“Ammi, you are so annoying.”

hear this more often than I’d like to admit. It stings every time—not because I think I’m being annoying, but because I realise I might be missing something important. In those words, there’s frustration; yes, but also a plea: see me, hear me, understand me.

In many Pakistani households, parenting is more often about correction than connection. We want our children to succeed, but only by certain metrics: a good university; a good job; a respectable spouse; practising our faith. We say we want what’s best for them but often what we really want is what we think is best. There’s a difference; and sometimes, that difference is all a child needs to feel misunderstood.

I did a quick survey—with Gen Z—and asked them about the most annoying things their parents do. Here are some of their responses:

•  Constantly bringing up the past
•  Comparing me to other children
•  Repeating the same things over and over
•  My mother speaking negatively about my paternal side
•  My mother sharing my personal matters with her siblings
•  Being overly protective
•  Gaslighting

•  Yelling

We often believe we are giving them freedom, but when they make a choice we disagree with—a subject we don’t approve of; a friend we don’t like—our reactions change. We grow distant; or sad; or quietly disappointed. (No yelling or punishment, just a shift in energy that says, I said you were free, but not for this.)

Is that freedom? Or is it just another version of control—softer, subtler, but control nonetheless?

This kind of control does not come from malice. More often, it comes from fear. Many of us grew up without the language of emotional validation. Our parents didn’t ask us how we felt. They asked our score. Their love was deep and fierce, but it was often expressed through sacrifice and discipline, not softness. We learnt that love meant protection; and protection meant control.

Control and connection don’t always go hand in hand—but that doesn’t mean we abandon structure. Total freedom isn’t realistic or always healthy. As parents, we hold the final authority. There will be times we say no and play the “bad guy.” That’s part of parenting. But authority isn’t dictatorship. Done right, it invites dialogue instead of shutting it down. It says, “I’m in charge, but I respect your thoughts.” Saying ‘no’ can come with reasoning and room for discussion; this doesn’t weaken authority—it deepens trust. Kids may not always agree, but feeling heard makes all the difference.

There’s something else at play too—our fear of letting them fall. We tell ourselves, “We don’t want our kids to make the mistakes we made.” But maybe they should make some of those same mistakes. Maybe those are the very things that will shape them. Maybe failure is not the enemy—it’s the process. If we shield them from every wound, how will they learn to heal?

I asked mothers about parenting. Here’s what they had to say:

•  “Listen to your children—their moods, choices and problems. But don’t forget they’re still children. Guide them with calm logic and conversation.”
• “This isn’t our generation. Speak their language, meet them where they are.”
• “Be both a parent and a friend.”
• “No matter how ‘modern’ we become, a strong connection with faith and values keeps children grounded.”
• “Embrace the family network when raising children.”

• “Parenting means moving with the times.” 
  

Parenting is not about bubble-wrapping our children from life. It’s not about smoothing every path or answering every question. It’s about preparing them, equipping them, letting them take risks we can’t control and make decisions we may not agree with. It’s also about being there when those decisions don’t work out. When they come back hurt, ashamed or confused, we don’t say, “I told you so,” we say, “I’m here.”

The truth is, the world is going to hurt them. Just as it hurt us, just as it hurt our parents. That’s not something we can change. What we can do is help them build the armour they’ll need. Not the kind that hardens them, but the kind that makes them brave. Our job is to offer a voice that says, “Get back up;” to be the hand that steadies, not the chain that holds back; to remind them, again and again, that they are capable, even when it hurts.

We also need to remind ourselves of something: every parent has baggage. We carry our own fears, regrets and unmet dreams. Sometimes—without meaning to—we place that weight on our children’s shoulders. We try to steer them away from what hurt us, hoping that this will save them pain. But maybe our real task isn’t to pass down our past, it’s to break the cycle; to give them a lighter load; to see where our fears end and their lives begin.

Carl Jung once said that a true sign of maturation is when people finally forgive their parents. I think the true sign of maturity in parents is when they forgive themselves—for not knowing better; for learning late; for realising that parenting isn’t about creating a perfect child, it’s about loving the imperfect, ever-changing human in front of you and allowing them to love the imperfect, ever-changing human that is you.

So, the next time I hear, “Ammi, you’re so annoying,” maybe I’ll take a breath. Maybe I’ll ask, “Why do you feel that way?” Maybe I’ll try to connect before I correct.

The writer, as executive director of Bargad, has pioneered youth policies in Pakistan. She can be reached on Instagram at @pherountal