Hold on to Your Kids: Why Parents Need to Matter More Than Peers

by Gordon Neufeld

It is true that a highly insecure child can be exhaustingly demanding of time and attention. The parent may long for respite, not more engagement. The conundrum is that attention given at the request of the child is never satisfactory: it leaves an uncertainty that the parent is only responding to demands, not voluntarily giving of himself to the child. The demands only escalate, without the emotional need underlying them ever being filled. The solution is to seize the moment, to invite contact exactly when the child is not demanding it. Or, if responding to the child’s request, the parent can take the initiative, expressing more interest and enthusiasm than the child anticipates: “Oh, that’s a great idea. I was wondering how we could spend some time together! I’m so glad you thought of it.” We take the child by surprise, making him feel that he is the one receiving the invitation.

There is no shortcut to true independence. The only way to become independent is through being dependent. Resting in the confidence that getting children to be viable as separate beings is not entirely up to us—it is nature’s task—we will be free to get on with our part of the job, which is to invite their dependence.

When attempting to collect our children we must remember that they need us, even though they may not know it.

The hardest part for many parents is the shift in focus from behavior to relationship. Once the relationship has deteriorated, the behavior can become increasingly offensive and alarming. Under such circumstances we find it difficult to stop railing, cajoling, criticizing. To change the focus, we must first come to terms with the futility of addressing behavior and redirect ourselves to the task of restoring the relationship. Unless the shift is authentic, there will not be enough patience for the task at hand. Most of us know intuitively how to court, we just need to know that there is no other way to get where we want to go and that sooner is better than later. I’ll address specific tactics

With Tamara, it was a few days of hiking and camping alone in the wilderness that restored our relationship. The bait was that she loved hiking and fishing and the outdoors. Her peer orientation was acted out at the beginning when she refused my help, walked ahead of me or behind me, and kept our interaction to a minimum. Her glum face was a reminder to me that I was not the company she wished for. I chose wilderness I was familiar with so I could be the compass point in every sense. It took a few days. Although, once more, I had to remind myself to be patient and to stay friendly, by the last day my daughter was walking by my side and welcoming my assistance. Like in the old days, she was full of show-and-tell and could talk my ear off. What took me by surprise was how quickly and how profoundly her warm smile could touch my heart. In the aftermath of her peer orientation, I had totally forgotten the joy that our relationship had once given me.

“When you are in a jam, it’s hard to remember that you are in a relationship with a person, not just trying to get someone out the door in ten minutes.

us. Trying to parent, to “teach lessons” when we are upset or full of rage risks making the child anxious about the relationship.

To some parents, such a way of relating feels unnatural. They fear that their children will perceive them as condoning misconduct. They believe that a failure to speak out immediately and consistently about inappropriate behavior will confuse the child and compromise their own values. Though understandable, that fear is misplaced. Confusion is rarely the issue: a child will usually know what is expected and is either unable or unwilling to deliver. The inability to deliver is usually a maturity problem; the unwillingness to deliver is usually an attachment problem. A child is much more likely to be confused not about what is valued but about his own worth and importance to the parent. This is exactly what requires clarification and affirmation. When we say to a child “That is unacceptable,” unless the attachment is secure and the connection is sound, the child will likely hear “She doesn’t like me” or “I’m not acceptable because … ,” or “I am only acceptable when …” When a child hears such a message, whether we have actually said it or not, the relationship is damaged. The very basis on which a child wants to be good for us is undermined.

In Chapter 2, I called peer orientation an attachment affair. When our children abandon us for their peers, we feel just as violated, angry, and humiliated as we would in any other relationship we deeply cared about. It is natural, when wounded, to recoil defensively, withdrawing emotionally to avoid getting hurt even more. This is when the defensive part of our brain gives us the urge to back out of vulnerable territory to a place where insults no longer sting and the lack of connection does not turn the stomach. Parents are only human. Withdrawing our attachment energy may defend us against further vulnerability, but the child experiences it as rejection. We need to recall that the child is not consciously setting out to hurt us, he is only following his skewed instincts.

