As the school holidays begin across the UK, my feed, like so many others, is filled with posts from parents preparing to juggle work, playdates, endless snacks, and those six long (and sometimes longer) weeks of summer. It’s one of those recurring moments in the calendar that quietly mark time. A natural pause that prompts me to reflect and wonder: what kind of parent would I have been?
As more time passes since I knew I wouldn’t have children, the reflections feel different now, less raw, more curious. But they still pop up, sometimes when I least expect them.
This isn’t a post about regret or about falling into that quiet space I sometimes carry, the one shaped by the absence of children, or the frustrations that society puts on my current status. Instead, it’s a quieter kind of contemplation, an exploration of the patterns I’ve noticed and the kind of parent I imagine I might have been. Over the years, I’ve listened to friends talk about the highs and lows of raising children. I’ve observed from the sidelines as they navigate love, exhaustion, pride, frustration, and everything in between. Of course, I only ever see snippets of their lives, just like we all do, but it’s been enough to stir something in me. I find myself wondering, now and then, who I would have become if that path had been mine.
Parenting Isn’t a Blueprint. It Moves and Shifts
One thing I’ve come to notice is how parenting seems to swing like a pendulum. For those who, perhaps, were starved of love growing up, or raised by parents who didn’t know how to express it, there can be a natural urge to swing in the opposite direction. To give more, say more, do more, as if trying to make up for lost ground. For others, the pull comes from tradition, from rituals and ways of being that shaped them as children. For me, strangely centred around eating rituals, like eating together at the table, insisting on saying please and thank you to the point of near absurdity, elbows off the table, and no speaking with your mouth full. These were frustrating at the time, but only revealed their value later, with the clarity of adulthood. In all cases, the hope is usually the same: to raise a kind, well-rounded human being.
But what happens when the pendulum swings too far?
When love becomes smothering, or encouragement turns into pressure? When parenting becomes the only identity someone holds, leaving little room for their friendships, passions, or even their relationship with their partner? I’ve seen how easily this can happen, often with the best of intentions. It makes me wonder how I would have found balance, whether I would have had the self-awareness to hold onto my own sense of self while raising someone else.
I also find it mildly amusing when I hear parents begin a sentence with, “I love [insert child’s name], but…”. The honesty that follows is usually raw, real, and very relatable. Sometimes, when friends have felt truly safe to open up, they have admitted that if they had their time again, they might not have had children at all. That doesn’t shock me. I think it’s completely valid to have such conflicting feelings. Life is complicated, and reflecting honestly on the choices we make, or don’t make, is nothing to be ashamed of.
The Balance Between Roots and Wings
There is a quote I heard recently that has stayed with me:
“There are only two lasting bequests we can hope to give our children. One of these is roots, the other, wings.”
That idea feels so simple, but so meaningful. If I had become a parent, I think that would have been the ideal I’d have strived towards. I would have wanted my child to feel grounded, to know what it means to be kind, to understand how to say sorry and mean it. I would have hoped to create a home filled with creativity, laughter, and structure, a space that was sometimes chaotic but always honest. I believe boredom is important, something which many parents feel a sense of urgency to have to fill. Life isn’t one big playground, and being able to enjoy your own company is a building block for so much else, including creativity and resilience.
At the same time, I would have wanted to give them wings. Let’s say I had a daughter. I would have named her Eddie, after my nan’s middle name Edith. I imagine I would have wanted her to know she didn’t need to shrink herself or edit her emotions to be accepted. Kindness matters a lot, but it shouldn’t come at the cost of your own self-respect. I’d have told her that not everyone will return kindness with kindness. Some people are just dealing with their own messy stuff, and it’s not about her. Of course, sometimes it’s a bit of both, and it’s good to check in with yourself, too. But if apologies don’t show up, or just feel like a load of rubbish, it’s totally fine to wave goodbye and save yourself the drama.
Parenting as a Mirror, and the Importance of Holding Onto Yourself
What strikes me most when I think about parenting is how much it seems to teach you about yourself. Of course, I don’t know from experience, but I do know that losing a parent has taught me so much. Grief has a way of reshaping the lens through which you see the world, your past, and the relationships that shaped you. It makes you reflect on what you were given, what you missed, and what you might have passed on, if you’d had the chance.
One of the many reasons I chose not to pursue parenthood on my own is that I knew I would have needed space. With no family close by to help, and friends often busy with their own families, that would have been near impossible. Leaving the chance to stay connected to the other parts of my life that brought me joy and made me feel grounded, too far away to connect with. Some may say thats selfish, but isn’t part of being a good parent showing your child what it means to be a whole person. How can we teach that if we forget who we are?
I don’t think I would have been the type of parent who shares everything or who blurs the lines between parent and friend. I see those roles as different, but I would have wanted Eddie to feel like she could come to me when it mattered. Not for everything, but for the important things, the difficult conversations, the vulnerable moments. I would have wanted her to know I was there, even when we didn’t see eye to eye.
So, What Kind of Parent Would I Have Been?
I’ll never truly know, but I imagine I would have been thoughtful, probably quite firm, often tired, and always trying hard. I would have laughed a lot and cried a lot too. I suspect teenage Eddie and I would have had some spectacular arguments, especially if she had taken after me. I’ve often thought that my mum may have been going through peri-menopause just as I was hitting my most difficult teenage years, which was probably a lethal combination for both of us.
Despite the friction, I would have always circled back to love. I would have wanted my child to grow up with deep roots and the freedom to fly when the time came.
Now, as the summer holidays unfold, I think of all the parents navigating this intense season, doing their best, often without pause. I also think about the many different shapes love can take. I reflect on the space between what is and what might have been, with a little sadness, but now mostly with curiosity about each of the lives we lead. Soon, one of my nieces will be coming to stay, and I’m reminded of the special relationship I have with all my nieces and nephews. It’s a bond that’s different from what it might have been with Eddie, but in many ways just as meaningful and precious.
Whatever your summer looks like, I hope you find moments of connection, laughter, and a little bit of peace.
