We judge so quickly, don’t we? The mom on her phone while her toddler melts down at Target. The dad who “lets” his teen stay up gaming. The parents whose child is struggling in school, with friends, with life. We think we know what good parenting looks like. Then life humbles us with our own impossible moment.
Mine came during what we now jokingly call our August ‘vacation’ of 2015. Two weeks in a West Philadelphia hotel room after my daughter’s accident. A Ford F-250 had T-boned the car she was riding in.
While we were still piecing together the extent of her injuries, I was about to learn how trauma changes everything, not just for the person injured, but for everyone trying to help.
The Truth About Kids Who Struggle
In that hotel room, we were both drowning under the weight of it all. Medical appointments, police stations, the sudden shift from her independence to needing help with everything. I wanted to fix what I couldn’t fix. During one particularly hard moment, my exhaustion came out as negativity, and she responded with, “I didn’t choose to get hit by a truck.”
We were both overwhelmed, barely keeping it together, but still trying. Neither of us knew how to handle the other’s raw emotions. Only later could I see what was really happening. We both desperately needed grace.
This truth hits me again and again. Whether in trauma or everyday struggles, kids do well when they can. They want their lives to work. When they’re melting down, failing, or pushing back, they’re not being difficult on purpose. They’re having a hard time.
This extends far beyond trauma. Think about it. That child fighting bedtime? She knows she’s tired. Your teen with missing assignments feels the pressure already. Kids don’t need our reminders that they’re falling short. What they need is our belief that they’re trying, even when it doesn’t look like it.
Building What Actually Matters
What got us through those impossible days wasn’t some parenting strategy or expert advice. It was something simpler, built over years without us even realizing it. We weren’t exceptional parents. We simply tried, imperfectly, to trust Alex’s judgment over the years. Supporting her interests, accepting her choice of a faraway college even when it concerned us.
These weren’t grand gestures, just ordinary attempts to show we believed in her. That foundation, built through countless flawed but present moments, became what she could lean on when everything fell apart.
This foundation was incredibly helpful, both during her recovery and years later when she moved to New York City just before the pandemic lockdown. Alone, navigating job changes and housing searches during a global crisis.
These weren’t scenarios any parenting book covered. What helped wasn’t the rules we’d imposed but the communication patterns we’d built. She knew she could call when scared. Ask for help without lectures. Admit when overwhelmed.
When Showing Up Messy Is Enough
I wasn’t at my best during those weeks at the hotel. This introvert needed space. Acts of service isn’t my love language. I complained constantly. But I showed up anyway. Imperfect, frustrated, exhausted, but present.
Years later, I discovered Alex barely remembers our arguments. Her traumatized brain was too busy surviving. What she remembers: me being there, her stuffed lamb Potato, watching “Naked and Afraid” together, and knowing she wasn’t alone.
The Real Work
We can’t control our children’s paths or fix their pain. But we can:
- Trust they want their lives to work
- See behavior as communication, not defiance
- Build connection through ordinary moments
- Show up human and flawed
- Remember they’re doing their best, especially when it doesn’t look like it
Whether facing trauma or Tuesday’s homework battle, our job isn’t to be perfect. It’s presence. We build trust by believing in them when they can’t believe in themselves. And sometimes, showing up imperfectly is exactly what they need. Wes
