A Case for Imperfect Parenting
By John Singer Sargent. Courtesy of National Gallery of Art, Washington
Looking after ourselves is already an intricate task, let alone figuring out what we truly want, recognising what we genuinely need, and learning to relate in ways that feel meaningful. To then imagine doing all of that for another human being, especially a child, is even more frightening.
The idea of knowing a child’s innermost needs and being able to fulfil them borders on the impossible. Still, throughout history, countless parents have faced this task without instruction manuals, research articles, or parenting gurus guiding their every move. They carried flaws, made missteps, repeated mistakes, and still managed, somehow, to raise children who grew into adults. Not all did it well. Some left significant scars. But many did just enough.
Today’s parents, though, carry a burden that seems heavier than necessary. If their child struggles in some way—maybe shows defiance, withdraws, lashes out, or feels some anxiety—their immediate instinct is to look inward. What did I do wrong? Where did I mess up? Was it something I said when she was five? Maybe if I had been more patient…
This tendency for self-blame has grown stronger in our era because parents are so informed. Never before have so many books, podcasts, online forums, and expert voices been available, each one offering keys to resilient, confident, or emotionally healthy kids. Parents absorb the information, determined not to repeat their own parents’ mistakes. They try with intensity, with sincerity, and with an almost perfectionist commitment. The result is both progress and pressure: they are indeed more attuned and skilful in many ways, but they also inherit the crushing sense that anything that goes wrong must be evidence of their own parenting failure.
Of course, parenting matters. The warmth a parent offers, the quality of communication, the way conflict is handled—all of these leave real imprints on a child’s development. But children do not arrive as blank canvases waiting to be painted on. However much we might want to believe otherwise, the evidence is clear: each of us comes into the world already carrying patterns, sensitivities, and predispositions. Twin studies show that nearly all traits are partly heritable. Some of us flare up in anger while others move cautiously; some reach easily for connection while others hold back; some are drawn to novelty while others cling to stability. These tendencies shape how children receive parenting, and at times they can weigh more heavily than parenting itself.
This is not to say that a child’s environment has little effect on their development. There is no doubt that especially the way parents, teachers, and peers respond plays a crucial role in shaping how inborn tendencies unfold. An anxious child, for example, may become fearful and withdrawn if their sensitivity is met with criticism, or resilient and compassionate if it is met with patience and support. In this way, biology provides the starting point, but relationships and culture guide the trajectory.
But as a parent you might do all the “right” things and still get an outcome that does not match your expectations or surprise you. Imagine a mother who devotes herself tirelessly to be a good parent. She studies attachment theory, balances warmth with structure, maintains a steady home, and offers her daughter abundant care. Sixteen years later, the daughter finds herself consumed by fears of abandonment, clinging anxiously to her relationships. A mental health expert might call this “anxious attachment” and suggest it’s the result of early dynamics with her mother. There is some validity in that perspective. But it’s incomplete. Recent research shows that genetic influences account for a significant portion—roughly a third—of one’s attachment tendencies. Even in the domain most associated with parenting, biology still speaks loudly.
Faced with her daughter’s struggles, this mother might conclude: I failed her. And in one sense, the instinct to self-reflect is admirable. But struggle or vulnerability are not always indictments of your parenting. They may simply be part of your child’s particular path, determined by a combination of several factors.
By today’s standards, my parents’ parenting would appear flawed—especially under the harsh gaze of “modern parenting” ideals. They were emotionally distant at times. They leaned on outdated forms of discipline. They rarely admitted their mistakes or apologised to us. In early adulthood I blamed them for some of my difficulties. As I came to understand temperament, innate differences, individuality, and the influence of my own choices alongside the people and systems around me, I realised my story couldn’t be reduced to how my parents raised me. They were imperfect, yes, but not omnipotent.
Raised under the same roof, surrounded by the same conditions, shaped by nearly the same routines and limitations, my brother and I diverged in striking ways. I was obsessive about reading; he was indifferent. I loved competition; he avoided it. I thrived on social energy; he preferred solitude. I struggled to regulate my emotions; he moved through them with more ease. Of course, our parents treated us somewhat differently, as all parents inevitably do. But the contrasts cannot be explained only by those differences. Much of it was simply us: two different temperaments unfolding side by side, our tendencies shaping our choices, and those choices reinforcing our tendencies, which created two very different paths of growth.
None of this diminishes the role of parenting. This is an invitation for some perspective—and for compassion toward those doing their best. Love, consistency, and guidance matter deeply, but they do not guarantee that children will develop the exact qualities we hope for, nor do they shield them from hardship. Besides, not every struggle is a reflection of parental failure. As they grow, children will make their own choices, navigate their own wounds, and, over time, take responsibility for shaping who they become.
And yet, when I look around today, I often see parents carrying an even heavier weight of self-questioning into the smallest moments. They wonder, Maybe I shouldn’t have snapped at her. What if that conversation leaves a scar? This kind of fear is understandable in a culture saturated with talk of trauma and psychological harm. But not every sharp word or imperfect response becomes a defining wound. Children are sturdier than that. What matters far more is the overall climate of the relationship—whether parents return, repair, and keep showing love after the inevitable ruptures.
Parents don’t need to torture themselves over every misstep. Inevitably, they will lose patience, say things they regret, or handle conflicts clumsily. What matters most is the repair: the willingness to show that relationships can survive strain and mistake. What children need are parents who remain engaged, who can offer warmth even after discord, and who admit their errors without collapsing into guilt.
The psychoanalyst Donald Winnicott captured this with his idea of the “good enough” parent, introduced in 1953. A pediatrician by training, Winnicott softened Freud’s harsher edges and became influential for his gentler view of parenting. He argued that no child needs a perfect parent; only one who is “good enough.” The phrase is slippery, of course: where exactly is the line? There isn’t a single answer. For Winnicott, it meant being reliably present in the early years to create safety, and later, allowing children to encounter the small disappointments and frustrations that are not just inevitable but necessary for resilience. He believed that children would do fine with decent, well-intentioned, sometimes grumpy— and even flawed—parents who still love them deeply.
A child’s tendencies, vulnerabilities, and struggles are shaped by parenting, by temperament, and by the larger currents of culture and society—and in most cases, it’s a shifting blend of all three. The qualities a child carries from birth are inclinations, not fixed outcomes, and parents still play a vital role in helping them learn, adapt, and grow over time.
Yet there is a fine line between taking responsibility and slipping into self-blame whenever something feels off. The truest gift a parent can offer is a steady presence: someone who keeps trying, keeps caring, keeps relating with honesty—while recognising that both parent and child are always in the process of becoming.