This morning, like many others, I wished my son good luck before practice. I offered a gentle reminder—something small and specific I thought might help him.
Instead of a “thanks” or even a nod, he snapped back, “I know, I always do that.”
Oof. That stung.
I let him walk away, but I felt it. I was butt hurt, honestly. That flicker of rejection burned hotter than I expected.
And then came the internal comparison:
Why does he listen when his dad gives feedback—but not me?
Why my child doesn’t listen to me the same way has been a quiet ache I rarely speak aloud.
The Temptation to React
I wanted to defend myself. To explain my intent. To make him hear me.
But instead, I paused. I took a breath and grabbed my journal.
As I wrote, the real questions surfaced:
- What am I hoping he hears when I give feedback?
- Would I have reacted the same way in his shoes?
- Is this really about me—or is it about the weight of my presence?
Maybe the reason my child doesn’t listen to me the way he listens to his dad is because I’m always there. Maybe my voice is too familiar. Maybe, just maybe, it’s not about who’s “right”—but how often we’re heard.
The Shift
Writing helped. It always does. Twenty minutes later, I felt lighter—not because I had an answer, but because I’d stopped spiraling.
Then, something surprising happened.
My son came back into the room and asked me to rub his shoulders. No tension. No wall.
So I asked gently, “Did I make you feel bad when I gave you that feedback earlier?”
He paused, then said, “Yeah… a little.”
Then he added something that hit me deep:
“I understand what you were trying to say and encourage me to do. It just didn’t make me feel good the way you said it.”
That was it. No drama. No defensiveness. Just honesty.
What I’m Taking Away
I didn’t overanalyze it afterward. I didn’t let it ruin my day. I didn’t spin it into a bigger story about rejection or failure.
What I learned in that moment is something every parent asks:
Why doesn’t my child listen to me?
Sometimes, the answer is: It’s not about whether they hear you—it’s about how they feel when they do.
And sometimes… it’s me.
My tone. My timing. My energy.
And that’s okay. That’s not failure. That’s a doorway.
Why I’m Sharing This
I almost let a small moment build into a much bigger narrative. But by turning inward, I found something better: clarity, connection, and the reminder that listening goes both ways.
If you’ve ever asked yourself, why my child doesn’t listen to me, maybe it’s time to pause. To ask. To really listen.
Because sometimes, growth for our kids starts with growth in us.
And that’s not a bad thing. It’s just a doorway to growth—for both of us.
