The Moment I Thought I Was Ready
The first time I realized that wanting something doesn't mean I'm ready to receive it was when I had my first child.
I wanted to be a father. Genuinely.
I wanted a family. I wanted purpose. I wanted to do better than what I came from.
And when that child arrived, I stepped up the only way I knew how — by working harder, sacrificing more, and taking responsibility seriously. I wasn't careless. I wasn't absent. I wasn't indifferent.
But wanting something and being equipped for it are not the same thing.
At least, that's what I've been told.
Doing My Best While Being Judged
To this day, many people disagree with my parenting.
But their opinions aren't based on what they've seen firsthand. They're based on what my mother says about me.
That distinction matters.
I wasn't parenting in a vacuum — I was parenting under constant observation, commentary, and correction. Every decision I made felt provisional, subject to approval or criticism depending on how it aligned with her expectations.
And no matter what I did, it was never right.
Never Being Congratulated
This is the part that still hurts more than I like to admit.
Every time I had a child — and I have four — no one congratulated me. Not once.
There were no words of encouragement. No acknowledgement of responsibility. No recognition that bringing a life into the world is, at the very least, a moment worth pausing for.
Instead, I was told I was making a mistake.
Every time.
What makes this harder to understand is that my sister, who has eight or nine children (I lost count), is congratulated every single time she has one. Celebrated. Affirmed. Treated as though she is doing something admirable and natural.
And I can't help but ask the question that's followed me for years:
Why was she always assumed to be a good parent...
while I was never even given the chance to become one?
When Improvement Became Evidence Against Me
I remember trying to teach my son how to make his own bed.
Not because I didn't want to do it.
But because I wanted him to learn responsibility, independence, and pride in small things.
I was called lazy.
Another time, I was told I didn't bathe my kids enough. I took the criticism seriously. I adjusted. I gave them baths two nights in a row.
Then I was told it was too much.
That's when it started to sink in.
This wasn't about improvement.
This was about control.
The Impossible Standard
Every attempt to grow became proof that I was failing.
If I didn't change, I was irresponsible.
If I did change, I was doing it wrong.
If I listened, I was weak.
If I didn't, I was selfish.
There was no version of "doing better" that didn't result in criticism.
And over time, that wears something down inside you — especially when you're already questioning yourself.
The Question I Couldn't Avoid
So I've had to sit with an uncomfortable question:
Was I truly unready to be a parent?
Or was I ready — but never given the space to become one?
Because readiness isn't just about effort.
It's about autonomy.
It's about learning through experience.
It's about being allowed to make mistakes without being dismantled for them.
And I don't know that I ever had that chance.
What I Know Now
I know I loved my children.
I know I tried.
I know I adjusted when I was told I was wrong — even when the feedback contradicted itself.
And I know this: constant interference doesn't produce better parenting. It produces doubt, hesitation, and emotional exhaustion.
Maybe I wasn't fully ready when I became a father.
But maybe readiness wasn't the missing piece.
Maybe what I needed was distance — not from my children, but from the voice that never allowed me to grow into the role without punishment.
Still Becoming
I don't have a clean answer yet.
But I do know this: wanting something doesn't mean I'm ready to receive it — and being told I'm unready doesn't mean I actually was.
Some lessons only become clear years later.
And some growth only happens once you step out from under the shadow of someone else's expectations.
"The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart." — 1 Samuel 16:7