What I Didn’t Realize About My Parents Until I Grew Up
Growing up, I didn’t give much thought to my parents—they were just there, doing what parents do. But growing up has a funny way of sharpening your vision. Suddenly, you start to notice all the quiet ways parenting was woven into your life—subtle, steady, and easy to miss when you’re young.
Now, as I get older, I see myself trying to do the right thing, but not always getting it right. I love being an aunt to my nephews and niece—they are the greatest joys of my life—but I also know I have the luxury of showing up without the weight of being their full-time caretaker. Watching so many of my friend’s step into parenthood has made me more aware of just how relentless, beautiful, and exhausting it all is. And in turn, it’s helped me see my own parents more fully. It took adulthood to finally understand what being a parent really asks of someone — and I find myself seeing more of their efforts with each passing day.
Family photo, 1989 - My parents at ages 37 and 36 with the four of us
My Mom’s Obsessive Cleaning Was Actually a Form of Care
Growing up, I was pretty sure my mom’s cleaning habits bordered on clinical. She vacuumed like she was training for the Olympics. The counters were so clean they doubled as mirrors (that dared you to leave a fingerprint!)
At the time, it felt over-the-top. But now, I see it differently. The cleaning was about control. It was her way of creating calm in a world that often felt anything but. Her way of caring, of protecting, of saying, “This is the one space I can make right!”
And sure enough, these days I catch myself doing the same thing—fluffing pillows before company like I’m staging a photo shoot (I mean, I am an interior design publicist!), lighting candles like I’m preparing for a séance. I used to roll my eyes. Now I get it. It wasn’t just about the house. It was about us.
My Dad’s Sense of Humor
There were times—so many times—when my dad’s jokes made me want to crawl under the table and stay there.
Back then, it felt like too much. Now, I see it for what it was: a tool. His humor softened the edges of hard days. It lightened heavy rooms. It was how he connected with people— how he showed care, without ever having to say the serious thing' out loud.
Somewhere along the way, I picked it up. I’m the one now making dumb jokes in tense moments, cracking one-liners when the mood turns heavy. The very thing I once rolled my eyes at is now the thing I reach for when I don’t know what else to do.
Thanks, Dad. (I think!?)
My Mom Didn’t Just Throw Parties—She Created Magic
Growing up, I thought my mom’s obsession with parties was... a bit much. The matching napkins. The themed desserts. The hours spent arranging cheese boards like she was prepping for a Gourmet magazine shoot.
But now, I get it. Hosting wasn’t just about the party—it was about creating moments that made people feel seen. It was her way of caring for anyone who walked through our door. She turned birthdays into Broadway productions. Holidays into Hallmark movies.
And now? I’ve become that person who gets waaaaay too excited about curating a playlist and lighting the tree with dramatic flair. I was paying attention.
My Dad Worked Hard for Our Family
My dad has always been a hard worker—the kind who rarely complained, rarely took a day off, and never asked for recognition. He just did what needed to be done. Day in and day out. Quietly, steadily, without making a show of it.
As a child, I didn’t know what that took. I didn’t see the long hours, the early mornings, the weight he carried without ever letting it show. I just knew he showed up, that the lights stayed on.
As a grown-up, I see that all differently. I see the effort. The way he made sure we had what we needed. That kind of dedication is easy to overlook when you’re young. It’s not anymore.
They Were Just People
For a long time, I assumed adulthood came with answers—clarity, certainty, some kind of manual. But it doesn’t. And they didn’t.
They were just people! Figuring things out as they went. Balancing bills and schedules…trying to raise kids while carrying the weight of their own histories. They got things right. They got things wrong. And as the years go by, I see more clearly what they were up against—and how much they still managed to hold together.
I used to think they were supposed to know everything. Now I know better.