Bad parenting….

Curious Rascal
4 min readDec 29, 2024

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‘Am I a bad mother?’

‘No you are not a bad mother. You’re a barking lunatic’.

From the movie, About a boy

As Cost centre 2 slams the door on me I wonder for the nth time if I’m a bad mother.

How do we know if we are doing the right things? Taking the right action or stance? Who can tell us our powerful words have not altered the course of our child’s psyche or meander through life for the worse? Parenting is about setting them on the right path. But what even is the right path? And when are we able to abdicate this heavy responsibility. I know that might sound odd because it’s obvious. Good parenting is ensuring your child is not feral and leaves home without a criminal record….

Possibly there is more to it than that.

I have a vivid memory of when pregnant with Cost centre 1, reading the fiction book ‘We need to talk about Kevin’ by Lionel Shriver. It is about a child growing into a teenager who perpetrates a school massacre. It questions motherhood and its influence on our children. I couldn’t bear to complete it until much later. Even then my fear was just the act of consuming this book could have unintended consequences for my unborn. That parenting began in the womb. This thought process is unlikely to be a surprise to you when we are all (potential mother or father) aware of the parade of bullets on what to eat, how to speak, action to take when pregnant. The righteous judgement pounding down on us if we stray from the societal path.

My parents had very clear ideas around good parenting and it did not involve them being my best friends. Their approach revolved around education and opportunity. The aim to set myself and my brother up to achieve career wise more than they had through learning and by being bold. I did not lack for love at all but my parents were transparent and made no bones about their expectations. The pillars of their parenting mantra were clear.

I am scared of being a lousy parent, affecting my cost centres with my ‘weird-shit’. The wider parenting world I inhabit covets a mashing of theories and inputs. We spend hours with those who will partake. Sympathising, empathising, contradicting, persuading, parading, lamenting, justifying, extrapolating. Detailing the ins and outs of our parenting refrain whilst swapping tips and gleaning wisdom from those we perceive as experienced to hone our approach. However, I switch constantly between over zealous, to employing an alter ego with unnatural tones of voice to an almost slothful perspective — that somehow my Cost centres will work it out with or without my help. I call it the ‘demented parenting persona’.

My beliefs about ‘good parenting’ have mutated over the years. From firmly graduating the DNA and nurture school of upbringing, I now throw a roll of the dice into the mix. Because candidly, we are crystal ball gazing. How our child develops is a function of hundreds of variables and quirks over many many years that cannot be isolated or teased apart; parenting randomised control trials do not exist. This striving and principled approach we doggedly pursue I’m sure is the proper orientation (and we know certain ingredients are key to a child’s development). But what of the known unknowns that can de-rail or magnify our parenting mantra? How can we be so sure our words and actions are all powerful and key to the future of the little one in front of us.

I am haunted by my demented parenting persona. No slick, confident figure guides my children along a stumble free path. I speak and am surprised at my own words. Sometimes I am wondrous at my supposed knowledge of the way forward. But most often I question — do I speak truth or make-believe to them when I stand proud on my parenting pedestal. Because I listen to myself and am not sure who I actually am. And I can see that reflected in their eyes. My fumbling, my irrationality, my petulance, my idea of fun, my verbal lashing out, my languor, my over confidence, my meanness, my frustration at them allows the scratching of brambles, the paving stones to be obscured and my children to wonder if I really am the pied piper they should be slavishly following to make it to the other side…successfully and intact. In sincerity, the demented parenting persona befuddles me and along with it my children. At its worst I fret over the relationship that will emerge when all is said and done.

But there again maybe that’s ok. Perhaps we should accept we are all making this parenting lark up as we go along. Sure there are necessary elements no child should be bereft of, but we are allowed to be morons and our kids can mis-trust. We are able at times to abdicate and they can choose not to follow. Just so long as you continue to play the game in league, you and them have a fighting chance of discovering and roaming along the chosen path, arriving at the other side successfully and intact. Or really, I just like the excuse to be a bad mother?

The moment you were born

They placed you on my chest

Miraculous

Otherworldly

Truly a gift

I looked down

And around

To my partner

My love

and thought

This is by far

The weirdest shit

We’ve ever done.

Loryn Brantz

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Curious Rascal
Curious Rascal

Written by Curious Rascal

I'm keen to understand more of the world, people, history, science, making sense of the random because it helps me in life and improves my thinking.

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