If life came with an instruction manual, I’m sure parents would be the first to order it on Amazon with express shipping. But the reality is that raising a child is the equivalent of assembling an IKEA piece of furniture—without tools, without instructions, and with extra pieces you don’t know where to put (but that, mysteriously, were actually necessary).
Growing up, it was easy to think that adults had everything figured out. And why wouldn’t we? They knew exactly how to order a pizza over the phone, how to book a doctor’s appointment, how to fill out any form, and why we weren’t supposed to swim on a full stomach. But then you grow up and realize that your parents were just improvising with the best confident face they could put on. Turns out adulthood doesn’t come with a magical epiphany that suddenly makes you know everything—it comes with a series of attempts, mistakes, and lessons learned along the way.
From a daughter’s perspective, I’ve come to understand that being a parent is an impossible equation to solve. And I don’t say that lightly or in a negative way, but because each child is a whole world of their own—with their quirks, their emotional needs that change like the phases of the moon, and their inexplicable traumas (like an irrational fear of clowns, the closet monster that doesn’t exist, or simply broccoli). There’s no single way to be a good parent because there’s no single way to be a child. And what worked for one child probably won’t work for another. So it’s not just that there’s no manual—if there were, it would need to be rewritten in every household, in every generation, and sometimes, every Monday morning.
Lately, I’ve become more observant than usual. Maybe it’s growing up, being around a new baby, or simply that I’ve come to reflect on and appreciate my parents’ efforts more. But I’ve realized that no one really knows what they’re doing when they’re handed a brand-new life to care for. Think about it: I’ve heard so many pieces of advice given to mothers—generations of opinions that sometimes contradict each other—and, to be honest, I don’t even know how accurate or true they are.
My existential self wonders as I write this: What did my parents do to make me turn out the way I did? How much of my development was my own doing? Did not watching TV on weekdays help? What would I be like if I liked mushrooms? What if every aspect of my personality were different? Who gets the credit for a good upbringing? NO ONE! No one has the «right» way to raise a child. And surely one of the biggest questions a soon-to-be parent has is: How am I going to make sure this person, whose life is in my hands, grows up to be a good human being?
One of the moments that truly made me understand this was when I realized that my parents weren’t just “my parents.” They were people. People with their own fears, insecurities, postponed dreams, and days when they probably didn’t want to deal with my tantrums because they were going through their own crises. People who, aside from being parents, were individuals with responsibilities, bills to pay, work problems, and days when they simply couldn’t take it anymore. And yet, there they were—trying their best, even when no one was telling them if they were doing it right.
There’s no manual because every family is a unique social experiment where no one really knows what they’re doing, but everyone is trying their best. Some days you win, some days you survive, and most days you just learn. In a parent’s life, the important thing is to be present, to learn to apologize when necessary, and to laugh at the mistakes when possible.
So if you’re a parent, guardian, or responsible for someone and you feel lost, remember this: everyone is. There’s no exact rhyme or reason to raising a child because every child changes the rules of the game. And if you ever doubt whether you’re doing a good job, think about this: the simple fact that you worry about it says a lot. In this crazy journey of parenting, love (and a good dose of patience) is the closest thing to a reliable compass.
And if all else fails, there’s always the option to pretend you know what you’re doing—just like our parents did with us. 😉
123 por mi 