When I was growing up, parenthood seemed to be all about having the last word. I imagined that’s how I would have to parent as well. I thought I had to be right; even when I wasn’t because being “the adult” meant holding authority. To be honest, for a long time, I misunderstood what authority really meant.
I have always been the one to initiate the words “I’m sorry”. In every situation, in every relationship, whether I was right or wrong.
It came naturally to me; maybe because I’m a people pleaser, or maybe because I’ve always believed peace was worth more than pride. I’ve apologized to my kids over the years, and not just for the little day-to-day things. I’ve apologized for how I disciplined them; especially the times I reacted out of frustration instead of understanding. I’ve said sorry for the times I didn’t listen when they were trying to tell me something in their own way. I’ve owned that I didn’t always recognize their anxiety, and instead of helping them feel safe, I sometimes overreacted. There were times I hesitated with saying I’m sorry; not because I didn’t want to make things right, but because the outside noise of the world’s opinions would sometimes take over and tell me that apologizing would somehow make me look weak or undermine my role to my kids.
Over time, I realized the opposite was true. Owning my mistakes doesn’t make me less, it makes me relatable, and it models accountability. My children didn’t lose respect for me; they gained trust in me. They saw that I was human, just like them. That I mess up, I overreact, I raise my voice when I should take a breath and when I circled back and said, “I shouldn’t have handled it that way. I’m sorry,” they learned something far more important than any lecture I could give; how to take accountability for your own actions.
That’s not easy to admit as a parent but it’s the truth. Saying I’m sorry has been one of the most healing things I’ve ever done—for them and for me.
When they were younger, I had many people tell me that I had to hold it all together, to always be “right,” to keep the boundaries firm and the emotions in check.
“You can’t be their friend.” I’m sorry, I heard that far too often—and I completely disagree.
I’ll be honest, there was a time I said that line myself, and probably not kindly. I threw it at my ex-husband more than once, especially on the nights he and our son stayed up too late on a school night. I said it with judgment, convinced I was being the responsible one, but the truth is, I didn’t even have this parenting role figured out myself.
You absolutely can be both their parent and their friend. The roles may be different, but they aren’t mutually exclusive. Parenting means setting boundaries, guiding, teaching, and sometimes saying no; but friendship in this context means being trustworthy, emotionally safe, present, and someone they actually want to come to.
I’m not afraid of my kids liking me. I want them to. That doesn’t make me weak—it means I’ve built a relationship rooted in respect, connection, and openness.
My belief is the stronger the friendship, the deeper the influence.
I know that kids need boundaries, and they need structure and rules, but I also know in my heart that connection is more important than always being right and that being the parent doesn’t mean being perfect—it means being willing to grow, even years after the moment has passed.
I’m thankful for my kids, they are gracious, kind, and strong. They receive my apologies, and they apologize when needed with grace. We’re learning together and I think that’s the point.
I apologize because I love them and because I want them to know that their feelings have always mattered, even if I didn’t always show it the right way. I want them to know that accountability isn’t about shame; it’s about respect. It’s about saying, I see you. You were right to feel that way. I could have done better and I want to keep doing better. I’ve had to unlearn patterns I carried from my own upbringing, and sometimes I still catch myself doing the very things I swore I wouldn’t.
Saying I’m sorry doesn’t erase the past, but it can soften it. I’m not saying that a simple apology can fix everything, but it opens a door. It reminds them that love can be imperfect and still be deep, real, and worth holding on to.
I do it because I want to model growth, not perfection and because I value the relationship more than my pride. No matter how old we get, there’s healing power in being heard, in being seen, and in knowing that love means choosing repair.
Apologizing isn’t easy, but trust me, it’s worth it.
Have you ever felt like you owed someone an apology but didn’t do it because it was awkward or your pride got in the way? Or are you the one who apologizes too much? Share your comments and experiences below!
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