adult-responsibility-child-needs

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Foreword

I’ve been thinking a lot since I wrote my last post.
Maybe someone felt exposed.
Maybe it was too much, too direct, too uncomfortable.

And maybe that’s exactly what it needed to be.

I don’t write to judge

What I wrote – it didn’t come from anger at parents.
It came from love for children.
And from a sorrow that has grown over the years.

Because I’ve seen things.
I’ve worked with young people for many years – in treatment centers, institutions, therapy rooms, and out on the streets. I’ve listened to stories that still hurt in my chest today.

Like the time I asked a young person to describe what a real friend is – and realized they had never had one. When I explained what friendship meant to me, they looked at me like I was telling a fairytale. That’s how far away it was from their reality.

When children’s eyes lose their light

So when I see young kids – because they are kids – hanging around late at night, with eyes that have already lost their trust… it hurts.
And then I have to write.

What we don’t need is scapegoats

What we need is presence. Connection. Courage.

The responsibility of the adult world

I know parenting isn’t easy.
We’re tired. We’re overwhelmed. We try our best.
The laundry piles up. The fridge is empty. The clock never stops.

I’ve been there too.

But still:
We have to see that some kids are getting lost.
Running straight off a cliff – thinking that’s where they’ll be seen.

And the responsibility?
It’s ours. The adults.
Together.

We can do more – even when it feels impossible

Maybe we think it’s too late.
That we’ve lost control. That the child has chosen their path.
But most of the time – it’s not too late.

Small actions can create big changes.
A conversation. A clear boundary. A “I see you, and I care.”

It’s not about perfect solutions.
It’s about trying. About taking one more step.
Staying present one more night.
Asking for help.
Daring to say to another parent:
“Hey, I’m worried – how do we handle this together?”

Because it’s possible.
We can do more than we think.
And often, it starts with someone believing it’s possible.
Sometimes – that someone is you.

A cry for presence and courage

What I wrote last time was a cry.
A cry for attention.
A cry for involvement.
And a cry to be an adult – not your child’s best friend.

A cry for courage.
And the courage it takes to ask for help.

Because safety often lives in what seems boring.
In routine. In boundaries. In predictability.

We’re not supposed to be our children’s best friends

We’re supposed to be their direction. Their compass. Their grounded hand.

To you who felt something

If you felt anger, guilt, sorrow – or just exhaustion – when reading my last post, I want you to know:

I’m not against you.
I’m for you.
I stand with you.

When you dare to say:
“No. This is not okay.”

I want your children to thrive. I want us to see – together.
It’s time to raise the blinds. To look out. To stop pretending we don’t see.

Saying no – and still staying close

Children don’t only need love.
They need direction.
They need someone who says no – and explains why.

Someone who dares to see.
Who stays when the child tests every boundary.
Who says:

“I see what you’re doing. I won’t allow it. But I’m not leaving – because I know you need me.”

Sometimes the greatest love isn’t the one that says yes –
but the one that says no, and still refuses to let go.

Reflection:

Sometimes we write to release something from within.
Sometimes we write to change something outside ourselves.
And sometimes – we do both.

Yesterday has already settled into history. Tomorrow waits further ahead.
But right now – this is where life happens. – Carina Ikonen Nilsson

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