I Don't Need My Children to Choose Me. I Want Them to Choose Themselves.
There comes a point in life when you have to ask yourself a difficult question. How much fighting are you willing to endure in the name of love? And at what point does loving someone mean accepting that you cannot save them from the choices they make, or the influences they allow to shape their lives? I came across a post today by Candi Morris that struck a nerve. She wrote about something that most estranged parents probably think about, but few are willing to say out loud. "I don't think I want them back." She went on to discuss parents who have spent years dealing with arguments, accusations, and emotional conflict, only to finally find some peace in the distance. And then she asked a question: If your estranged child called tomorrow wanting to reconcile, would you welcome them back, or would you have some serious reservations? Well, Candi, you've opened one hell of a can of worms. Because I have an answer. And it's probably not the answer some people want to hear.
I Never Wanted My Children to Choose Sides
Let me make one thing clear. I love my children. All five of them. That has never changed. What has changed is my willingness to continually fight battles that I never wanted to fight in the first place. My children were put in a horrible position. They were made to feel that they had to choose between their mother and their father. That should never happen. Children should never have to demonstrate their loyalty to one parent by rejecting the other. But that is the position I believe my children were placed in. For more than five years, they lived with enormous pressure, conflict, and the expectation that they should fall in line with what their mother wanted. And eventually, they did. I don't necessarily blame them for that. When you're young, dependent on a parent, and constantly dealing with emotional pressure, sometimes the easiest thing to do is go along to get along. It's the path of least resistance. That doesn't make it the strongest choice. But it certainly makes it understandable. The unfortunate part is that the path of least resistance can become a way of life. And that's what concerns me most.
The Victim Mentality Is an Inheritance I Never Wanted Them to Receive
One of the greatest disagreements I've had with their mother is over personal responsibility. I believe that people have far more control over their lives than they are often willing to acknowledge. Not everything that happens to us is our fault. Life can be cruel. People can betray us. Opportunities can disappear. Sometimes we get dealt a genuinely rotten hand. But at some point, we have to decide whether we're going to spend the rest of our lives blaming everyone else, or take responsibility for what we do next. Their mother and I have always seen this differently. From my perspective, she has spent much of her life explaining her disappointments through the actions of other people. Her brother. Her parents. The Mormon Church. The wealthy kids she grew up around. There always seemed to be someone standing between her and the artistic success she believed she deserved. Perhaps some of those experiences genuinely hurt her. I'm not dismissing that possibility. But I watched someone who, in my opinion, had opportunities, talent, and resources that could have been used to build something meaningful. And instead of owning the decisions that followed, the explanation too often became that someone else had taken her greatness away. That is how I experienced it. And now I see what I believe are the same patterns developing in my children. Everything becomes an offense. Every disagreement becomes an attack. Every difference of opinion becomes evidence of some injustice. And responsibility for one's own reactions seems to disappear somewhere along the way. I don't want that for them. I don't want them spending the next thirty years searching for people to blame for the lives they didn't build. I want them to understand that their lives belong to them. Not their mother. Not me. Not some political movement, social ideology, church, activist group, or fashionable victimhood competition. Them.
When Political Ideology Becomes a Substitute for Identity
Let's address another uncomfortable subject. My children and I have developed some very serious cultural and political disagreements. They have embraced a worldview that is far more progressive than my own. That's their right. I'm a libertarian. I believe people should be free to live their lives, make their decisions, and pursue their own happiness. But that freedom also means accepting that other people are allowed to disagree with you. Somewhere along the way, disagreement itself seems to have become an offense. I can't express an opinion without it being interpreted as an insult. I can't question a political position without someone treating it as a personal attack. And heaven forbid we disagree about pronouns, gender ideology, or any of the other cultural battles that seem to consume so much energy these days. I'm not interested in spending the rest of my life arguing over those things. I have my beliefs. They have theirs. I don't expect them to abandon their convictions to make me comfortable. But I am equally unwilling to abandon mine just to be permitted to participate in their lives. Love should not require ideological surrender. And family should not function like a political loyalty test. I raised my children to think for themselves. Or at least, that was always my intention. So if they genuinely arrive at conclusions that differ from mine, fine. But I want those conclusions to be theirs. Not positions adopted because they're afraid of disappointing someone. Not beliefs held because questioning them might cost them approval. And certainly not an identity constructed entirely around being offended by everyone who sees the world differently.
