Loving, yes—but are some grandparents too permissive?

There’s a type of grandparent that social media can’t get enough of. The warm one. The soft one. The one who bakes cookies at 9 p.m. without asking the parents first. The one who gives the toddler extra screen time and whispers, “Don’t tell your mom.” The one who laughs off rules with a wink and a treat. It looks harmless—loving, even. But for many parents, what starts as sweetness soon turns into sabotage.

Online, you’ll find entire forums venting about boundary-crossing grandparents. One TikTok mom rants that her mother-in-law gave her child peanut butter, knowing there was a suspected allergy. A Reddit dad shares that his own father encourages rough play after the family agreed on gentle discipline. Another thread? “Help. My mom told my daughter we’re too strict and gave her $50 behind our backs.”

The tension is everywhere, but the language to talk about it still feels taboo. We celebrate affection. We respect elders. But we don’t often say out loud what younger generations are starting to feel: not all grandparental love is created equal. Some love respects boundaries. Some love blows past them. And sometimes, permissiveness isn’t kindness—it’s control dressed up in sugar and bedtime stories.

This cultural fault line isn’t just about parenting preferences. It’s about power, history, and what happens when two generations collide over what care is supposed to look like. In many ways, grandparents haven’t changed. But parenting culture has.

Millennial and Gen Z parents are raising kids in an era shaped by mental health awareness, consent language, and an almost obsessive focus on boundaries. They’ve grown up reading parenting blogs, watching gentle discipline videos, and swapping TikToks about emotional regulation and sensory diets. Their tools are different. Their bar for what “good parenting” means is different. And their tolerance for undermining—no matter how well-intentioned—is low.

To them, rules aren’t rigid. They’re protective scaffolding. Sleep schedules support brain development. Limiting sugar prevents meltdowns. Naming feelings teaches resilience. But to some grandparents, all of this reads as cold. Clinical. Overthought. Too complicated.

They remember when parenting was instinctual. When you told kids to behave because you said so. When treats were a love language. When discipline was loud. They’re not trying to cause harm—they’re trying to connect in the only ways they know how.

The result? An emotional standoff wrapped in holiday cheer and passive-aggressive comments.

“You were spanked and turned out fine.”

“I just want them to be happy.”

“You're too sensitive.”

In private, younger parents start asking harder questions. Why does setting boundaries with my own parents make me feel guilty? Why do I have to choose between keeping the peace and protecting my child’s routine? Why do I feel like I’m parenting two generations at once? And maybe the real question hiding beneath all of it is this: If love doesn’t respect boundaries, is it still love?

This isn’t a universal experience, of course. Some families communicate clearly, adjust easily, and thrive across generations. But those stories don’t tend to go viral—because conflict, not harmony, is what resonates most when you feel stuck in it. What’s surfacing now isn’t new. But the way people are talking about it is.

On TikTok, “parenting boundaries” is a growing tag with millions of views. Influencers share scripts for “gray rocking” a grandparent who won’t take no for an answer. There are tips for handling sleepover rules, gift overload, and backseat parenting. There are comments like “This! My mom tries to override me in front of my daughter every time” and “I thought I was the only one dealing with this.”

The algorithm rewards shared frustration. But underneath the outrage is a real and quiet grief. Because what many parents wanted was support—not conflict.

They wanted their kids to have doting grandparents who still listened to their rules. They wanted a village, not a tug-of-war. They wanted to relax on a date night, not return to a sugar-high toddler and an eye-rolling comment about “needing to loosen up.” Instead, they feel like they’re managing a second parenting job—this time with adults who think they know better because they’ve done it before.

The dynamic is especially tricky in multigenerational households or cultures where family closeness is expected. In many Asian and Latin families, for example, grandparents are daily caregivers. Their influence is deep and structural. Boundaries feel more communal, less individual. Speaking up might feel disrespectful, even if the need is clear.

But even in those households, a shift is happening. More young parents are beginning to distinguish between support and sabotage. Between help and control. Between affection and boundarylessness. And they’re not afraid to set limits—even when it feels hard.

Some do it through small adjustments. They prep detailed instructions for grandparents watching the kids. They avoid overnights. They stick to shared calendars. They preface visits with clear expectations: “Please no screen time after 6,” or “We’re working on saying no to extra snacks.”

Others go further. They reduce visits. They cut ties. They say the unthinkable out loud: “My child’s well-being matters more than keeping my parents happy.” It’s not revenge. It’s recalibration.

Because permissiveness isn’t always innocent. Sometimes, it erodes authority in a way that ripples through the child’s behavior, the parent’s confidence, and the entire emotional tone of the household.

A child who learns that Mom’s “no” means nothing because Grandma says yes gets confused. They push harder. They test more. And the parent becomes the default enforcer—always the bad cop, always the killjoy. Eventually, that dynamic wears everyone down. The grandparent feels unappreciated. The parent feels undermined. The child feels caught.

So what’s the alternative?

Some families are reimagining the grandparent role altogether—not as the spoiler, but as the partner. Not as the indulgent escape hatch, but as the consistent presence who backs up the parents’ choices even when they don’t fully agree with them.

That kind of grandparenting doesn’t always go viral. It’s quieter. More respectful. Less chaotic.

It looks like a grandma who checks the feeding schedule before offering a snack. A grandpa who asks, “What’s your bedtime again?” instead of declaring, “One night won’t hurt.” A relative who says, “Your mom said no, so I’m going to respect that.”

That kind of grandparenting builds trust—not just with the child, but with the parents.

It says: I see you. I’ve raised my children, and now I support you raising yours.

It also requires something not every grandparent is ready to give up: control.

For a generation used to being the authority, stepping back can feel like erasure. But it doesn’t have to be.

Grandparenting can still be magical. It can still be playful, messy, loving, and full of surprises. But that magic lands differently when it’s not used to undermine the rules holding the rest of the family’s life together.

This is especially important when there are behavioral or developmental needs involved. For parents managing autism, ADHD, or sensory processing disorders, routine isn’t just a preference—it’s a survival tool. A disrupted nap schedule or a skipped medication isn’t just inconvenient—it’s a meltdown waiting to happen.

When grandparents ignore those details, it doesn’t feel like love. It feels like a refusal to take the child seriously. And for the parent who has to pick up the pieces afterward, it can feel like betrayal.

That’s the emotional cost rarely discussed in viral posts or parenting books. Not every grandparent is a safe presence. Not every “but I love them” moment is harmless. And not every family can afford to keep pretending it is.

Of course, love looks different across generations. Of course, people deserve grace. But if love regularly overrides boundaries, invalidates parental authority, or creates chaos for the sake of fun, then it’s not just intergenerational bonding. It’s erosion.

And calling it out doesn’t make someone a bad child. It makes them a protective parent. In a time when parenting is more visible, more public, and more scrutinized than ever, the last thing families need is internal sabotage dressed up as tradition.

Affectionate grandparents can be a beautiful part of a child’s world. But when permissiveness becomes a pattern that fractures trust, it stops being endearing. Maybe we don’t need to cancel the grandparent stereotype—but we do need to update it. Because real love isn’t just soft. It’s strong enough to support the rules that make kids feel safe. And sometimes, the kindest thing a grandparent can do is not spoil—but stand beside.