Ch6: Beyond Good and Bad: Why We Need to Stop Judging Parents#

Nearly every parent I’ve worked with has asked some version of this question: “Am I a good parent or a bad one?”

It seems reasonable. Seems like it should have a clear answer. And I understand the desperate need behind it—the need to know you’re on the right side of some invisible line, that whatever you’re going through, you haven’t crossed into the territory of damage.

But here’s something that might be uncomfortable: that question is the wrong question. And as long as you keep asking it, you’ll stay stuck.

The Problem with Labels#

Two parents. Both real. Both in my practice at the same time.

The first: Diane. By every observable measure, a “good parent.” Patient, structured, present. Volunteered at school. Made balanced meals. Read bedtime stories every night without exception. Watch her for a week and you’d see a model of devoted motherhood.

What you wouldn’t see was the rigidity behind the devotion. Diane’s “goodness” was driven by terror—terror of becoming her own mother, who’d been neglectful and chaotic. Every perfect meal, every bedtime story, every volunteer shift was an offering to the altar of not being her. That terror made Diane brittle. She couldn’t tolerate any deviation. When her eight-year-old wanted to skip the bedtime story one night to talk about something at school, Diane felt a surge of panic. If I skip the story, what am I? If the routine breaks, what holds me together?

The second: Jorge. By many measures, a “bad parent”—or so he told himself. Worked long hours. Missed school events. Lost his temper sometimes. Didn’t know his kids’ teachers’ names. Once forgot to pick up his daughter from soccer.

But Jorge had something Diane, for all her perfection, struggled with: he could be present. When he was there—truly there—he listened. He laughed. He got on the floor and played. He didn’t perform parenthood; he experienced it. When he messed up, he apologized. Simply, directly. “I forgot you. I’m sorry. That must have felt awful.”

So who was the good parent?

The question doesn’t work. Diane and Jorge were both good in some ways and struggling in others. Labeling either one captures nothing useful and hides everything important.

How Labels Kill Awareness#

Here’s the mechanism: the moment you assign a label, you stop looking.

Decide you’re a “bad parent” and you’ve reached a conclusion. Conclusions are comfortable—even painful ones—because they end the inquiry. No more examining behavior, patterns, choices. Verdict’s in. I’m bad. That’s what I am.

This is strangely seductive. Self-blame masquerades as accountability, but it’s the opposite. Real accountability requires ongoing attention: What did I do? What drove it? What could I do differently? Self-labeling replaces all of that with a single, static identity.

Same thing with “good parent,” just in reverse. Decided you’re good? You stop questioning. Routine’s working. Books are being read. Meals are being made. Everything looks right, so no reason to dig deeper. The things that might need attention—the rigidity, the fear, the inability to deviate—stay safely hidden.

A therapist I trained with used to say: “Labels are where curiosity goes to die.” Never heard it put better.

The Same Person, Different Moments#

One of the most freeing realizations: you’re not one kind of parent. You’re many kinds, depending on the day, the hour, the situation, and the internal resources available at that moment.

Monday morning, rested and calm, you handle your child’s tantrum with textbook patience—get down to their level, name their feelings, hold space for the storm.

Friday evening, after a week of deadlines and broken sleep and a fight with your partner, the same tantrum pushes you over the edge. You snap. Walk away. Say something you don’t mean.

Different person on Friday than Monday? No. Same person, different resources. The work isn’t to be Monday-you all the time—that’s the perfectionism trap. The work is to notice: What’s different right now? What do I need? What is this moment asking of me?

Jorge found this with deep relief. “I spent years thinking I was just a bad dad,” he said. “Then I started paying attention to the pattern. I’m great when I’m rested. I’m terrible when I’m exhausted. So maybe I’m not a bad dad. Maybe I’m a tired dad who needs to take care of himself so he can take care of his kids.”

That shift—from I am bad to I am depleted—is enormous. Bad is a dead end. Depleted is a problem you can solve.

What to Do Instead of Judge#

If labels don’t help, what does? Replace “I am” with “I did.”

“I am a bad parent” becomes “I yelled at my child when they spilled their drink.” The first is about identity—global, permanent, unfalsifiable. The second is about behavior—specific, time-bound, changeable.

When you operate at the level of behavior rather than identity:

You can examine without collapsing. “I yelled” is a fact. Look at it. Ask: what was happening inside me? What triggered it? What could I do differently? Productive questions. They lead somewhere.

You can repair specific actions. Can’t repair “being a bad parent”—too abstract. But you can repair “I yelled at you, and that wasn’t okay.” Specific actions, specific amends.

You can spot patterns without catastrophizing. Yelling every evening at 6 p.m.? That’s data. It tells you something about your stress cycle, your energy, your unmet needs. Data, not a death sentence.

Diane started this practice with great difficulty. She resisted giving up the “good parent” label—it was the foundation of her identity, the proof she’d escaped her mother’s legacy. But over time, she saw the label was a cage. It demanded perfection, which demanded rigidity, which was slowly suffocating her relationship with her daughter.

“My daughter doesn’t need a good mother,” Diane said one day, with a clarity that surprised us both. “She needs a real one. A real one who sometimes gets it wrong and can talk about it.”

Closing the Awareness Domain#

This chapter closes the first major movement of this book—the domain of self-awareness, what I call the Source Domain in the Six-Domain Circuit.

The journey so far:

We started with inherited patterns—how your past shapes your present without your knowledge or consent. We explored the rupture-repair cycle—mistakes aren’t the enemy; avoiding repair is. We practiced transforming your relationship with the past—not through forgiveness, but understanding. We examined the inner critic—the internalized voice that masquerades as yours and poisons your self-perception.

And here, we arrive at the foundation beneath all of it: self-acceptance.

Not self-acceptance as complacency. Not “I’m fine the way I am” as an excuse to stop growing. But self-acceptance as the prerequisite for genuine awareness. Because here’s the paradox: you cannot truly see yourself while you’re busy judging yourself. Judgment creates a flinch—a turning away from whatever you’re afraid to find. And the things you turn away from are precisely the things that need your attention.

To see clearly, you must first be willing to tolerate what you see. To tolerate what you see, you must release the demand that it be perfect.

A Practice: The Moment Review#

End of each day, choose one parenting moment—any moment, good or difficult—and describe it using only behavioral language. No labels. No judgments. No “I was good” or “I was bad.” Just: what happened.

Example: “At dinner, my son refused to eat his vegetables. I felt frustrated. I raised my voice slightly and said, ‘You need to eat them.’ He looked down at his plate. I took a breath. I said, ‘Okay, you don’t have to eat them all. Can you try two bites?’ He tried two bites.”

No verdict. No grade. Just the sequence of events and the feelings moving through them.

Over time, this builds something invaluable: the ability to observe yourself without the reflex of judgment. And in that observation—clear-eyed, compassionate, honest—lives the beginning of real change.

Not the change that comes from trying harder.

The change that comes from seeing more clearly.