She Has to Make Her Own Mistakes” – Really?

She Has to Make Her Own Mistakes” – Really?

A story about the moment that left me feeling invisible, unheard and deeply misunderstood.

You ever have a moment where someone says something, and it hits you so hard you’re momentarily stunned? Not because it’s true, but because it’s so wide of the mark it leaves you speechless?

I remember sitting, having a coffee, with a close friend, trying to explain how I was feeling. My daughter, who lives with complex emotional dysregulation, was in crisis. Again. It was one of those days where I’d barely slept, my mind heavy, heart heavier, carrying the weight of worry that never really lifts.

We’d just been through a particularly intense few weeks, hospital trips, tears, panic attacks, frantic calls, long silences, rage, guilt, fear. You name it. I was still in that fog, that space where you’re just trying to keep your child alive and your own nervous system regulated enough to respond without falling apart.

And then this ‘friend’ turned to me and said, “You have to let her make her own mistakes.”

I wish I could say I responded calmly. I didn’t shout. I didn’t move. I didn’t show them anything at all. Because that’s how I cope, I hold it in, stay strong, take it home with me. But inside? I was livid. Shaken. And honestly, heartbroken.

Let her make her own mistakes?

She isn’t just missing a bus or choosing the wrong A-levels. Her “mistakes” come wrapped in suicidal thoughts, risky behaviours, dangerous choices, the kind that don’t always leave room to learn a lesson from.

This wasn’t about a learning curve. This was life and death. And that comment, flippant, thoughtless, and deeply invalidating made me feel like all the effort, the care, the hours sat on the edge of her bed, the crisis calls, the research, the sheer emotional labour of loving a child in pain didn’t matter.

It was a comment from someone who clearly hadn’t sat on the bathroom floor at 3am, coaxing their daughter back from the edge. Someone who hadn’t had to clear the house of sharps while pretending everything was “just fine.” Someone who didn’t know what it’s like to be the FP (the “favourite person”) the anchor, the target, the lifeline, the lightning rod.

I am her safe space. Her first call. Her emotional home. Her punching bag, sometimes. Her comfort. Her trigger. Her person. And it is exhausting and beautiful and terrifying.

And I’m supposed to just let her go make mistakes? As if that’s safe. As if that’s even possible.

Why That Moment Lit a Fire in Me

That conversation was months ago, but I still think about it. Not because I let that person’s opinion define me, but because it reminded me how misunderstood parents like us really are.

We’re often told we’re too involved. Too soft. Too controlling. Too emotional. Too cold. Not doing enough. Doing too much.

It’s relentless. The judgement. The advice. The complete lack of awareness about what it actually takes to keep going when your young adult child is struggling every day to simply be here.

That moment didn’t break me, but it did change me. It made me more determined than ever to speak up. To share the truth. To make space for other mums who are nodding along because they’ve heard the same rubbish and felt the same sting.

If You’ve Ever Felt This Too…

You are not alone. You’re not too much. You’re not failing. You are doing the bravest, hardest, most thankless job, loving a child with emotional dysregulation while trying to stay upright yourself.

If people don’t get it, it’s because they haven’t lived it. But I have. And I see you.

Let’s stop pretending that generic advice like “she has to learn the hard way” is helpful.

Let’s start honouring the complexity of what we live with.

Let’s build spaces where mums can say, “Actually, I can’t let her make that mistake, because she might not survive it.”

And let’s keep talking.

Because silence helps no one.

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