The "Living Through Them Like a Failed Reality Show" Trap

They don’t want to be the star of your comeback tour. And they’ll tell you. Loudly.

Mistake: Forcing teens into sports, careers, or hobbies you secretly wanted.

Consequence: “She will be a ballet dancer… even though she walks like a baby giraffe.”

Reality check: Spotting and nurturing their actual passions.

Every parent has an “unfinished business” file — piano lessons dropped too soon, the soccer season when you were benched, the chemistry class where you realized you’d never be a doctor (despite your parents insisting otherwise). These little regrets sit quietly until… you have kids. Then suddenly you’re looking at your teenager like they’re not a person but a sequel.

You whisper, “This time the ending will be different.” Spoiler: it won’t — because it’s their show, not yours. And if you don’t notice the script flip, you’ll end up living through them like a failed reality TV producer, trying to edit their life into the comeback season you never had.

THE ISSUE

Imagine a family dinner that plays like this:

• Parent: “You’ll regret quitting debate team someday. I would’ve loved that chance.”

• Teen: “But I don’t like it.”

• Parent: “That’s just nerves. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

• Teen (internal monologue): “I will not be thanking you later. I’ll be ranting about this in therapy.”

Some parents look at their teenagers like walking second chances. Didn’t make varsity basketball? No problem — your teen will. Still wish you’d stuck with clarinet? Easy: private lessons every Tuesday, whether they love it or not.

It feels harmless — even noble. After all, you’re not trying to relive the past for yourself (at least that’s what you tell yourself). You’re just “helping them not waste opportunities.”

But teenagers are savvy. They can tell when an activity is more about you than them. And let’s be clear: there’s nothing a 15-year-old despises more than being cast as someone else’s redemption story.

WHY PARENTS DO THIS

Let’s admit it: the urge is universal. Our children arrive fresh, unwrinkled, and still mostly unscarred by disappointment. They’re like pristine notebooks we itch to write in. Then they grow. Then they become teenagers. Then we suddenly realize the time is running out for them ... to fully live our recycled dreams. 

So we fall in the trap, because of:

• Unfinished business. You quit basketball in 9th grade. Now every time your kid walks past a hoop, you get misty-eyed.

• Pride projection. You imagine casually saying over the coffee cup, “Oh, yes, my daughter is playing violin at Carnegie Hall” while your coworkers gasp.

• Perceived opportunity. Your teen has access to robotics clubs, coding camps, and internships you never dreamed of. You can’t resist nudging.

• Fear of regret. You worry they’ll someday say, “Why didn’t you push me harder?” (In reality, they’re more likely to say, “Why didn’t you let me choose?”)

• Misreading passion. They hum one tune, and you’re envisioning their Grammy acceptance speech.

It’s not malicious. It’s human. But it risks turning parenting into ghostwriting — you’re writing chapters for someone else’s book.

HOW THIS HARMS TEENS (AND US)

Pushing teens into our recycled dreams backfires in many ways:

• It erases their identity. Teens are desperate to define who they are — musically, socially, aesthetically (even if that means mullets make a brief comeback). Forcing your path onto them blurs theirs.

• It builds resentment. Imagine being forced to spend your weekends at swim meets when your heart is in the school newspaper. That simmering resentment eventually boils.

• It damages self-esteem. If they fail at your dream, they’ll feel they failed you. That’s not just disappointment — that’s shame.

• It delays self-discovery. Some kids don’t realize they’ve been walking someone else’s road until college or later. By then, turning around feels like failure instead of exploration.

• It weakens trust. If your teen learns their new interests will always be steamrolled by your old regrets, they’ll stop sharing them altogether.

• It takes control out of their hands. They stop feeling like the main character in their life. They’re cast as secondary roles extras in your long-running drama.