My parents rarely praised me. I didn’t realize I repeated the pattern with my own kids.

• I often praised my children to others instead of to them directly.
• My upbringing made it hard for me to express encouragement openly.
• A painful conversation with my son changed how I parent adult kids.

Several years ago, while driving behind a car with a “my-child-is-an-honor-student” bumper sticker, I said to my oldest son, sitting in the passenger seat, “I always wanted one of those.”

He, then a college student, replied, “Why? It doesn’t mean anything.”

He was right. In the greater scheme of things, achieving honor roll in elementary or middle school is not a significant accomplishment. Nor is it a predictor of future success. Even so, I still wanted one!

None of my five children was an academic superstar. They rarely achieved honor roll for more than one quarter of any school year, and none was named to the Dean’s List in college. Nevertheless, I’ve always been exceedingly proud of each one. In fact, I’m constantly singing their praises to anyone who’ll listen.

The problem is, I rarely commend them directly.

My parents did not praise me

Maybe that’s because my parents were not generous with praise. Their generation was not hardwired for affirmation, so I did not learn from experience how formative praise is.

I was a well-behaved kid, a decent student, and a pretty compliant daughter. I didn’t need positive reinforcement to motivate me, although it would have been nice to receive some occasionally.

Growing up in the mid-20^th century, the expectation for most girls like me was to earn an MRS, not an MBA. So, when in my senior year of high school, I was accepted into all five colleges I applied to, my parents were not over the moon with excitement.

The day the fifth acceptance letter arrived from my first-choice school, I couldn’t wait to share the news with my dad. I’d hoped he’d be as happy as I was. If he was, he didn’t show it, and to this day, I still feel disappointed that he didn’t give me a big hug and tell me he was proud.

It shouldn’t be so hard to say ‘well done’

I was effusive with praise when my kids were small. We celebrated each milestone from learning to use the toilet to tying their shoes to riding a bike. But as they’ve grown, I’ve been a much quieter cheerleader.

The year my third son’s Little League team won the championship I consoled him when he struck out but did not high-five him for hitting the line drive that clinched the series. When another son sang a solo during a school concert that was so beautiful it silenced the audience, I was too stunned to tell him he’d done an amazing job.

Now that they’re adults, each of my children is achieving great things. One’s an artist in high demand. Another’s a photographer whose work is published internationally. My youngest son, a UX designer, was recruited by a top tech company halfway through his junior year of college. My second son, who works in finance, created a unique investment vehicle that has launched his career into the stratosphere.

Each of their successes is extraordinary, which is all the more reason I should tell them I’m proud.

My kids want to know I’m proud of them

Of course, I’m more than willing to tell friends, colleagues, and even mere acquaintances about all my kids accomplish. I post to Zoom chats and populate Slack channels with proud mama moments all the time. I share links to the Google alerts I’ve set up and forward their Reels from Instagram. I’m constantly sending photos in group chats, but I rarely send them texts to say how thrilled I am for them.

I’m trying to figure out why I’m so reluctant. Maybe it’s because I’m overwhelmed by their success. Where did the talent come from? Certainly not from me. Regardless, as their mother, I should congratulate them for all they’re doing.

I didn’t realize just how important that is until my third son confronted me with an email I’d written years before about a photo essay he’d published. Instead of complimenting his work, I critiqued the composition. He was devastated by my comments. He’d worked hard on the project and had hoped I would recognize its value. Instead, I wrote about its flaws.

When he read my words back to me, I was shocked. Not only did I not remember writing them, but I also had a hard time figuring out why I was so negative. I was ashamed I’d hurt him. At that moment, I realized no matter their age, my kids want my praise. Since then, I’ve been working really hard to tell each one just how proud of them I truly am.

They’re extraordinary people, and they should hear that often from their mother.