Parent Coaching Blog

Many people still believe the old idea that children need a certain amount of harshness to prepare them for the “real world.” They think that if we’re too understanding, they’ll become overly sensitive (as if sensitivity is a bad thing). They think that if we offer too much compassion, kids won’t learn responsibility. And they’re sure that if we don’t toughen them up, life will, so we’d better take care of it ourselves. All of these beliefs irk me, if I’m honest. They’re just not rooted in what the research says. It’s time to break these cycles if we want to raise children who are truly resilient and who also deeply know how loved they are. Whether you’re raising children, teaching them, caring for them, or supporting families professionally, you have an opportunity to help children develop the skills they’ll need for a complicated world without asking them to become less of who they are to survive it. We can prepare children to face difficulty while also teaching them empathy. We can build resilience without dismissing emotion. We can hold healthy limits without humiliation or fear. Most importantly, we can help children become strong enough not only to navigate the world as it is, but to contribute to the kind of world we hope it can become.

Many adults carry an unspoken (and unrealistic) standard into their relationships with children. Stay calm (no matter what). Say the right thing (always). Respond with empathy (and never anything else). Don’t lose your patience (ever). Basically…be impossibly perfect like a textbook parent rather than one who’s actually human . It’s a beautiful intention to want to show up with care, but when that intention turns into a demand for perfection, it can create shame, pressure, and fear around getting it wrong. And we will get it wrong (I know I do, anyway). Parents will raise their voices or become impatient. Teachers and caregivers will misunderstand. Coaches and other helping professionals will miss something important. We’re human. The health of a relationship isn’t measured by the absence of difficult moments. It’s shaped, in part, by what happens next.

It is easy to imagine that meaningful connection requires more time, the “perfect” outing, or some Pinterest-worthy family activity. Or maybe we’re searching for the moment when everyone is rested, cooperative, and fully present. But so much of our relationships happen in spaces that don’t look particularly remarkable while we are living them. The bedtime conversation that stretches five minutes longer than expected. The same joke told for the hundredth time. (My favorite is “finding” the street lamp with the word “locate” spray-painted next to it, while on our family walks every night. I’m super good at finding it!) A child asking you to watch something they have already shown you. The drive to school.  Whether you are raising children yourself or supporting them as an educator, caregiver, coach, clinician, or another trusted adult, these seemingly ordinary interactions matter. Connection is rarely built through one extraordinary moment. It is built through thousands of small ones.