
There’s a difference between protecting your child and never letting them go.
A difference between love and fear disguised as love.
It starts with the best of intentions—your child is your world, and you want to keep them safe from every scrape, every heartbreak, every failure. You pick them up when they fall, you guide them through every storm. But somewhere along the way, the line between support and suffocation begins to blur.
Because love—real, healthy love—doesn’t cling. It empowers.
I’ve seen what happens when a parent holds on too tight. When “I just want to help” slowly turns into “I need to be needed.” And before long, that child—now an adult—is still asking for permission, still second-guessing themselves, still afraid to step into the world without their parent’s shadow close behind.
This kind of relationship feels like a warm blanket that eventually turns into chains.
It’s toxic—not out of malice, but out of fear.
Fear of letting go. Fear of being alone. Fear of the unknown.
But here’s the truth: as parents, our job is not to be our child’s forever anchor. It’s to be their lighthouse. To guide them, teach them, love them—and then let them sail.
They’re not leaving you.
They’re becoming who they were always meant to be.
And maybe that’s the hardest part of parenting—knowing that your child will walk through the world without you always there to catch them. But it’s also the most beautiful part. Because watching them thrive, stumble, learn, and grow on their own… that’s the reward. That’s the purpose.
Overprotectiveness doesn’t prepare them for life.
It shelters them from it.
And when you never let go, you rob them of discovering how strong they truly are. You plant doubt where there should be courage. You turn their wings into weights.
Letting go isn’t losing your child.
It’s trusting that the love you poured into them will carry them through.
It’s believing in their strength, and yours.
As a mother, I think about this all the time with my own kids.
I want to give them the best possible chance to become someone—to grow into strong, kind, capable humans who can think for themselves, speak for themselves, and live boldly. I don’t want them to be afraid of the world. I want them to walk into it knowing who they are and what they’re made of.
Because they will still call. They will still come home.
But now, they’ll do it with pride, with confidence, with the ability to stand tall in this messy, unpredictable world.
And that? That’s how you know you did your job right.
By: April Carson
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Call Me Crazy, But Reptilians Fit Too Many Patterns
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