I believe there are far more parents in this world suffering in silence while raising a child with a mental health challenge than anyone realizes. Most don’t talk about it—not publicly, not even with extended family—for fear of everything: the judgment, the whispers, the sideways glances, the well-meaning but uninformed advice.
My daughter has mental health challenges, and the last five years of our life have been like the worst roller coaster imaginable—one you didn’t buy a ticket for but can’t get off of. I’ve kept much of this private, only sharing with a small circle of close friends. But today, I want to talk openly about some of the realities of parenting a child with mental health struggles, because I know I’m not the only one who feels this way.
It is lonely.
Parenting through this is probably one of the loneliest things you will ever experience. Even when you have supportive friends or family, there’s a quiet voice in the back of your mind that wonders:
- Do they think I’m doing it wrong?
- Do they think I’m too strict? Or not strict enough?
- Are they silently judging me for my child’s behavior?
The truth is, unless someone has walked this road, they can’t fully understand. Parenting a child with mental health challenges isn’t linear. It’s not a straight line of rules and consequences, successes and failures. It’s messy and unpredictable. One day feels hopeful and steady; the next can spiral into chaos without warning.
The fear is relentless.
Fear becomes part of your daily life. You tread lightly around every decision:
- If I say no, will this trigger a dangerous reaction?
- What if they run away? What if they hurt themselves?
- What if the phone rings and it’s “that call” every parent dreads?
While other parents worry about curfews or grades, we worry about survival—literal survival. We walk on eggshells, constantly balancing boundaries and safety. It’s exhausting in ways words can’t fully express.
The guilt is overwhelming.
No matter how much you logically know this isn’t your fault, the guilt still lingers. You replay every decision, every argument, every parenting choice and wonder if you could have done something differently. You grieve the childhood you imagined for your child, and sometimes—even if you don’t say it out loud—you grieve the childhood you imagined for yourself as their parent.
The isolation cuts deep.
You start to notice the invitations taper off. You wonder if it’s because people feel uncomfortable, or because they don’t want to hear another “dramatic” story about what’s happening in your home.
What they don’t realize is this isn’t “drama” to us. It’s our life. We don’t choose it. We would give anything for “normal” teenage rebellion or typical parenting struggles.
This isolation doesn’t just come from friends, either. Sometimes it even happens within families. Well-meaning relatives offer advice that doesn’t apply. They suggest “tough love” or oversimplified fixes, not realizing that mental health challenges don’t respond to the same rules and structures as neurotypical behavior. Instead of feeling supported, you often feel more misunderstood.
Your child is not a reflection of your worth.
This is one of the hardest truths to hold onto. As parents, we pour ourselves into our kids. We teach, we model, we guide, and we hope. And when those lessons don’t take root—when our child makes choices that are reckless or destructive—it’s so easy to internalize it as failure.
But I want every parent reading this to hear me: Your child is not a mirror of your parenting. Mental health challenges don’t erase the love, effort, or wisdom you’ve given them. They simply mean your child is fighting a battle most can’t see—and you’re fighting it right alongside them.
Watching Other People’s Children Succeed Hurts More Than You Can Explain
One of the hardest parts of parenting a child with mental health challenges is watching the children of friends and family thrive while yours struggles. I see my friends’ daughters making incredible choices—graduating, thriving in college, building careers, and setting healthy boundaries in relationships—and while I’m genuinely happy for them, it’s a bittersweet happiness.
Because alongside that joy for them is a deep ache for what I imagined for my own child.
My daughter dropped out of high school. That means I’ll never get to see her walk across that stage, wearing her cap and gown, smiling as her name is called. Instead, I will sit in the stands and clap for my friends’ children, all while quietly grieving that milestone I will never experience. There’s a hole there that can’t be filled, a kind of mourning that few people talk about: mourning the future you dreamed of for your child.
It’s also painful to watch my child settle for far less than she deserves. She’s chosen an unhealthy relationship, and no matter how much I plead, she refuses to leave. Meanwhile, my friends’ daughters know their worth. They have standards for how they expect to be treated, and they refuse to accept less. And it’s in those moments that the guilt whispers louder than ever: What did I do wrong? Why doesn’t my daughter see her value the way I taught her to?
But here’s what I have to keep reminding myself, and maybe you need to hear it too:
Our children’s choices are not proof of our failure.
I know I instilled value and self-worth in my child. I know I taught her what healthy love looks like. But mental health challenges can cloud judgment, distort reality, and make even the strongest kids vulnerable to unhealthy decisions. It’s not because we didn’t teach them better. It’s because the weight they’re carrying is heavier than the tools we can give them alone.
Watching others’ kids succeed while yours struggles is incredibly isolating. It feels like everyone else is moving forward, celebrating milestones, while you’re stuck in an endless cycle of fear and heartbreak. And yet, those feelings are valid. You are allowed to grieve the experiences you thought you’d have as a parent. You are allowed to feel joy for others while still wishing things were different for your own child.
To those who don’t understand:
If you’ve never walked this road, here’s how you can help change the stigma:
- Stop assuming it’s “bad parenting.” Mental health is complex. You wouldn’t blame a parent for their child’s diabetes or asthma—this is no different.
- Be a safe space. Sometimes, what parents like us need most is someone who will listen without judgment or “fixing.”
- Stay connected. Don’t pull away because it feels uncomfortable. A simple text saying “I’m thinking of you” can be a lifeline.
- Educate yourself. Even reading a single article on what depression, anxiety, or trauma looks like in teens can shift how you see things.
To the parents in the thick of it:
You are not alone. Even if it feels like no one sees you, I do. Others do. There are countless parents quietly walking this same path, carrying the same fear, exhaustion, and love that feels too big for their chest.
I won’t sugarcoat it: it’s hard. Harder than anyone who hasn’t lived it can grasp. But your fight, your perseverance, and your unconditional love matter—even on the days it feels like none of it is making a difference.
There is no shame in speaking up, finding support, and sharing your story. The more we do, the more we dismantle the stigma, and the less any of us will have to suffer in silence.
If this is your story too, I see you. Keep going. You are doing better than you think.