A Blog For Mums
Nobody really prepares you for the moment your child becomes embarrassed by you.
Not the first time they pull their hand away in public. Not the awkward shuffling when you turn up at the school gate. Not the look that says, “Please don’t speak to anyone. Please don’t wave. Please don’t be you.”
It sneaks up on you. One day you’re their safe place, their biggest cheerleader, the person they want to sit next to everywhere. The next, you’re being gently managed like a potential social incident.
And the thing is, you’re supposed to be fine about it.
Sometimes it’s behavioural. You laugh too loudly. You chat for too long. You say something “cringe” without realising.
Other times, it’s visual.
You get your hair cut. Not just a trim, but a proper change. Something that feels bold. Something that feels like you reclaiming a bit of yourself. You leave the salon feeling lighter, braver, quietly proud.
Then your child sees it.
They pause. They tilt their head. They process. And then, in the careful tone of someone negotiating a ceasefire, they ask if you could maybe wear a hat at school pick-up.
Not because they’re trying to be nasty. Not because they want to hurt you.
Because they’re embarrassed.
And that lands far harder than we expect it to.
On the surface, it’s a small thing. A hat. A comment. A phase.
But emotionally, it pokes at something tender.
As mums, so much of our identity gets quietly woven into how our children see us. We don’t always realise how much approval we’re still seeking until it feels like it’s being withdrawn.
When your child is embarrassed by you, it can feel like rejection. Like you’ve crossed an invisible line without knowing it was there. Like you’re suddenly doing motherhood wrong, despite years of evidence to the contrary.
There’s also a sense of grief in it. Small, but real. The loss of being the person they want to show off. The shift from being their centre of gravity to being someone who needs managing in public.
And because we’re adults, because we’re meant to be emotionally mature, we often don’t give ourselves permission to feel that sadness properly. We laugh it off. We minimise it. We tell ourselves it doesn’t matter.
But it does.
Children don’t experience embarrassment the way adults do. For them, fitting in feels urgent. High stakes. Almost survival-level important.
They’re learning social rules. Who stands out. Who gets laughed at. What draws attention and what keeps them safely unnoticed.
When you stand out, even accidentally, it can feel like you’re shining a spotlight they didn’t ask for.
They’re not embarrassed because you’re embarrassing. They’re embarrassed because they’re still figuring out how to exist in a world where being different can feel risky.
Understanding that doesn’t magically remove the sting, but it helps you see the bigger picture. This isn’t about your hair. Or your clothes. Or your personality.
It’s about them growing.
When faced with your child’s discomfort, it’s very tempting to fix it.
To grab the hat. To change your outfit. To tone yourself down. To become a little smaller, a little quieter, a little more invisible, just to keep the peace.
Sometimes, you’ll do exactly that. Not because you lack confidence, but because parenting is about choosing your moments. Because you’re tired. Because today isn’t the hill you want to die on.
That doesn’t make you weak. It makes you pragmatic.
But it’s also worth noticing how quickly mums are expected to smooth things over by adjusting themselves. How natural it feels to prioritise everyone else’s comfort over our own sense of self.
And how easily that can become a habit.
There’s a middle ground between ignoring your child’s feelings and erasing yourself.
You can acknowledge their embarrassment without absorbing it as truth. You can say, “I know this feels awkward for you,” without adding, “So I’ll hide who I am.”
You can meet their discomfort with empathy, not shame. You don’t have to lecture them about confidence or self-expression. Sometimes it’s enough to stay calm, stay kind, and stay you.
That quiet consistency matters more than big speeches ever could.
Moments like this are small, but they’re powerful.
Your child is watching how you respond. Not just to them, but to yourself.
They’re learning whether it’s acceptable to ask people to change themselves to make others comfortable. They’re learning how adults handle embarrassment, difference, and awkwardness. They’re learning whether confidence disappears the moment it’s challenged.
If you can show self-acceptance, even when you’re feeling a bit bruised inside, that lesson sticks. Not in an obvious way. Just in the background, where the most important ones live.
This embarrassment phase isn’t permanent, even though it can feel endless while you’re in it.
Most children soften again. They grow out of it. They gain confidence of their own and stop needing you to blend into the background.
One day, they’ll defend you. Or laugh with you. Or decide your weirdness is actually quite endearing. They might even copy it.
Until then, it’s an odd in-between stage where love is still there, just filtered through self-consciousness and social anxiety.
If you’ve ever stood slightly further back at the school gate. If you’ve ever worn something you didn’t want to wear. If you’ve ever second-guessed yourself because your child winced at your presence, you’re not alone.
Being embarrassed of you doesn’t mean they don’t love you. It means they’re growing.
And feeling hurt by it doesn’t mean you’re being dramatic. It means you’re human.
Parenthood
