Early December, my 10-year-old was talking about her book in the kitchen. Wings of Fire. She’d read the whole series multiple times and loved it. “Mom, you should read it,” she said. “I think you’d really like it.”
I suggested she read it to me instead.
Her face lit up. “Really?”
Really.
That night, she read me two chapters before bed. She was amazing at it. Pausing for dramatic effect, doing different voices for each character, completely engaged in the story. It was fun. One of those sweet moments I knew I’d want to remember.
“Can we read more tomorrow?” she asked when we finished.
“Sure,” I said.
When Tomorrow Never Comes
A few nights later, she asked again. “Can we read more tonight?”
I was already getting ready to wind down. Exhausted from the day. Not wanting to feel like I needed to be “on” for anyone else. I just wanted space.
“Not tonight. It’s too late.”
“Tomorrow?”
“We’ll see.”
She said okay and went to bed.
She asked maybe three or four more times over the next couple weeks. Each time, I had a reason. Too tired. Too late. Too much to do. We’ll see. Maybe tomorrow.
And then she stopped asking.
I didn’t even notice when she stopped. Life just kept moving. Swim practices and concerts and dance rehearsals and all the things that fill our days. My husband and I running in different directions, trying to show up for everything, feeling like we’re always behind.
It wasn’t until last week that I realized how much time had passed.
She was sitting next to me, reading a different book. Talking about how much she loved it, telling me all about the characters and plot twists.
“Is it a good book?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. And kept reading.
And I felt it. That heavy, familiar weight in my chest. The guilt that whispers: You’re not showing up. You keep saying tomorrow and tomorrow never comes. These are the years she still wants to share things with you, and you keep saying no.
The Pressure to Always Say Yes
Somewhere along the way, I started believing that being a good parent means being available every single time my kids want my attention.
Always saying yes. Always being present. Always having the energy to show up fully, no matter how tired I am or what else is happening.
And when I can’t? When I choose rest over connection? I feel like I’m failing.
But here’s what I’m learning: kids don’t need perfect parents.
They need what British pediatrician Donald Winnicott called “good enough” parents. Parents who show up consistently, not perfectly. Parents who are attuned and responsive most of the time. Parents who repair the disconnection when they miss the mark.
Good enough means your kids feel secure because you’re reliable overall, not because you never disappoint them.
And critically, it means you’re allowed to be human. Tired. Overwhelmed. In need of your own space.
What Good Enough Feels Like
The night my daughter asked me to keep reading Wings of Fire, I remember standing in my bedroom winding down from the day. Part of me wanted to say yes. Part of me knew she’d love it. Part of me could picture us reading together, her doing those voices, me asking questions about the story.
But a bigger part of me was just done. Tapped out. Running on empty.
I chose rest. I said “not tonight” and went to bed.
And the guilt wants me to believe that makes me a bad parent.
That her need for connection should have mattered more than my need for space. That I should have pushed through my exhaustion. That good mothers don’t say no to moments like that.
But good enough parenting doesn’t require martyrdom.
It doesn’t mean ignoring your own needs until you have nothing left. It doesn’t mean being “on” all the time. It doesn’t mean you never choose yourself.
It means showing up often enough that your kids know they matter. That even when you say no, they trust you’ll say yes again. That one missed moment doesn’t undo all the times you were there.
She’s Okay (And So Are You)
Last week, when my daughter was reading next to me, I watched her for a minute. Completely absorbed in her new book. Happy. Secure. Excited to tell me about it.
She wasn’t hurt. She wasn’t holding a grudge about Wings of Fire. She’d moved on to a different story she loved.
And I realized something: she’s okay.
Not because I showed up perfectly. Not because I said yes every time she asked. But because most of the time, I do show up. Most of the time, I am there. Most of the time, she knows she matters to me.
The times I’ve been too tired or too overwhelmed or just needed space? They didn’t break her. They didn’t undo all the other moments. They’re just part of the reality of having a human parent who’s doing her best.
Good enough parenting means you don’t have to get it right every time. You just have to show up often enough. Repair when things feel disconnected. Keep trying.
I haven’t circled back to Wings of Fire yet. It’s been on my heart. I keep meaning to ask her if she wants to finish it together.
Maybe tonight I will. Maybe next week. Maybe she’ll say no and want to keep telling me about her new book instead.
But here’s what I know: the fact that I haven’t done it yet doesn’t mean I’m failing. It means I’m human, raising humans, in the middle of a full and complicated life.
And when I do ask her, whenever that is, the door will still be open. Because that’s what good enough parenting creates. Not perfection. Not a flawless record. Just a relationship strong enough to hold the imperfect moments.
You Don’t Have to Be Perfect
If you’re reading this and thinking about your own “tomorrow” that never happened, I want you to hear this:
You’re allowed to be tired.
You’re allowed to need space.
You’re allowed to say no when you don’t have the capacity to say yes.
Missing moments doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means you’re human.
Missing moments doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means you’re human.
Your kids don’t need you to be “on” all the time. They need to know that even when you’re not, you still see them. You still love them. And when you have the energy, you’ll show up again.
Good enough parenting isn’t about never disappointing your kids. It’s about being reliable enough that they feel secure. It’s about repairing when you’ve let something slip. It’s about showing them that relationships can hold imperfection.
Tomorrow doesn’t have to stay lost. The door stays open. You can still circle back.
And that? That’s good enough.
Ready to Stop the Guilt Spiral?
