I have a theory: although parenthood is not everyone’s path, roughly 68% of people will have at least one child. Yet parenting remains one of the hardest—and least supported—roles many adults will ever experience.

And before anyone jumps in with, “Well, you chose to have kids,” yes—most parents know that. We also chose to have jobs, marriages, friendships, homes, and hobbies. The problem isn’t that we chose these things. The problem is that somewhere along the way, we collectively decided that parents should be able to manage all of them simultaneously and with a smile.

The truth is, parenting isn’t just hard because children need things. It’s hard because their needs are constantly changing.

Just when you figure out how to soothe a baby, they become a toddler who suddenly has opinions about everything from snack choices to sock seams. Just when you master elementary school routines, you enter the world of sports schedules, friendships, homework, and bigger emotions. And if you have more than one child, you quickly realize that whatever worked for one child may be completely useless for the next.

Parenting is not a skill you learn once. It is a skill you relearn over and over again.

Every stage requires new information, new patience, new flexibility, and often a new version of yourself.

Just this weekend, I found myself in one of those parenting moments that perfectly captures how impossible it can feel to balance everyone’s needs.

My son got hurt on Saturday, and his foot hurt badly enough that he was limping and struggling to walk. The next morning, he woke up still limping and still telling me that it hurt. Immediately, I felt that familiar parental urgency:Should I get this checked out? Am I overreacting? Am I underreacting?

Of course, it was Sunday, which meant we couldn’t simply call the pediatrician. Instead, we found ourselves spending two hours at the hospital and paying $350 for X-rays. The entire time, he continued to tell us that his foot hurt.

And then, because children somehow possess magical healing powers that science has yet to fully explain, we got home, and two hours later he was completely fine. Miraculous recovery. Running around as if the entire ordeal had never happened.

The interesting part isn’t that I took him to the doctor. Most parents would have done the same thing. The hard realization came later when I thought aboutwhyI made that decision.

Truthfully, I wasn’t convinced that his foot was broken. I took him because I knew Monday was coming. I knew that getting him checked out on Sunday, while inconvenient and expensive, felt easier than trying to rearrange an entire workday, move clients, and figure out how to squeeze in a doctor’s appointment during the week.

And yes, I know that technically I am my own boss. People often assume that means flexibility comes easily. In reality, being your own boss can create an entirely different mental game. Is it easier to reschedule clients? Do you leave your calendar alone and hope your child improves? Do you ask for help? Do you wait another day?

Every option feels like it costs something.

In the end, I chose to go sooner rather than later—not because I was certain something was seriously wrong, but because I was trying to protect the carefully balanced schedule that keeps our family functioning.

That realization was uncomfortable.

Even with a flexible job, I still found myself prioritizing the peace of my work schedule over waiting another day or two to see how he felt. And I don’t think I’m alone in that. Parents everywhere are constantly making impossible calculations: balancing their children’s needs against work demands, finances, household responsibilities, relationships, and the thousand other invisible tasks that make family life run.

At the same time, life keeps moving.

There is work to be done. There are dishes in the sink. The dog needs to go outside. Someone forgot to sign the permission slip. Your spouse wants to connect. Your friends want to see you. Your parents need support. You keep telling yourself you’ll get back to exercising, reading, cooking, or whatever hobby used to make you feel like yourself before your calendar became a game of Tetris.

And somewhere in the middle of all of this, every expert reminds us that we also need to prioritize self-care.

As a therapist, I believe deeply in taking care of ourselves. But as a parent, I also understand why so many people laugh when they hear that advice.

Because when, exactly, are parents supposed to fit that in?

After the bedtime routine? Before the 6 a.m. wake-up? Between work meetings and grocery pickup? During the thirty-seven seconds of silence in the carpool line?

It often feels like modern parenting is a system set up for failure: we are expected to be fully present parents, successful professionals, attentive partners, loyal friends, organized household managers, and emotionally healthy humans all at the same time.

And yet, despite the fact that most households will experience parenthood in some form, support remains surprisingly limited.

New parents receive checklists for car seats and pediatric appointments, but very little guidance on identity shifts, loneliness, decision fatigue, or the mental gymnastics of carrying everyone else’s needs alongside their own.

Parents are praised for “doing it all” instead of being asked whether they should have to.

It makes me wonder why there isn’t more support for parents when so many people experience parenthood at some point. Why do we expect people to navigate one of life’s biggest transitions with so little help? Why do we celebrate independence while quietly struggling under the weight of trying to do everything ourselves?

Maybe what parents need isn’t another productivity hack or color-coded family calendar. Maybe what we need is more honest conversation. More community. More flexibility. More affordable childcare. More family leave. More understanding that parenting was never meant to happen in isolation.

Because somewhere along the way, we forgot that humans historically raised children in villages, neighborhoods, and extended families—not behind closed doors while simultaneously answering emails, folding laundry, and wondering whether they made the right decision about the urgent care visit.

And perhaps that is why so many parents walk around feeling like they are failing.

Not because they are doing anything wrong.

But because they are trying to do something incredibly difficult with far less support than they deserve.

If you are in the thick of it right now—juggling the schedules, the relationships, the work responsibilities, the endless mental lists, and wondering why it all feels so heavy—I hope you know this:

You are not the only one struggling to balance it all.

You are not behind.

And you were never meant to carry all of this alone.