Not the Parent I Thought I'd Be: An Inspired Reflection by Amanda Sidell, LCSW

Before we had kids, we were parenting experts. Remember that time—pre-diaper explosions, pre-sleepless nights, pre-teenage eye rolls—when we had opinions? Big ones. Shaped by our personalities, childhoods, and a general lack of sleep deprivation, we imagined what kind of parents we’d be. Loving, firm but fair, calm under pressure… maybe even a little fun. (Cue laugh track.)

We watched other parents—the ones ahead of us on the timeline—and made judgments. Don’t lie, you did it too. “I’d never let my kid scream in Target.” “Those parents clearly don’t have boundaries.” “Rewarding a tantrum with a cookie? Rookie move.” Yep. We were all card-carrying members of the Judgy McJudgeface club. And if you claim you weren’t? Sorry, I don’t believe you.

Now, imagine layering professional training on top of all that. As a Licensed Clinical Social Worker, I didn’t just think I knew what good parenting looked like—I knew it. I had the language, the tools, the research. I could recite co-regulation theory in my sleep and coach other parents through power struggles like it was my job—because it literally was. So when things went sideways with my own kid? Let’s just say the self-judgment hit differently. It wasn’t just “I should be able to handle this,” it was “I teach people how to handle this—what is wrong with me?”

Turns out, being a professional doesn’t protect you from the chaos of parenting. And it definitely doesn’t inoculate you against the shame spiral that can show up when you fall short of your own standards—especially the ones you thought were airtight because they were backed by degrees and licenses.

I once swore my baby would nap anywhere. “I’m not going to let a nap schedule run my life,” I said, smugly. Fast forward to me, driving 80 mph down the highway, windows down, desperately reaching into the backseat to keep my toddler awake—because if we missed that sacred 1 p.m. crib nap, the day was ruined. Spoiler alert: the nap ran my life.

And then came the teen years. Oh, sweet summer child, I had plans. I was raising balanced, high-achieving, community-serving young adults. Think varsity athletes-meets-honor-roll-saints who spend weekends helping seniors at the local retirement home. Cute, right?

Instead, I found myself in survival mode, redefining success as “no police, no fire trucks, and no emergency room visits this week.” My gold star parenting plan got lit on fire and launched into orbit. And you know what? That’s life. That’s parenting. Especially when your kid is struggling.

I’ve learned (read: been humbled repeatedly) that I am not the parent I thought I’d be. I’ve had to rewrite my standards, goals, and values on the fly—often in yoga pants, holding a lukewarm coffee, while Googling “what does defiance in teens really mean?”

Some days I get it right. Some days I get it so wrong it’s almost impressive. And I’m learning to forgive myself for both.

So if you’re sitting there wondering what happened to the parent you imagined you’d be—welcome. You’re not alone. You’re not failing. You’re evolving. And you’re in good, messy, totally imperfect company.

Hang in there. ❤️