SOME of the saddest conversations I’ve had with young people never began with the words, “I’m depressed.” Instead, they would say, “I’m afraid of disappointing my parents.”
Or, “Everyone expects me to succeed.” Or simply, “I can’t afford to fail.”
A recent study by researchers from the University of the Philippines Diliman found something many families have quietly sensed for years. Filipino university students who believe that others expect them to be perfect are more likely to struggle emotionally and cope with stress in unhealthy ways. Researchers call this ‘socially prescribed perfectionism’—the feeling that parents, teachers, classmates, or even society will only accept you if you never make mistakes.
Many of us grew up hearing, “Do your best.” Somewhere along the way, that gentle encouragement changed into something much heavier: “Don’t fail.”
There’s a difference. One inspires. The other suffocates.
As a father, I understand why parents dream big for their children. We want them to have better lives than we did. We save for their education. We sacrifice our comfort so they can pursue theirs. We cheer every achievement because their victories feel like our own.
But love, if we’re not careful, can sometimes sound like pressure.
A child who constantly hears, “You have to be the best,” may eventually believe that being loved depends on being successful. No parent intends that message. Yet children don’t always hear what we mean. They hear what we repeatedly emphasize.
As someone who also serves in a religious community, I’ve seen another kind of pressure. Many young people think they have to appear strong all the time—not only in school but also in their faith. They worry that admitting fear, anxiety, or failure makes them weak.
But faith has never been about pretending to be flawless.
The Bible is full of ordinary people who got things wrong. Moses doubted himself. Peter stumbled. Thomas questioned. Even David, remembered as a man after God’s own heart, made painful mistakes. Their stories remind us that God works with imperfect people—not after they become perfect, but while they are still growing.
That truth can be surprisingly freeing.
Perhaps that’s the message our young people need to hear more often. You don’t have to earn your worth by collecting achievements. You don’t have to prove your value every semester. You don’t have to hide every mistake.
Schools, too, have a role to play. Excellence is important, but students are more than grades, medals, and honors. A university should produce not only competent professionals but also emotionally healthy human beings.
And maybe parents need to ask different questions. Instead of, “What was your grade?” Try asking, “How was your day?” Instead of, “Why didn’t you get the highest score?” Ask, “What did you learn?”
Sometimes what a child remembers isn’t the advice we gave but the way we made them feel.
In today’s world, perfection is being advertised everywhere. Social media feeds are filled with perfect vacations, perfect careers, perfect relationships, perfect lives. It’s easy for a young person to believe that everyone else has figured life out except them.
But life has never worked that way.
Behind every success story is someone who failed quietly, doubted themselves, changed direction, or started over. Perfection has never been the requirement for a meaningful life.
Courage is. Kindness is. Resilience is.
The UP Diliman study is a timely reminder that while we continue encouraging our children to aim high, we should never make them believe that love, acceptance, or dignity depends on flawless performance.
Our children don’t need us to lower our hopes for them.
They need to know that if they stumble, they will still find us standing where we’ve always been—with open arms, not raised expectations.
That kind of assurance may accomplish something no perfect report card ever could.
