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“It is easier to build strong children than to repair broken men.” — Frederick Douglass

Children are among life’s most precious gifts. For many, the desire to have a child is an aching pull in the heart, a sacred hope rooted in biology, culture, and personal dreams. We plan for them, pray for them, and often go to great lengths—financial, emotional, even spiritual—to bring them into our lives. And yet, strangely, society’s deep reverence for “our” children often contrasts sharply with the apathy—or even hostility—we show toward other people’s children.

Why is it that children, whom we claim to love, are only lovable when they are ours?

Why do we tolerate tantrums from our own toddlers with patience, but roll our eyes when someone else’s child acts out in public?

Why do we speak of our children as extensions of ourselves, while treating others’ children as irritants, threats, or afterthoughts?

This paradox leads to a deeper question: Is it really love if it’s conditional on possession and lineage?

Wanting Children vs. Loving Children

Wanting children is not the same as loving children.

Many people long for children to fulfill unmet needs within themselves:

The need to feel complete The desire to pass on their legacy The hope to be unconditionally loved The craving to fix the wounds from their own upbringing The societal expectation of having a family

In such cases, children become instruments—not individuals. They are brought into the world not to be truly seen, but to serve a purpose: to complete us, to mirror us, to fix us. This is not love. This is possession. This is projection. This is self-service dressed up as sacrifice.

And unfortunately, it is a recipe for disappointment—for both parent and child.

Because no child can:

Heal a parent’s unresolved trauma Be the version of the self their parent failed to become Exist purely for someone else’s joy or status

Yet this dynamic is more common than we care to admit.

The Illusion of Ownership

We use phrases like “my child” as if children are belongings. We post curated photos of them on social media to project an image of happiness or success. We mould them, enrol them in activities, scold or praise them not always based on what they need—but on how we feel or how they make us look.

But here’s the truth: Children do not belong to us.

They are not property. They are not trophies. They are not second chances at our unlived dreams.

They are people—raw, developing souls—entrusted to us for a time. And our task is not to possess them, but to raise them with compassion, guidance, and reverence for who they actually are.

To love a child is to serve their growth, not use them to serve ours.

True Love Is Beyond Biology

True love is caring for a child not because they carry your DNA, but because they carry potential. It is the ability to embrace, teach, and uplift a child even when they are not yours.

It’s:

The teacher who notices a child’s loneliness and makes them feel seen. The neighbour who offers to walk your son home in the rain. The foster parent who opens their heart to a child with a difficult past. The mentor who sees brilliance in a troubled teen and sticks around. The community leader who fights for better education for all children, not just their own.

This is love in action—unattached, unpossessive, unconditional.

It stands in stark contrast to the so-called “love” that withers in the absence of blood ties or perfect behaviour. That is not love. That is narcissism disguised as parenting.

The Danger of Self-Fulfilment Parenting

When children are brought into the world primarily to fulfil the emotional needs of adults, they grow up bearing invisible weights:

The pressure to succeed for their parent’s pride The guilt of being “difficult” when they’re just being themselves The burden of validating someone else’s identity

They often grow into adults who:

Struggle with boundaries Seek external validation Repeat the same patterns with their own children

And the cycle continues.

To truly love a child, we must first heal ourselves. We must become whole humans, not broken adults looking for children to fill our voids.

Parenting as Stewardship

What if we saw parenting not as ownership, but as stewardship?

A steward does not claim what is entrusted to them. A steward nurtures, protects, prepares, and eventually lets go.

Parenting, at its best, is this sacred stewardship:

Preparing a child to walk their path, not ours. Accepting their differences, not trying to erase them. Letting them become who they are, even if it challenges who we are.

This is hard. It requires maturity, humility, and inner strength. But this is love.

A Shift in Perspective

If we only see value in children who are ours, our love is narrow. If we only protect the future of children who look like us, our compassion is biased. If we dismiss or mistreat other people’s children, we fail to recognise the shared humanity that binds us all.

Children are not commodities.

They are not second chances.

They are not badges of honour.

They are souls—young, vulnerable, unformed, yet full of potential.

The truest test of our love for children is not how we treat the ones we created, but how we treat the ones we did not.

“To love someone is to see them as God intended them.” — Fyodor Dostoevsky

Let us aspire to love in this way: to see children as whole, sacred, deserving—not just when they’re ours, not just when they behave, but always.

That’s the kind of love the world needs.

That’s the kind of love our children deserve.

Suggested Visual Quote Card:

“True love is not wanting children for yourself, but being willing to care for a child even when they are not yours.”