If we parents allow ourselves to become alienated, we will burn the only bridge by which the child can return. It takes a saint to not be alienated, but with our peer-oriented children, sainthood may be what we are called to. If that seems unnatural, it’s because it is unnatural. Parenthood was never meant to be this way, was not designed by nature with the possibility that our children’s hearts could be turned against us. Yet if we allow ourselves to be pushed away, there is nothing left for the child to hold on to. Keeping ourselves in the game, not allowing ourselves to become alienated is one of the most important things to do, for our children’s sake and ours.

In some ways, less drastic but equally important to recognize, all parents may find themselves bailing out of the relationship from time to time, even if unwittingly. Making the relationship a priority involves doing some mending, especially when the emotional connection has been strained or severed. It is a rare parent who doesn’t lose it sometimes. Perfect equanimity is beyond us. No matter how much insight we have or how straight our priorities may be, we are bound to be triggered into emotionally uncontrolled reactions by our children—all but the saints among us, that is. Temporary breaks in the relationship are inevitable and are not in themselves harmful, unless they are frequent and severe. The real harm is inflicted when we neglect to re-collect our child, thus conveying that the relationship is not important to us or, alternatively, if we leave the impression that it is the child’s responsibility to restore the connection.

The greatest challenge exists with those children who are still primarily dependent on the senses for feeling close.

Some useful techniques for parents to help their children bridge unavoidable separation include giving the child pictures of themselves, special jewelry or lockets to wear, notes to read or have read, something of their own for the child to hold on to when apart, phone calls at appointed times, recordings of their voice with special songs or messages, something with their smell on it, gifts to be opened at special times. The list is potentially limitless.

“We decided we had to break up that relationship. We failed miserably. We sat Lance down to have a talk with him. ‘Your dad and I no longer want you to see Josh,’ I told him. He cried at first, cried and cried. It became clear that he felt we had forced him to make a decision between us and Josh and that he had chosen Josh. He cried because he would miss me. “He didn’t speak to us. For three and a half months, we got nothing at all. He continued to see Josh, in school, after school, and on weekends. Finally we had to give in.” What Lance’s parents realized was that they could not confront the peer problem directly. They lacked the attachment power, which is why their attempt to limit their son’s peer interaction was doomed to fail. They had to go back to basics and collect their son, woo him back into relationship with them.

The structures that facilitate the parent-child relationship are key: family holidays, family celebrations, family games, family activities.

way. As cruel as it may seem, it is, nevertheless, often in the child’s best interests to get in the way. None of us want to see our children left out in the cold, but it is by far the lesser of two evils when peer relationships threaten closeness with parents. There is no way of saving a peer-oriented child from distress. The only choice is whether the distress is now or later. The distress we create in the short term prevents far greater problems in the future.

There is a high cost to playing the separation card: insecurity. The child disciplined by means of separation can count on closeness and contact with the parent only when measuring up to the parent’s expectations.

It may be difficult for parents who use time-outs with nothing but good intentions to accept this, but the ultimate consequences of that separation technique are very negative for the sensitive young child. It attacks the child at his most vulnerable point—his need to stay attached to the parents. Sooner or later the child will be forced to protect himself against the pain of being wounded in this way. He will shut down emotionally—or, more correctly, his attachment brain will.

It’s not a complicated dance; in fact, it is surprisingly simple. The trick is the little attachment step at the beginning. The principle of connection before direction applies to almost anything, whether asking about homework, requesting help with setting the table, reminding the child about clothes to be hung up, informing that it is time to switch off the television, or confronting on some sibling interaction. If the basic relationship is good, this process should only take a few seconds. If the attachment is weak or defended against, the attempt to collect the child should reveal this to us. It is very difficult to impose order on the behavior of a child when there is underlying disorder in attachment. A failure to collect the child should be a reminder for us to back off a preoccupation with conduct and to focus our effort and attention on building the relationship.

