How to Raise Happy Humans That You Can Also Be Proud Of

Future Happiness Guaranteed for All

My 12-year-old daughter hates hugs, spends most of her time living in her head, is a raging empath, and life itself is one big existential crisis after another. She’s so me.

It was clear early on she had taken on my creative traits, scribbling and doodling all over the place the minute she realized she could do more with a crayon than eat them.

I see so much of myself in her and she helps me see what my husband has to put up with on a daily basis. I appreciate his patience.

She and I share the same sense of humor, and like me, she’s also extremely sensitive, a stark contrast to her brothers who are impervious to most insults and feelings in general. They take after their dad in that regard. The little one especially, with his budding 10-year-old sarcasm and need for order and consistency worries me sometimes. It’s only a matter of time before he realizes we have zero clue what we’re doing and decides to raise himself.

From the moment we saw who our little moochers were becoming, my husband and I began dreaming up what they could be. That’s what good parents do right? Plan and plot their children’s futures? Set them on the best path forward; provide them with the best education, habits, and tools necessary to be successful in life.

We want the best for them, pour everything into them to give them the best chance at happiness. So why are there so many parents left disappointed, disturbed, and disillusioned by their adult children?

A Lesson In Latckeying

I grew up in the late ‘80s and ‘90s as one of those kids who came home to an empty house. My dad was always off on one of his dead-end entrepreneurial pursuits and my mom worked full-time and went to school. You can imagine the kind of trouble I got into. A complete lack of supervision during your formidable years makes for the best trauma.

They were consistent in their neglect, down to our education. Neither of my parents set any real goals or intentions for me or my two brothers. My dad just didn’t want us to embarrass him, though he did that daily.

My mother only did slightly better. Her contribution to my writing dreams was a used word processor, which is a computerized typewriter for my age-deficient readers. That was all she ever did to foster my lofty dreams.

They did the best they could, I get that, but for a long time, I thought my parents’ lack of expectations for us was a bad thing. Now that I’m in the throes of full-on parenting, I think I lucked out…sort of.

I’d Rather Starve

I was always a creative soul so I easily decided to go to an art college without any interference from my parents. I got a degree in design and worked in several creative fields from fashion to web design. As a result, I’ve always loved the work I do.

Being an author, however, has always been my biggest dream and today I can proudly say that I’m a self-published author of a dozen books and counting. Every time a reader reaches out to tell me how much they loved my stories, I’m reminded of how lucky I am to be doing the very thing I dreamed of doing.

A small part of me is grateful that I didn’t have anyone telling me my career choices weren’t smart for a stable financial future. I knew I’d rather be a starving artist than a full-bellied nine-to-fiver. My parents dropped the ball, but at least I wasn’t forced into a life I didn’t truly choose for myself like so many others. Then why did I try to do it to my daughter?

Astronomology…or whatever

A little while back, my daughter asked me to help her write a story. Suddenly, her entire life flashed before my eyes. Unlike my mother, I was going to put all my energy into helping her become an author, a very successful one. We’re talking J.K. Rowling, Stephanie Meyer — kind of successful. Never mind that I’ve barely amassed 500 followers for myself in three years of self-publishing. We have plenty of time to figure out her superior path.

She’d be starting early, getting those 10,000 hours one supposedly needs to be world-class at anything. After crafting something worthy, we’d get those query letters going and by god, even if it took three attempts, we’d get a yes and she’d be on her way to greatness!

So you can imagine my shock and horror when my little best-selling author recently said, ‘Meh.’ She didn’t want to be an author. “I want to be an astronomer.”

Astronomy? As in the study of the stars? How practically impractical!

I should’ve seen it coming. She had always had a deep interest in our solar system. She could name not only the planets but also all the dwarf planets by seven years old. As a homeschooling mom, I take credit for this, but I didn’t even ask her to do that.

My hopes and dreams for her life were dashed. It was silly of me to assume she would automatically share my ambitions of being a famous author. I had to check myself and realized if I wasn’t willing to listen to her, I’d probably be setting her up to disappoint me in a few years.

Whose Life Is This Anyway?

My husband had a similar experience with our eldest kid. Naturally, he figured our son would love being a lawyer like him. It looks like he’s leaning towards being a chef. They do whatever the hell they want, don’t they?

I thought about how many of us live for our parents’ approval, pride and/or acceptance, my husband included. He’s a lawyer to his parent’s slight disappointment. They wanted him to be a doctor.

I‘ve heard too many stories of parents disowning their children because their religious beliefs don’t leave much room for that unconditional love they teach in Sunday school. What would Jesus do? Lord knows. Pun intended.

I know a couple of people who didn’t marry their best loves because their parents envisioned someone better for them, like a neurosurgeon. So what, she pronounces salmon with a hard ‘L’ — ‘only the best for our pumpkin!’

And I know way too many people stuck in careers they absolutely loathe because it’s what was expected and impressed upon them. They’re miserable and actively pay that misery forward, the direct effect of living a half-life. That’s where I nearly failed with my own daughter, deciding her life before she had any real say.

Far too often, a child’s happiness is at odds with their parents’.

We’ve learned a few valuable lessons from our little tribe and I’ve come to some conclusions about parenting I like to shove down my friends’ throats every now and then. Now, I’d like to shove them down yours. Please accept these as absolute truths:

Our children do not belong to us. They simply come through us. Like, literally.
They depend on us at first but quickly become autonomous beings with their own unique experiences and perspectives. No matter how much you try to imprint on them, they will make up their own minds about things. I know. Frustrating.
Far too often a child’s happiness is at odds with their parents’. They are not your second chance at getting life right. It’s their first time and probably only. I’m not completely sold on heaven or reincarnation. Let them live.
Your goal should be to love your kids without conditions. They didn’t get to choose you as their parents. They’re stuck with you, not the other way around.

I have since decided that rather than place expectations on my kids, I will simply heavily suggest, perhaps manipulate, and expose them to all the choices I’d like for them. But ultimately, they’ll get to choose their destinies without judgment or scrutiny from my end. They have a right to screw up their lives on their own terms.

Set the bar real low, but set them up for greatness. Keep your expectations fluid about the infinite possibilities that can influence their lives and I guarantee you’ll be one of the few ‘proud parents’ around. Your children will be happier human beings for your sacrifice, well-adjusted, secure, considerate, and thoughtful, you know, the kinds of people who don’t mind wearing masks during a pandemic. Happy people.