I used to roll my eyes at my parents' advice—now at 37, I realize they were right about everything

When I was younger, I used to think my parents lived in a completely different world — one that had nothing to do with the life I was building. I rolled my eyes at their advice, convinced they didn’t understand what it was like to be ambitious in the digital age, to juggle dreams, burnout, and the relentless pressure to “figure it all out.”

Now, at 37, I realize how wrong I was.

The older I get, the more I see that their words weren’t outdated—they were timeless. Their lessons weren’t about controlling my life; they were about protecting me from wasting it.

Below are the pieces of advice I once ignored, only to realize, much later, they were right about every single one.

1. “Don’t rush your life.”

When I was in my twenties, I was obsessed with speed.
I wanted success now. Love now. Recognition now. I thought slowing down meant falling behind.

My dad used to say, “The world rewards consistency more than intensity.” I’d shrug, thinking it was something old men said when they’d given up on their dreams.

But now, I see the truth. Most of the real wins in life—relationships, careers, personal growth—come from staying in the game long enough to learn the patterns. The people who burn out are often the ones who sprint too hard at the start.

Patience isn’t passivity. It’s confidence in disguise.

2. “Your health will matter more than you can imagine.”

When you’re young, health feels like background noise.
I used to stay up late, skip exercise, eat whatever was convenient. My parents warned me: “You’ll regret treating your body like that.”

They were right.

Now, if I don’t sleep well or skip my run, I feel it—not just physically, but emotionally. My patience shortens, my focus wavers.

Taking care of yourself isn’t a luxury. It’s the foundation for everything else—your work, your relationships, your peace of mind.

I see now that my parents’ quiet morning walks weren’t boring—they were sacred.

3. “Money doesn’t solve everything.”

My parents never had much, so I used to think they said this because they didn’t know what financial freedom felt like. But they were warning me about something deeper: attachment.

In my early thirties, when my business started doing well, I thought financial success would silence all my inner restlessness. But it didn’t. The anxiety just shifted shape.

What money gives is comfort; what it can’t give is contentment.

As a mindfulness practitioner, I’ve come to see this clearly: when you attach your worth to what fluctuates—bank accounts, followers, attention—you live in constant tension.

My dad was right when he said, “Wealth isn’t how much you make, it’s how little you need.”

4. “You’ll understand when you have your own family.”

That one always annoyed me.

I thought it was a manipulative phrase, a way for parents to justify their decisions. But now, as I prepare to become a father, I finally get it.

Love changes shape when it becomes responsibility. Suddenly, you’re not living for yourself anymore—you’re living through someone else’s future.

You start to understand why your parents worried so much, why they said “no” when it would’ve been easier to say “yes.” Love isn’t always soft—it’s often protective, inconvenient, even misunderstood.

My mum once told me, “You’ll never know how much I loved you until you have a child of your own.”
I think I’m finally starting to understand.

5. “Don’t compare yourself to anyone.”

In my twenties, comparison was my fuel.
I looked at people my age making millions, traveling the world, posting perfect lives online—and I felt like I was behind.

My parents’ generation didn’t grow up with social media. They compared gardens, not followers.

My dad said, “If you’re always watching someone else’s path, you’ll trip on your own.” I didn’t get it then, but I do now.

Every person is living at their own pace. Some people peak early, some later. Success isn’t a straight line—it’s a winding trail with long, quiet stretches where it feels like nothing’s happening.

That’s where growth actually takes place.

6. “Choose peace over being right.”

If there’s one lesson I wish I’d learned earlier, it’s this.

When I was younger, I loved to argue. I thought winning debates made me smart. I didn’t realize it often just made me lonely.

My parents rarely fought, not because they agreed on everything, but because they valued peace more than ego.
My mum used to say, “You can be right and still be wrong in how you act.”

In relationships—romantic or family—that wisdom is gold. When you start choosing harmony over control, something softens inside you.

It’s not about giving up—it’s about growing up.

7. “Be careful who you spend your time with.”

I used to think my parents were judgmental about people. They’d warn me about certain friends and I’d roll my eyes.

But they weren’t being controlling—they were being observant.

They understood something I didn’t: your environment shapes your identity.

The people around you influence your habits, mindset, even your sense of what’s “normal.”

In my thirties, I finally learned to curate my circle—to be around people who inspire, not drain. It’s one of the simplest but most profound ways to change your life trajectory.

8. “Happiness isn’t found—it’s created.”

This one took me decades to fully grasp.

For most of my twenties, I thought happiness was something I’d arrive at once I hit the right milestones: success, love, stability. But every time I reached one, the goalpost moved.

My parents never chased happiness that way. They made it. In small rituals—morning coffee, cooking dinner together, laughing over the same stories.

They didn’t see joy as a reward at the end of effort; they saw it as something you build into the effort itself.

It reminds me of a Buddhist concept I often write about: contentment without condition.
When you stop outsourcing happiness to circumstances, you realize you already have everything you need to feel at peace.

9. “Say sorry quickly.”

It’s easy to underestimate the power of those two words.

When I was younger, I avoided apologizing—it made me feel weak. But all it really did was delay healing.

Now I understand that saying sorry doesn’t make you smaller; it makes space for connection.

My dad used to apologize first even when he wasn’t entirely at fault. I didn’t get it then, but I do now: it wasn’t about blame. It was about love being more important than pride.

10. “You’ll miss us one day.”

When you’re young, you think your parents will always be there.
You take their presence for granted—their texts, their calls, their gentle nagging. You roll your eyes at their stories because you’ve heard them a hundred times.

Then one day you realize those stories are your roots.

Every time I visit home now, I notice the small details I used to overlook—the way my dad still makes tea the same way every morning, the sound of my mum humming in the kitchen.

I realize they’re aging, and so am I. And the distance I once needed to “find myself” feels far less important than just being near them.

They were right: you do miss your parents when you grow up—not just who they were, but who you were when you were with them.

Final thoughts

At 37, I’ve achieved things my younger self would be proud of. But if I could go back, I’d tell that version of me to listen more—to really hear my parents, not just react to them.

Because beneath all the clichés, all the eye-rolling moments, was something deeper: love translated into caution, wisdom disguised as simplicity.

The truth is, parents don’t always articulate their lessons perfectly. But they speak from lived experience—from scars, regrets, and the quiet understanding that life is fragile and fleeting.

And as I get older, I see that most of what they said wasn’t about control—it was about care.

If you’re lucky enough to still have your parents around, call them. Listen without defensiveness. You might realize, as I did, that their advice wasn’t outdated—it was a compass you just hadn’t learned to read yet.