“Let’s not try to fix him this time. Let’s just be with him.” (Esther Joy Goetz)
As we were packing for a family vacation, our clothes splayed all across our bed, I turned to my husband and said something that surprised even me.
“Can we just spend time with him without any kind of agenda? I feel like we’re always trying to fix him.”
There it was.
Not in anger. Not in judgment. Just in truth.
Because if I’m being honest, our time with this particular big kid often came with an invisible checklist. A quiet current of concern. A sense of urgency to help him “get on track.”
He’s the one who has struggled the most. Diagnosed with severe ADHD. Always bouncing—literally and emotionally—from one thing to the next. Always in motion, always a little “too much,” always getting in trouble, or needing a plan, or as he likes to say, “unable to hold all the marbles in my hand.”
If I trace the thread back through his childhood, I can see it so clearly now. The countless times he was summoned upstairs to our bedroom for a “talk.” Always serious. Always well-intentioned. But probably always dreaded.
I wonder how it felt to him—to be called up like that. Did it feel like going to the principal’s office in his own home?
Maybe he thought: What now? What did I do this time? What did I forget? Who did I disappoint?
And I hate that.
Because what I wanted him to feel in our home wasn’t corrected, it was loved. It was connected.
And yet I know how easy it is to confuse the two—especially when you’re scared for your child’s future. Especially when they don’t fit into all the tidy boxes the world expects them to.
So often, our “connection” with him ended up sounding like this:
Are you eating healthy?
Did you follow up on that job thing?
Maybe if you went to bed earlier...
You should really stop vaping.
Have you thought about therapy again?
Even when our voices were calm and our intentions were good, there was an undertone. One that said, You’d be better if…
But what if he doesn’t want to be “better”?
What if he wants to be seen?
What if connection—not correction—is actually the thing that will help him flourish?
So that vacation, we tried something new.
We asked more questions than we answered, ones that were about him, not about his failures or successes.
We laughed more than we lectured, and it was so freeing.
We went deep-sea fishing on a boat, just enjoying each other’s presence.
We ate too much ice cream.
We stayed up late wearing silly glasses and dancing the night away at our hotel and didn’t mention sleep schedules once.
And somewhere in all that unstructured time, something small and beautiful happened:
He let us in.
He didn’t tell us everything. But he told us something. And that was enough.
That trip reminded me of something I’m still trying to hold onto:
Our big kids don’t want a life coach or a guidance counselor or a private investigator.
They want a mom.
A dad.
A safe place.
It reminded me that connection is the bridge.
Not performance. Not compliance.
Not even maturity or progress.
It’s relationship that makes room for change—not pressure.
It’s love that opens the door—not lectures.
Yes, there are times when a gentle nudge is needed. There are moments for hard truths and hard lines. But what if most of the time—especially when they’re struggling—what they need is connection?
What if we stop trying to shape them and start showing up for them?
What if the version of them we’re so desperate to create…
is blocking us from loving the one who’s already here?
Maybe what they need most is the same thing we need:
To be seen.
Not as a project.
But as a person.
From my heart to yours,
EstherP.S. I have a gentle invitation I would like you to consider:Can you pause the urge to correct and try connecting instead?
Ask a question without sneaking in advice.
Send a meme that makes them laugh.
Sit in silence beside them without needing to fill the space.
Let your presence be the message: You are already enough.
Moms Helping Moms: When is it hardest for you NOT to jump in a fix, or correct? When is it easiest? Would love for you to share with our community.
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