My Younger Children Never Should Have Been Forced Into This
This is the part that hurts the most. My younger children are not adults. They should be enjoying their childhood, building confidence, learning about the world, and developing into the people they are going to become. They should have both parents in their lives. They should be able to love their mother without feeling guilty about loving their father. And they should be able to love their father without feeling that they're betraying their mother. Unfortunately, that isn't the relationship I believe they have been allowed to experience. Over the years, I have watched them struggle with pressures that no child should have to carry. And eventually, they chose the household and parent they felt they needed to align themselves with. I believe that choosing a relationship with me has carried emotional consequences for them. And that's a terrible position for a child to be in. Of course I want them in my life. Of course I want to raise them, teach them, spend time with them, and share in the important moments of their lives. I'm their father, for God's sake. I didn't stop being their father because someone else decided our relationship should become complicated. But I also don't want my children living in constant conflict because they feel caught between two parents. I don't want them being shamed for loving me. I don't want them having to explain or defend every conversation, visit, or positive feeling they have toward their father. So for now, I do what I can. I love them. I pray for them. And I hope that someday they will have the freedom and confidence to build relationships without feeling they need someone's permission. That doesn't mean I've stopped wanting to be their father. It means I refuse to make them responsible for a conflict that should never have been theirs.
I Don't Pray for Them to Come Back Anymore
This is probably the hardest thing for some people to understand. I used to pray for reconciliation. I wanted the phone calls. The visits. The family gatherings. The chance to put everything behind us. And of course, part of me still wants those things. But my prayers have changed. I no longer pray primarily for my children to come back to me. I pray for them to find the strength to become who they really are. I pray that they learn to own their decisions. I pray that they discover that personal responsibility isn't a punishment. It's freedom. I pray that they stop measuring their worth by the approval of other people. And I pray that they recognize the greatness and wholeness already inside them. Because I believe every one of my children has tremendous potential. They don't have to become like me. They don't have to share my political views. They don't have to follow my career choices, my religious beliefs, or my expectations for their lives. They just need to become strong enough to make their own decisions and accept responsibility for the results. That's what I want for them. Not obedience. Not allegiance. Independence.
The Million-Dollar Inheritance and What I Want It to Mean
Here's something else I've thought about quite seriously. I've arranged for a million-dollar life insurance policy. And I've spent time considering how I want that money to benefit my children and future grandchildren. Not because I believe money solves everything. It doesn't. But I've lived enough life to understand just how difficult it can be to build financial security while raising a family. The rent or mortgage doesn't care whether you've had a bad month. The grocery bill doesn't care whether your employer cut your hours. Children need food, clothing, education, healthcare, and a roof over their heads. And saving money while paying for all of those things can be brutally difficult. I want to leave something behind that makes that burden easier. My desire is to create an inheritance that helps my children who choose to raise families, and especially the grandchildren who may come after me. I've considered allocating $50,000 for each grandchild as part of that legacy. That doesn't mean I expect all five of my children to get married and have children. If they choose not to, that's their decision. I don't get to make it for them. And I don't believe money should be used to purchase someone's affection or political agreement. But I do believe there's value in helping the next generation build something lasting. I'd rather leave behind a foundation that helps a young family find stability than watch an inheritance disappear into a collection of meaningless purchases. It's not about rewarding obedience. It's about building a legacy. And those are two very different things. The precise financial arrangements are something to be structured carefully. But the principle matters to me. I want what I've built to help my descendants build something of their own.
