A Critical Mom

We all carry pieces of our parents within us, sometimes the ones we love, and sometimes the ones we wish we could change. Growing up with a critical mom shaped me in ways I’m still unpacking today. From craving approval to becoming my own toughest critic, I’m learning that healing starts with understanding and gratitude.

“For decades, you’ve been laughing, disapproving, and criticizing everything I do,” I blurted out to my ninety-one-year-old mom one afternoon.

She was watching me cover a bowl of peeled and sliced oranges to keep them fresh and, as usual, pointed out that what I was doing was unnecessary.

“But what can I do? I can only let it be and ignore what you say,” I added.

Mom didn’t respond. She didn’t seem upset either, just quiet.

Ever since I can remember, my mom has been critical of me. When I was school-aged, praise was rare. No matter how good my grades were or how well I did something, she would simply say, “I don’t want you to be too proud of yourself.” That was her explanation for withholding compliments.

I craved her approval. No matter how hard I worked or what I achieved, it was never enough. Maybe that’s why I became so driven, to prove myself worthy, even though she often told me, “Why do you work so hard? You should take it easy in life.”

Of course, I did the opposite.

Years later, when I found myself in a mental health facility, I finally learned that being a perfectionist was a problem. It was like a light bulb went on. All those years I spent trying to be perfect to win her approval—I had turned into someone overly critical of myself. I was never satisfied, never enough, always insecure.

And history, as they say, repeats itself.

I became a critical mom too. I can still see my three-year-old daughter coloring one day, and there I was—pointing out that she had colored outside the lines. Who does that to a three-year-old? I still regret it. The damage, I fear, was done. I often blame myself for her later struggles with anxiety and depression.

At the same time, I tried to give my children what I missed the most growing up: praise, encouragement, and love. I showered them with compliments, hoping they would never feel the emptiness I once felt.

It’s funny how the traits we dislike most in others often mirror something inside ourselves. My critical nature followed me into my professional life too. As a leader, I sometimes catch myself noticing people’s mistakes before their strengths. I’ve learned to be more mindful, focusing on the good before the flaws, but that instinct to judge still lingers.

Despite it all, I’m grateful for my mom. She’s always loved me in her own way: through delicious meals, quiet support, and steadfast presence. Her criticism shaped me into who I am today: resilient, driven, and always striving to grow.

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