isolation. To prepare for the intervention that is to come, parents must preserve their dignity. We have to avoid exacerbating the situation by uncontrolled emotional displays. If we allow our feelings of victimization to dominate, we cannot maintain the role of the adult in charge. Focusing on the frustration instead of taking the attack personally will often help: “You’re upset with me,” “You’re really frustrated,” “This wasn’t working for you,” “You wanted me to say yes and I said no,” “You’re thinking of all the bad words you can call me,” “Those feelings have got away with you again.” It’s not the words that are critical, but the acknowledgment of the frustration that exists in the child and a tone of voice that indicates that what has just happened has not broken the union. In order to preserve our working relationship with a child, we need to indicate somehow that the relationship is not in danger.

The parent needs to be both an agent of futility and an angel of comfort. It is human counterpoint at its finest and most challenging. To facilitate adaptation, a parent must dance the child to his tears, to letting go, and to the sense of rest that comes in the wake of letting go.

The first part of this dance of adaptation is to represent to the child a “wall of futility.” Sometimes this will be of our making, but most often it is made of the realities and limitations of everyday life: “Your sister said no,” “This won’t work,” “I can’t let you do that,” “There isn’t enough,” “That’s all for today,” “He didn’t invite you,” “She wasn’t interested in listening to you,” “Sally won the game,” “Grandma can’t come.” These realities need to be presented firmly so they do not become the issue.

sadness. The lesson will be learned spontaneously once this task is accomplished. We can say things like “It’s so hard when things don’t work,” “I know you really wanted this to happen,” “You were hoping I’d have a different answer,” “This isn’t what you expected,” “I wish things could have been different.” Again, much more important than our words is the child’s sense that we are with her, not against her. When the time is right, putting some sadness in our voice can prime the movement to tears and disappointment. It might take some practice to feel this point; to go too quickly or to be too wordy can backfire. This dance cannot be choreographed; the parent has to feel his way along.

The fourth shift in thinking calls for a change of focus from behavior to intention. Intentions are greatly undervalued. The prevailing sentiment in our society is that intentions are not good enough, that only appropriate behavior is to be accepted and applauded. Is not the road to hell paved with good intentions? From a developmental perspective, nothing could be farther from the truth. Good intentions are like gold: intention is the seed of values and the precursor of a sense of responsibility. It sets the stage for mixed feelings. To neglect intention is to overlook one of the most valuable resources in a child’s experience.

In soliciting a good intention, we are trying to draw attention not to our will but to the child’s. Instead of “I want you to … ,” “You need to … ,” “You have to … ,” “I told you to … ,” “You must …” elicit a declaration of intention or at least a nod affirming it: “Can I count on you to … ?” “Are you willing to give it a try?” “Do you think you could?” “Are you ready to … ?” “Do you think you can handle it now?” “Will you try to remember?” There are, of course, times when we need to impose our will. Necessary as that may be, it does not by itself lead to good intentions on the child’s part. And imposing our will is always counterproductive if done too coercively or outside a good connection.

Soliciting good intentions is a safe and highly effective parenting practice. It transforms kids from the inside out. What cannot be accomplished through soliciting good intentions is not likely to be achieved by other means.

confrontation. The key to self-control is not willpower, as we once thought, but mixed feelings. It is when conflicting impulses mix together that the orders cancel each other out, putting the child in the driver’s seat, as it were. A new order emerges where behavior is rooted in intention rather than impulse. Such behavior is much less driven and therefore much easier to work with. Our job is to help bring the conflicting feelings and thoughts that exist in the child into his consciousness.

Structures need to be created for meals and for bedtimes, for separations and for reunions, for hygiene and for putting things away, for family interaction and closeness, for practice and for homework, for emergent, self-directed play and for creative solitude. Good structures do not draw attention to themselves or the underlying agenda, and they minimize bossing and coercion. Good structures are not only restrictions, they are creative. For example, a very important routine is to have a time and place to read to a child. The primary purpose of this structure is to create opportunity for one-on-one closeness and connection and also to get the child engaged in good literature without using coercion. The more a child is stuck, the more important structures are. Structures provide familiarity, something stuck kids instinctively yearn for. They create good habits. Most important, structures decrease the need for bossing and coercion on the part of adults, preventing needless conflict.

