What If Loving Your Child Isn't Enough?

There are certain things nobody prepares you for when you become a parent.

You expect the sleepless nights. You expect the worry. You expect that there will be moments when your child struggles and moments when they soar. What you don't expect is that one day your child might look at you and tell you that, despite everything you've done for them, they don't feel loved.

Not because you abandoned them.

Not because you didn't care.

But because the way you were loving them wasn't the way they needed it.

That realization was one of the most painful and transformative experiences of my life.

It happened during the pandemic, a period that was already stretching many of us beyond our limits. At the time, I was living in my parents' basement. My mother had been diagnosed with Stage 4 lung cancer. My daughter was struggling in ways I didn't fully understand. The world felt uncertain, isolated, and emotionally exhausting.

Like many people, I was carrying more than I realized.

When an opportunity came up to spend three months away pet-sitting in a beautiful condo in Stouffville, Ontario, I jumped at it. At first glance, it probably looked selfish. My mother was sick. My daughter needed support. There were responsibilities everywhere I turned. Yet something inside me knew I needed a break.

I remember worrying about leaving. What if something happened? What if I was needed? What if there was a crisis and I wasn't there to fix it?

Those questions followed me right up until the day I packed my bags.

Looking back now, I can see that those fears were about more than responsibility. They were about identity. For years, I had become the person everyone called when something went wrong. If there was a problem, I stepped in. If someone needed help, I was there. If there was a crisis, I carried it.

Being needed had become part of who I was.

The strange thing was that once I got to Stouffville, I felt something I hadn't felt in a very long time.

Relief.

For the first time in years, I wasn't on high alert. I wasn't waiting for the next emergency phone call. I wasn't trying to manage everyone else's emotions. It was just me, a cat, and three months of unexpected solitude.

What I didn't know then was that the distance would eventually teach me one of the most important lessons of my life.

At the time, my daughter and I were struggling to communicate. It felt as though every conversation turned into a disagreement. I genuinely believed I was trying to help her, but the more I tried to help, the worse things seemed to become.

I was frustrated.

She was frustrated.

And neither of us felt understood.

During those months away, I found a program through an organization called Sashbearr, which supports families dealing with Emotional Dysregulation also know as  Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). I signed up because I wanted to learn how to help my daughter, and I was at the end of my rope

As it turns out, I ended up learning far more about myself.

One of the first concepts introduced in the program was validation.

At first, it sounded simple enough. In fact, I thought I already understood it. But what I discovered was that validation and agreement are not the same thing.

For much of my life, if someone expressed a belief or perspective that didn't make sense to me, my instinct was to correct it. I wasn't trying to be dismissive. I wasn't trying to hurt anyone. I genuinely thought I was helping by offering a different perspective or pointing out flaws in their thinking.

What I failed to understand was that when someone is sharing their experience, they don't always need correction. They need connection.

Validation is the ability to acknowledge another person's reality without needing to change it.

It is saying, "I can see why you feel that way."

It is saying, "I may not experience this the same way, but I understand that it feels real to you."

For many people, that may not sound revolutionary.

For me, it was.

Because as I reflected on my relationship with my daughter, I began to realize how often I had tried to explain away her feelings instead of understanding them.

The more I learned about validation , the more I recognized how deeply all of us want the same thing. We want to feel seen. We want to feel heard. We want someone to say, "I understand why this matters to you."

That realization alone started changing the way I communicated.

But another lesson was waiting for me, and it was even harder to accept.

My daughter had been telling me something for years.

She said she just wanted me to love her.

At first, I was offended.

What do you mean you want me to love you? I'm your mother. Of course I love you.

I had spent years worrying about her, supporting her, helping her, and showing up whenever she needed me. In my mind, my actions were proof of my love.

Yet the comment kept resurfacing.

Eventually, I stopped defending myself and started getting curious.

What was she actually trying to tell me?

That question led me somewhere I never expected to go.

I began examining the difference between conditional love and unconditional love.

When I first asked myself whether my love came with conditions, I wanted to immediately say no. But the longer I sat with the question, the more honest I had to become.

I wanted my daughter to finish school.

I wanted her to get a job.

I wanted her to be more responsible with money.

I wanted her to make healthier decisions.

