success stories – A parent shares how their attempts to encourage their sons through stories of achievements backfired—until they started telling embarrassing failures instead. The change brought laughter, questions, and a more useful kind of reassurance: failure can be surviva
For a long time, I thought I was doing what parents are supposed to do. Whenever one of my sons was struggling with school or feeling discouraged about not mastering a new skill. I reached into my personal archive of accomplishments for something reassuring. I’d tell them about getting inducted into the National Junior Honor Society. I’d mention becoming editor of the school newspaper. I’d share examples of goals I’d worked hard for and eventually achieved.
In my mind, these stories were encouragement in story form. Effort pays off. Challenges can be overcome. But my kids heard something else.
When I tried to reassure them with success, the reactions came back fast and blunt: “I’m not as smart as you.” And: “That’s not something I’m good at.”
It took me longer than I’d like to admit, but I finally understood what was happening. My success stories weren’t landing as reassurance. They sounded like comparisons. They were hearing a polished happy-ever-after instead of the years of work. the uncertainty. and even the luck behind my accomplishments. And because their lives were still messy in the middle. they felt like they were coming up short against a finished product I never meant to hold up as a standard.
So I changed what I told them—and the nights that followed felt different.
One night, I told them about the time I got a 10 on a physics test. Not “10 points off.” A 10 out of one hundred.
My physics teacher joked that at least he knew I hadn’t cheated off my friend sitting next to me, who had gotten 100. When he handed me my test, he said: “Nancy did 10 times better than you.”
That sentence stuck in my head for decades. When I shared it with my teenagers, they thought it was hysterical.
That story became a kind of family favorite—followed by another: the driver’s education instructor who screamed that I was the worst driver he’d ever taught. Sure. I’d just taken out three orange cones and created my own path around the blacktop. but it was still mortifying in the moment. Today, it’s family folklore.
The pattern surprised me. The more embarrassing the story, the more my teens seemed to enjoy it. They would sit through my teenage humiliation with an engagement I never got when I talked about achievements. They even asked follow-up questions: “What did you do?” and “How did you get out of it?”
They wanted the details of how their seemingly put-together mom handled the worst embarrassments of her life.
Somewhere in all of that, I realized my kids were getting something my success stories never provided: perspective.
Teenagers today are growing up in a world where mistakes can feel permanent. Every awkward moment can be photographed, recorded, shared, and replayed. Academic pressure starts earlier, and the college admissions process feels more competitive. Social media adds fuel—an endless stream of people seeming to do everything better than you.
I remember feeling that way, too. The difference now is that, with decades of perspective, I can see how many moments that once felt catastrophic turned out to be survivable.
That physics test didn’t determine the course of my life. The driver’s ed disaster didn’t prevent me from getting my license. The things that kept me awake as a teenager—embarrassments that felt like they would brand me forever—became funny stories I now tell over dinner. When I share those moments with my sons. I’m offering evidence that failure is a normal part of being human.
And it matters because failure stories don’t just soothe—they also make room for teenagers to recognize themselves. When you tell someone about a finish line, they have to measure their messy middle against something already completed. When you tell someone about the messy middle itself, the pressure shifts.
I’ve also noticed something unexpected in myself. As I tell these stories. I’m struck by how much fear I carried when I was their age—even without the added pressures of social media. I felt like every mistake had enormous weight because I had nothing to compare it to. The idea of something going on my “permanent record” was so ingrained in me by well-meaning adults that I felt like I had to be perfect at everything for it to count.
Some of that fear followed me into parenthood.
But my sons don’t need a flawless example. They don’t need a carefully edited version of my life where every challenge neatly led to an accomplishment. They don’t need another person implying that achievement is the measure of their worth.
What they seem to appreciate is hearing that I messed up—felt embarrassed—failed big time—and survived.
That’s the real lesson underneath the laughter: failure is not the whole story.
Most of us have bombed a test, made a bad decision, embarrassed ourselves, or fallen short of a goal. Those experiences are universal. The “happy ending” is that life kept going. A bad grade, an embarrassing moment, or a failed attempt doesn’t become the entire story—it stays a chapter. Sometimes, years later, it’s the funniest one.
parenting teenagers failure success stories school pressure motivation resilience personal experience
This is why my kid refuses to do anything lol. I always thought hyping them would help.
So basically success stories are bad? Feels like clickbait. I would think kids like hearing people made it.
I kind of get it though, like when you only tell the ‘finished’ part it makes them feel behind. But I’m confused because the article says failure can be “surviva”?? did it cut off or is that a quote? Either way, my oldest would just be like “cool story” and move on.
Not gonna lie, this sounds like one of those parenting trends where they blame everything on how you talk. Kids are gonna compare themselves no matter what you say. Also the physics test thing… like who even remembers that, my teacher was just yelling in class 😂