The difference between rearing a child in your 20s and one in

In the words of Iman, model, mother, and woman of wisdom, there shines a truth that touches the deepest roots of family and life itself: “The difference between rearing a child in your 20s and one in your 50s is one of patience.” These words, though simple in form, carry the weight of experience. They reveal that the seasons of life do not merely change the body, but also the soul, shaping how we nurture, guide, and endure in the sacred task of raising another life.

For in youth, the spirit burns with fire—swift, ambitious, and often impatient. To raise a child in one’s 20s is to carry the energy of youth, yet also its haste. The young parent may wish the child to walk sooner, to speak faster, to grow quickly, for youth itself is restless, always looking toward what is next. But in age, when life has slowed and the soul has ripened, there emerges patience, the ability to let the child unfold at their own pace, like a flower in its season. This is the difference Iman speaks of—the wisdom of time transforming the way we love.

History itself provides us with mirrors of this truth. Think of Abraham and Sarah, who in their old age bore Isaac. Their parenthood came not with the vigor of youth, but with the patience of those who had waited a lifetime for the promise of a child. Their story, told across millennia, shows that there is strength in both youthful energy and in aged patience—but that patience gives a parent a gentler hand, a longer view, a deeper acceptance of the child’s pace and destiny.

Patience, then, is not mere waiting—it is the art of presence. It is the ability to sit with a child through endless questions, repeated mistakes, and slow growth, without frustration consuming the heart. In youth, such presence is difficult, for the world calls loudly, and ambitions press heavily. But in later years, when much has been seen and done, the heart can settle into stillness, offering to the child the rare gift of time unhurried. Iman’s words remind us that what the child needs most is not a hurried tutor, but a patient companion.

The meaning of the quote is thus both personal and universal. Personally, it speaks to Iman’s own journey of motherhood, experienced across different seasons of life. Universally, it tells us that patience is the cornerstone of parenting, no matter the age. But in later years, this virtue is often more abundant, for time has taught its lessons, and the soul no longer races as it once did. In patience, the parent becomes not only a guide, but a mirror of calm for the child.

The lesson for us is clear: cultivate patience, whether you are young or old. Do not rush the growth of those in your care—whether children, students, or apprentices. Understand that each life blooms in its own season, and that to hurry it is to risk damaging its beauty. Practice presence: listen more, demand less, and allow the unfolding to happen in its natural time.

So let Iman’s words stand as a teaching for all generations: that the true difference in parenting, and perhaps in all of life, is not measured in age but in patience. Youth offers energy, age offers perspective, but it is patience that carries love across time. And when we master patience, we give not only to our children, but to ourselves, the greatest gift of all: the ability to live fully in the present moment, where love takes root and grows eternal.