Seeing My Parents Clearly Took Me Almost 30 Years

A story about growing up, letting go, and learning to love your parents differently.

It sounds funny at first, but there’s a shift that happens when you realize your parents are more like you than younger you would like to admit.

For some people, that shift hits after college.

For others, it takes until you have a family of your own.

But at some point, if you’re paying attention, you realize your parents aren’t just "your parents."

They’re people. With full, messy lives. With regrets. With good days and bad moods. With dreams they still haven’t chased and wounds they still haven’t healed.

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I’ll be 29 this year.

And sure, it’s normal to look back and cringe at things you said as a kid: dumb stuff, bratty stuff, totally unaware-of-context stuff.

But there’s a quiet, somber weight that lands when you become an adult or especially a parent yourself—and you realize those words, those fights, those long standoffs... they can really break a person’s soul.

Even if you were "just a kid."

And yet, parents are told we can't show that.

That we’re supposed to be unshakable.

That nothing our kids say should get to us. That’s bullshit.

Words cut deep, even when they come from small mouths.

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This isn’t everyone’s story.

Some people don’t have parents in their lives anymore, physically or emotionally. Some carry complicated histories that don’t end in clean resolutions.

If that’s you, I hope you still read this and reflect—not just on what was, but on what could be.

Think of the lives your parents lived. The choices they made. The pain they carried, whether they showed it or not.

And if that relationship was sour, broken, or even gone, think about what your nieces, nephews, or your own kids might see in you.

You can be the spark in a dimly lit field for someone else.

You can change the story.

Is there someone you can be a light to that may find value in this post? Share this post with them!

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The “revelation” did not come all at once.

It crept in slowly. But it hit harder than usual a few weeks ago when I was driving with my dad to drop off my car at the mechanic.

Nothing dramatic happened. We were just... talking.

But you know how sometimes a regular conversation can rearrange your entire brain?

Yeah.

Growing up, I was always more of a mama’s kid.

My dad and I weren’t super close. We clashed a lot. Still do sometimes.

Some days we get along great.

Some days it feels like everything one of us says just lands wrong.

But in the moments that counted, like middle school, high school, and some of my worst years, he showed up.

Maybe not perfectly. Maybe not with all the words I wanted. But he was there.

That ride reminded me of the Saturdays when I was a kid and we’d go get my allergy shots. It was just me and him in the car, and we’d listen to Car Talk with Click and Clack, the Tappet Brothers. That show was everything.

My dad and I still talk about it. Cars 3 means so much to me because of that: it’s a tribute to the late Tom Magliozzi, the older brother in Car Talk, and something about that story hit home for both of us.

So anyway- we’re driving, windows cracked, cool air blowing in, and I ask my dad, "Do you ever regret how you spent your time? Are you happy doing what you do?"

It wasn’t a big dramatic moment. He didn’t break down or spill some huge life confession. But his answer, quiet and honest, cut through something in me.

Because I could hear it. The exhaustion. The wondering. The trying.

And suddenly, all the noise between us softened.

He’s not just tired. I think he’s tired-tired. Not of life, but maybe of feeling like he could have done more. Maybe he’s feeling like maybe he didn’t get it right.

And I know that feeling all too well. I live with it daily.

I think sometimes he believes I’m sick of him. That I’ve outgrown him or resent him or want nothing to do with him.

But the truth is, I still see the same dad I saw as a kid: just now with more layers.

More ache.

More walls that don’t say "I don’t care" so much as "I’m trying not to fall apart."

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Then there’s my mom.

My relationship with her has gone through its own evolution.

She is bold, sometimes a little too bold for me, LOL—but she’s strong, courageous, and fiercely protective.

She gives great advice.

Sometimes it comes too late.

Almost always unsolicited.

But most of the time, it lands just before I realize how much I needed it.

Lately, we’ve been learning how to communicate better.

There are fewer fights. More moments of mutual understanding.

We’re not perfect, and when we do argue, and it is absolutely still painful. But it’s gotten so much better. Leagues better.

There was a time when I felt like I betrayed her. I was dealing with my own mess, my own pain, and I didn’t always show her the respect she deserved.

I’m not proud of that. But over time, I’ve watched her return, not just to being "my mom" in a technical sense, but to being my mom again, in the way I remember from when I was young.

The warmth, the comfort, the strength behind her eyes.

She still cares deeply about how others perceive me.

I can see her worry about how people see her, too.

There’s always been this weight she carries, trying to be everything at once, trying to protect me from a world she doesn’t fully trust.

And even with her flaws—because we all have them—she’s loved me in a way that’s undeniable.

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Unconditional is a loaded word.

But both my parents, in different ways, have shown me what unconditional love truly looks like.

Not with big speeches or perfect behavior, but with consistency.

With trying, even after failures.

With loving me through every version of myself, especially the ones I didn’t love much myself.

Yes, we fight.
Yes, there are things that need to be said, mended, faced head-on.
Yes, it’s complicated.

But this is the slow burn of growing up.

Of healing.

Of learning your parents aren’t invincible.

That they hurt, and cry, and break just like you do.

That they’re not mythical beings with rod-iron emotions.

They’re not villains. They’re just people.

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When I really stop to think about it?

Recently, I’ve been letting myself feel the full arc of it all: the good, the bad, the growth.

My parents took our old family photos out to hang back up after moving some furniture, and I got a good look at them for the first time in a while.

I see that little kid in myself now, and I see that adult figuring it out that is still there in my dad.

I tear up a lot thinking about these things.

Because things have changed. And maybe they always will.

But there’s something sacred in knowing we’re all still here, still trying.

That’s more than enough to get me through it all.

If this made you think of your own parents, or how you want to be remembered someday…

Maybe sit with that for a bit.

Let it change something.

I am so grateful you’re here reading this, and genuinely from the bottom of my heart if you read this and you think “ugh, just more bullshit” I promise you it’s not bullshit. Growing up can be scary, painful, and full of emotions we were never prepared for, but there is always room for healing.

Please reach out to your parent if you are able, and if it’s safe and healthy. Ask them about their youth, maybe even about something they enjoyed or, if you’re ready, dip in to those more in depth conversations.

You will not regret learning more about them, I promise you.

-Jake