Despite the delightful moments and tear jerking hugs, being responsible for the wellbeing of another human being is emotionally, physically, financially, and cognitively draining. Parents need support. Not because they are lazy or incapable, but because parenting is not (and has never been) a job for one or two people. Despite this, many parents find themselves shouldering the burden alone. At times, even when support is available, parents are hesitant to embrace it because it is not exactly what they want.
Help rarely comes in a perfect package. Whether it’s a well-meaning grandparent who brings loud toys at every visit or a friend who doesn’t follow your parenting routines, accepting support means embracing imperfections. Yet many parents chose to go without much needed help to avoid the discomfort that imperfect help brings.
Let’s unpack this.
We don’t ask for help because we feel guilty or embarrassed
Asking for help requires the humility and courage to accept and share with another person, accepting that we cannot manage everything on our own (not that we should be able to). It exposes our reasonable limitations and leaves us vulnerable, which can be terrifying. For parents of my generation, this means facing the myth of the invincible parent – the parent who holds employment outside the home, shops sustainably, makes (healthy/organic/whatever free) meals from scratch, organizes play dates, keeps up with the registration dates for swim lessons and camps, remembers to send their kid to school in a blue polka-dot shirt for spirit day, and manages to take a day off work to volunteer with the school field trip. It is not surprising that in a culture of rugged individualism, “good” parents are expected to manage all these responsibilities. But in trying to do so, they find themselves exhausted and isolated.
Asking for help becomes synonymous with being inadequate, weak, or incapable, sometimes in front of people who have only seen us at our best or who we want to impress. In a relational context, especially when the relationship is complex (read: with family members), asking for help may reinforce beliefs others have of us (or that we think they have of us), or we may fear that it creates a power imbalance (i.e., now my dad thinks he can tell me what to do because I asked him to babysit Friday night). Also, sometimes asking for help means that we have to accept the company of someone we don’t like very much.
Parents may have (well founded or not) fears of being judged and criticized by members of their family or friends. They may expect unsolicited advice or comments about their parenting choices or the condition of the carpet in the living room. They might worry about being a burden. This fear of judgment can be a significant barrier for parents seeking the help they need. Often these feelings are rooted in painful experiences that resurface when we feel vulnerable or when we are in the company of individuals that press on relational wounds.
We don’t ask for help because we don’t want to lose control.
Parents today have an abundance of (mis)information about child development and parenting strategies through books, podcasts, and workshops. Every aspect of raising children now has its own philosophy, expert and masterclass. Parents want to get it right, especially when they decide to have fewer kids, later in life, and when so much of parenting is public and scrutinized.
In this context, accepting help means giving up a little bit of control and grappling with uncertainty. After hours of research, parents who have specific ways of doing things worry that whoever has offered help will not meet their own personal standards. Parents don’t trust the people in their lives to follow their instructions which gives them one more reason to do it on their own.
When it comes to our children, especially when they are young, every little decision seems to carry immense weight. Any deviation from the schedule or from the plan may seem to carry monumental consequences (“What if they miss his nap time sleep window? What if they let her watch two episodes of a show?). The preference then is for parents to stick with what they know, and how they do it.
What if it doesn’t matter?
Choice and change come from the capacity to pause and take a curious stance. What if there was another way to experience the dilemma of desperately wanting, but only have access to imperfect help?
It is true that others will not love your child exactly as you do. It is also true that others care about you, and your child, and they want to help, in whatever way they can. With that, you could have the opportunity to have dinner with a friend and eat with both hands, or take a weeknight dance class. And while your child might go to sleep an hour later than usual, watch an extra tv show, or have two (or three) treats after dinner, they will also learn that many people love them. Your child will learn that when they miss you, their auntie can be there to soothe them, and they will have the cherished memory of ice cream on the porch with their uncle while they wait for you to come back.
Help and love are imperfect – just like the people who offer it – and those who need it. I invite you to explore the barriers to accepting the support that is already present. You can’t be the parent you want to be—and that your child needs you to be—on your own. Something has to give. Accept imperfect help, and then treat yourself to a slice of cake. You deserve it.