I Am Done Fighting to Be Allowed to Love My Own Children
There is something exhausting about spending years trying to prove that you deserve a place in your own children's lives. At some point, you begin to realize that every conversation cannot be another trial. Every disagreement cannot become another indictment of your character. Every attempt at communication cannot end with a new list of accusations. And every political opinion cannot become grounds for another family dispute. I don't want the fighting back. I don't want the insults. I don't want the constant accusations, the victim mentality, or the endless arguments over whatever cultural controversy is making headlines this week. I don't want a relationship where everyone has to walk on eggshells, afraid that one wrong word will set off another explosion. Life is too short for that nonsense. And I've already spent far too much of it in that kind of conflict. Does that mean I don't want my children back? No. It means I don't want the relationship we had back. Those are two entirely different things. If one of my children called tomorrow and genuinely wanted to rebuild a relationship, I would welcome that opportunity. But I would want us to build something better. Something based on mutual respect. Something where disagreement doesn't mean hatred. Something where we can acknowledge past hurts without turning every conversation into a courtroom. And something where both sides can take responsibility for their own behavior. That includes me. I'm not pretending I've handled every situation perfectly. I'm a father, not a saint. I've said things I regret. I've made mistakes. I've gotten angry. I've probably made situations worse at times when I thought I was defending myself. I can own that. But reconciliation cannot mean one person accepting all the blame while everyone else gets a lifetime exemption from accountability. That's not reconciliation. That's surrender. And I've had enough of that.
My Children Don't Owe Me Their Agreement. And I Don't Owe Them My Silence.
I believe one of the most important lessons a parent can teach a child is the ability to disagree without destroying a relationship. You can love someone and think they're dead wrong. You can respect someone's freedom without celebrating every decision they make. And you can maintain your own principles without demanding that everyone around you adopt them. I don't need my children to be libertarians. I don't need them to vote the way I vote. I don't need them to share my religious views or reject the same institutions I've questioned. I don't need them to live the life I would choose. But I do hope they learn that being offended is not the same thing as being harmed. That disagreement is not automatically abuse. That having a difficult childhood doesn't mean you must have a miserable adulthood. And that blaming someone else for every disappointment is a terrible way to spend the one life you've been given. Because here's the thing about personal responsibility. It can be uncomfortable. Sometimes it's downright painful. It forces you to look in the mirror and admit that some of the problems in your life have your fingerprints all over them. But it also gives you something far more valuable than the temporary comfort of blaming everyone else. It gives you the power to change. And that is what I want my children to discover.
Love Doesn't Always Look Like Holding On
Candi Morris asked whether estranged parents would welcome their children back or have serious reservations. My answer is both. Of course I would welcome my children into my life. I never wanted them gone in the first place. But would I have reservations about returning to the same accusations, the same conflicts, the same political hostility, and the same emotional exhaustion? Absolutely. I don't want to spend my remaining years fighting with the people I love most. And I don't want them spending their lives fighting with me. There is no victory in that. For my adult children, I hope time, experience, and independence bring a different perspective. For my younger children, I hope they eventually reach a place where loving both parents doesn't feel like a choice they have to defend. And for all five of them, I hope they find something much more important than winning an argument with their father. I hope they find themselves. Their real selves. Not the person their mother wants them to be. Not the person I want them to be. Not the person social media, political movements, or society tells them they ought to be. The person they choose to become when they finally realize that their life is their own. I want them to be strong. I want them to be capable. I want them to find love, build meaningful lives, and experience the satisfaction of accomplishing something through their own effort. I want them to become better than me. Hell, that's supposed to be the goal of raising children in the first place. And if they accomplish all of that without ever seeing eye to eye with me, I will still be proud of the people they've become. Because fatherhood was never supposed to be about producing five copies of myself. It was supposed to be about giving five human beings the tools to build lives of their own. So no, I don't spend my prayers asking God to make my children come back to me anymore. I ask Him to give them courage. I ask Him to give them wisdom. I ask Him to help them recognize their own worth without needing to make someone else the villain in their story. And I ask Him to help them find the strength to stand on their own two feet. My door isn't closed. My love hasn't disappeared. But I am finished believing that love requires endless conflict. If we find our way back to one another someday, I hope it will be because we have all grown enough to build something better. And if that day doesn't come, I will still want the very best for them. I don't need my children to choose me. I want them to be free enough, strong enough, and whole enough to choose themselves. And that, more than anything, is what I pray for.
Sources and Evidence
This is personal commentary based on Ryan Thompson’s supplied first-person draft and a Candi Morris post excerpt supplied with it. Family, custody, relationship, and financial details are presented as Ryan’s account and perspective, not as independently verified findings. Veracity Integrity was unavailable during preparation, so no external reliability score is claimed.
Related media: Disruptarian Radio media about parental alienation and estrangement.
Referenced article: Candi Morris’s article.
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