When I Became My Parents’ Friend

When I Became My Parents’ Friend

Parenting isn’t easy. Our parents are not perfect — at least not in the way we expect them to be. We often look at them through the lens of what we needed, instead of who they were. They have their own thoughts, emotions, and struggles. In many ways, they are dependent on each other for every emotional need, with no real support system outside of that bond.

My mom had me when she was just 20. And now, at 24, I often wonder how she managed to raise me when she was still learning how to live her own life. The early 20s are a time when so much growing, unlearning, and evolving happens — yet she had to raise a child through it all. I can’t imagine having to nurture someone else while still figuring out how to nurture myself.

But what truly touches me is how she evolved with me. Every time I share something with her — a story, an emotion, or a perspective that most people from her generation wouldn’t even relate to — she tries to understand. And more often than not, she does. That openness is something I’ve come to admire deeply.

Over time, I also started noticing something heartbreaking — my mom didn’t have anyone to talk to. No friends to share her bad days with, no space to vent when she was upset, sad, or simply not feeling like herself. She kept everything in. That’s when it hit me: every daughter should become a friend to her mom. She deserves that companionship too.

Dads, on the other hand, often have the privilege of stepping outside — they meet people, interact at work or elsewhere, and get a change of environment. Moms usually don’t.

A moment that truly stuck with me happened recently. My sister had a disagreement with our dad, and our mom took my sister’s side. The argument wasn’t really his fault, but he chose to stay quiet. Later, when my mom and sister realized that, they apologized. And my father, half-jokingly, said, "You have your mom to take your side, but I have no one." That line broke something in me. Maybe he was joking — but behind that joke was a deep, unspoken truth. The absence of his parents, the loneliness of always having to be the strong one — it all reflected in those few words.

All of these reflections surfaced because I’d been carrying a feeling for some time — a sense that my parents didn’t take care of me emotionally after a certain age. That they didn’t really secure my future or think ahead for me. I used to hold on to that thought. But now, in hindsight, I see it more clearly.

They, too, didn’t have the care they needed. They didn’t have a blueprint for how to raise a child, or even how to raise themselves. They lost their parents young, they had no guidance, and yet — they tried. They had a responsibility (me), and they carried it the only way they knew how.

Our generation has grown in ways they couldn’t have imagined. We’ve had more exposure, more freedom, more learning. We’ve stepped outside — both literally and mentally. We’ve met people, seen the world from new perspectives, questioned norms, and learned emotional intelligence. And that’s our biggest strength — we understand perspectives better.

Which is why it’s our responsibility to lead the understanding. We can bridge that gap. For them, life has mostly been about us and the small world they built. For us, it’s about expanding that world while keeping them close.

This realization made me feel powerful, but not in an arrogant way. It made me feel grounded. Proud of myself for becoming more patient, more thoughtful, and more aware of what truly matters — connection, empathy, and healing generational gaps. Now, when I speak to them, I do so with more love and more calm. I try to be their safe space, as much as they tried to be mine.

And in becoming that — I became not just their child, but their friend.