of The Perfect Parent Trap (AMBA Press). With more than 25 years’ experience working with families, schools and organisations, Lisa helps people understand what sits beneath behaviour and how their experiences shape the way they parent, lead and connect. Her work brings professional insight and lived experience to strengthening relationships. strengtheningfamiliesaustralia.com.au
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