I wanted her to become the version of herself that I believed would lead to a successful and fulfilling life.

Those expectations didn't come from a place of cruelty.

They came from love.

But they were still expectations.

And underneath those expectations was a subtle message: I will feel better when you become who I think you should be.

That realization was heartbreaking.

Not because I didn't love my daughter.

But because I finally understood that what she needed from me wasn't another solution. She didn't need another lecture, another strategy, or another attempt to fix her life.

She needed to know that she was worthy of love exactly where she was.

Not someday.

Not after she got her life together.

Not after she met my expectations.

Now.

As she was.

The more I reflected on this, the more I realized these patterns hadn't started with me.

My parents loved me deeply. I know that without question.

But they came from a different generation, one shaped by very different circumstances. Their parents had lived through war, economic hardship, and survival. Strength, responsibility, and resilience were essential values. Love was often expressed through providing, protecting, and preparing children for adulthood.

Emotional validation wasn't something many families talked about.

As I looked back on my own life, I realized how much I had feared disappointing my parents. When I went away to university, I struggled far more than anyone knew. I had been an excellent student in high school, but university was a different story. I was unhappy, overwhelmed, and failing courses.

I was terrified to tell my parents.

Not because they were bad people.

Because I feared letting them down.

Years later, I found myself recognizing similar fears in my daughter.

Different circumstances.

Different generation.

Same emotional wound.

That realization softened something in me.

It helped me understand that many of the patterns we carry are not intentional. They are inherited. They are passed down quietly through beliefs, expectations, and experiences that we rarely stop to examine.

This is why turning the lens inward matters.

Not because we are looking for someone to blame.

Not because we want to dwell on the past.

But because awareness gives us the opportunity to choose differently.

One of the most important changes I made was learning how to separate love from control.

For years, I believed the two were connected.

If I loved someone, I should help them.

If I helped them, I should protect them.

If I protected them, I should guide their decisions.

And before I knew it, I was carrying responsibilities that weren't mine to carry.

Eventually, I had to learn that my daughter's life belonged to her.

Her decisions were hers.

Her lessons were hers.

Her consequences were hers.

My role was not to control the outcome.

My role was to love her through it.

That distinction changed everything.

It didn't happen overnight. It took time, practice, and more self-reflection than I ever expected. But little by little, our relationship began to shift.

The truth is that turning the lens inward is not easy work.

It asks us to challenge long-held beliefs. It asks us to look honestly at ourselves. It asks us to sit with uncomfortable truths and acknowledge the ways we may have contributed to the dynamics we are struggling with today.

But it is also some of the most rewarding work we can do.

Because when we change, our relationships change.

When we heal, the ripple effects extend far beyond ourselves.

And sometimes the most loving thing we can do for the people we care about isn't to fix them.

It's to do our own work first.

Frequently Asked Questions

What is validation in parenting?

Validation is acknowledging your child's thoughts, feelings, and experiences as real and important to them, even if you don't necessarily agree with their perspective.

What is the difference between validation and agreement?

Agreement means sharing the same opinion. Validation means recognizing and respecting another person's emotional experience without needing to change it.

What is conditional love?

Conditional love occurs when affection, approval, or acceptance feels tied to behaviour, achievements, or expectations. Unconditional love communicates worth regardless of circumstances.

Why do parent-child relationships become strained in adulthood?

Adult parent-child relationships can become strained when expectations, communication patterns, unresolved emotional wounds, or differing life choices create conflict and misunderstanding.

How can parents support adult children without enabling them?

Parents can offer love, empathy, encouragement, and emotional support while allowing adult children to take responsibility for their own decisions and consequences.

What does it mean to turn the lens inward?

Turning the lens inward means examining your own beliefs, reactions, patterns, expectations, and emotional conditioning in order to create healthier relationships and personal growth.

If this story resonated with you, Episode #3 of Turn the Lens Inward explores one of the most powerful shifts a parent can make: moving from trying to fix, control, or convince, to creating connection through validation, unconditional love, and deeper self-awareness.

Watch the full episode and join Lisa Taylor as she shares the lessons that transformed her relationship with her daughter, offering practical insights that can help you build stronger, more compassionate connections with the people you love most.

Watch Episode #3