The belief is that socializing—children spending time with one another—begets socialization: the capacity for skillful and mature relating to other human beings. There is no evidence to support such an assumption, despite its popularity. If socializing with peers led to getting along and to becoming responsible members of society, the more time a child spent with her peers, the better the relating would tend to be. In actual fact, the more children spend time with one another, the less likely they are to get along and the less likely they are to fit into civil society. If we take the socialization assumption to the extreme—to orphanage children, street children, children involved in gangs—the flaw in thinking becomes obvious. If socializing were the key to socialization, gang members and street kids would be model citizens.

Developmentally, children have a much greater need for a relationship with themselves than for relationships with peers. There has to emerge a separation between sense of self and inner experience (see Chapter 9). A person must gain the capacity to reflect on her thoughts and feelings, a capacity that, again, is a fruit of maturation. When someone has a relationship with herself, she can like her own company, agree and disagree with herself, approve and disapprove of herself, and so on. Often, relationships with others preempt a relationship with oneself or are attempts to fill in the vacuum where a solid relationship with the self should be. When a person isn’t comfortable with his own company, he is more likely to seek the company of others—or to become attached to entertainment technology such as television or video games.

What are the true causes of boredom? The void that is felt in boredom is not a lack of stimulation or social activity, as is typically assumed. Children become bored when their attachment instincts are not sufficiently engaged and when their sense of self does not emerge to fill this void. It is like being in neutral, on hold, waiting for life to begin. Children who are able to feel the shape of this hole are more likely to talk about feelings of loneliness, missing, and separateness. Or alternatively, their words bespeak the lack of emergence: “I can’t think of anything to do,” “Nothing interests me right now,” “I’ve run out of ideas,” “I’m not feeling very creative.” Children not aware of this void in a vulnerable way feel listless and disconnected and talk about being bored. In other words, the hole that is usually experienced as boredom is the result of a double void of attachment and of emergence: the child is not with someone with whom he can attach and feel comfortable, and, on the other hand, he lacks sufficient curiosity and imagination to spend time creatively on his own.

peers. We may arrange a play-date for the younger ones or encourage them to pursue their peers. “Why don’t you see if so-and-so can play?” we say. It is precisely when children are bored, however, that they are also the most susceptible to forming attachments that will compete with us. We are saying in effect, “Take your attachment hunger to your friends and see if they can help,” or “If you can’t endure your sense of aloneness, go to your peers to get an attachment fix,” or “Why don’t you see if someone else can substitute for the sense of self that you seem to be lacking.”

Until children become capable of independent self-appraisal, our duty is to give them such powerful affirmation that they will not be driven to look elsewhere. Such affirmations go much deeper than positive phrases of love and praise—they must emanate from our very being and penetrate to the child’s core, allowing her to know that she is loved, welcomed, enjoyed, celebrated for her very existence, regardless of whatever “good” or “bad” she may be presenting us with in any given moment. Under no circumstances is it in the child’s best interests to focus on making him likable to his peers. The only way to get peers to matter less is for us to matter more.

Attachment villages can be created, if we possess the vision and the drive. Like attachment itself, village building must become a conscious activity. We have no reason to pine over what no longer exists, but every reason to restore what is missing.

On a street around the corner from my coauthor’s house the parents have organized themselves into what they call “the little block that can.” Social relations are deliberately cultivated among the families living on this block. There are benches and picnic tables outside several of the homes where parents and kids of all ages gather. The children have learned to relate to all the adults on this street as attachment figures, surrogate aunts and uncles. Once a year the street is shut off to traffic for what, in effect, is a village festival. There are games, food is served, music is played from loudspeakers. The local fire department drives up with a red engine and children frolic in the spray of the fire hose.