What do parents do when we grow older?
Before they were parents, they were themselves, with their own hopes and dreams. Once I came into the picture, I became part of their story. But I sometimes forgot that. I focused on my own story and forgot that someone dedicated their life to me.
And then I left, just like that.
The freedom that was found
My mother spent years taking care of the family: preparing us for school, packing our lunches, and planning meals for the week. Every morning before school, there was always something prepared, and she would always send us and pick us up from school. I never thought about what that meant for her. The time, the routine, the sacrifice of doing the same thing over and over for years, because that's what mothers do.
Once my elder brother and I got into high school, my mother found freedom. Something she didn't have before. She started to enjoy life more. She no longer needed to cook lunch for the kids, so she went out to the mall and tried different kinds of food. She went to restaurants and cafés she'd never been to, ate desserts she'd only seen other people eat. By the time I finished high school, she told me she had tried everything in the mall nearby.
I didn't know that until I was 32.
She never told me that part of herself. She never told me who she really is. I've only known her as mother, the person who made sure I had everything I needed, who worried when I came home late, who asked if I'd eaten. I never knew the person behind that label. The woman who had her own curiosities, her own small adventures, her own way of reclaiming the time she'd given away.
And I never asked about this part of her life because I was too busy with my own.
Lessons I didn't understand
My father was always working. He left early and came home late. We didn't talk much because he didn't know how to open up. He was too shy, too formal, too used to keeping things inside. I guess most dads are awkward, right?
But he showed love in different ways. He taught me to dream big. Every year, usually around New Year's, he'd sit me down and tell me to write down my resolution. Not just wishes, but real goals. Things I wanted to achieve, become, or change. I thought it was just some random pep talk old people like to do because they're old and random.
But now I'm old enough to understand his advice.
I learned that dreams keep me going. When you work hard and fail, your dreams will keep you going. And the people you trust will support you all the way. Everything takes time. Nothing happens overnight, and expecting it to only leads to disappointment. Writing New Year's resolutions helps me stay grounded. To be consistent and reorient myself whenever I feel lost.
I only understood it when I was in my late twenties.
By then, I'd failed enough times to realise that quitting wasn't the answer. That the people who succeed aren't the ones who never fail. They're the ones who fail and keep going. My father knew that. He'd lived it. And he wanted me to know it too, even if he couldn't say it directly.
Now I can see why he enjoyed sitting quietly, just focused on his laptop. I'm doing the very same thing as I write this blog post.
The kid inside
My dad also loves reading comic books and watching TV series. Superhero stories, old sci-fi shows, anything with adventure and imagination. I saw a kid in him who still wants to have fun and enjoy life. A kid whose childhood wasn't as fortunate, so he relived it in his 40s.
He used to tell me stories about his childhood, how he didn't have it easy growing up. There were no comic books, no time to play, no space to dream. So when he finally could, he did. He collected stories, watched reruns, and smiled at the things that made him feel young again.
That's how I learned to dream, but also have fun in between. To take life seriously, but not so seriously that I forget to enjoy it. To work hard, but also to play. To grow up, but keep the parts of me that are still curious, still hopeful, still a little bit foolish.
After all, what are we if not kids in adult bodies?
Parents are lost, too
So what do parents do when we grow older? They go back to themselves. They pick up the pieces of who they were before we came along. They rediscover hobbies, try new things, and live quietly in ways we never see.
And maybe that's okay. Maybe they don't need to tell us everything. Maybe part of growing up is realising they're people too. With their own stories, their own dreams, their own lives that exist beyond us.
If you are a parent, or if you see others becoming one, remember this: you might lose parts of who you were. There are sacrifices you need to make as a parent, and most people do it out of love. That's beautiful. That's real.
But remind yourself that you can always be yourself, not just a mother or a father. Don't lose what makes you, you. The hobbies you loved, the dreams you had, the version of yourself that existed before the title. Your children will grow up and leave. And when they do, you'll need to know who you are without them.
So keep a piece of yourself alive. Take time for the things that make you feel human. Go to that café. Read that book. Try that hobby you've been putting off. Because one day, your kids will be 32, and they'll realise they never really knew you. And when they ask, you'll have stories to tell.
And if you haven't already, while you still have time, give them a call. Ask them about their dreams, past lives, and who they were before they became mom and dad. You might be surprised to find they're not the person you think you knew.
I hope you find this insightful. Remember:
It's not going to be easy,
But it's not impossible.
Your friend,
Brian.