Good Inside: A Guide to Becoming the Parent You Want to Be

by Becky Kennedy

Say this aloud: “You can’t throw water bottles!” and “Please stop throwing! Please!” Then pause. Take a breath. Now try this one: “I won’t let you throw water bottles.” These four words—“I won’t let you”—are critical for every parent’s toolbox. “I won’t let you” communicates that a parent is in charge, that a parent will stop a child from continuing to act in a way that is dysregulated and ultimately feels awful.

A dysregulated child needs an adult to step in and provide the containment that they cannot provide for themselves.

Reframe the Lie as a Wish Seeing a lie as a wish allows us to continue seeing our kid as a good kid—and this is critical in responding to lies. Using the language of wishing in response to a child’s falsehoods changes the direction of the conversation, as it allows for more options than just “telling the truth” and “lying.” Now there’s an in-between place, and your ability to see and vocalize that gray area can soften the intensity of the moment and create a way to connect with your child. When your child says, “I’ve been on a trip to Florida too!” you might say, “Hmm . . . I bet you wish we vacationed in Florida. It sounds so sunny and warm there. I wonder what we’d do if we went?” When your child says, “I didn’t knock down my sister’s tower, it just fell!” you might respond, “You wish that tower was still up . . . ,” or “Sometimes I do things and then wish I hadn’t done them . . . it’s so hard when that happens.” Seeing the lie as a wish allows us to feel on the same team as our child instead of seeing them as the enemy.

“If It Did Happen . . .” When a child is stuck in a lie, I find it effective to walk through how I would respond if she shared the truth. Let’s say you get a call from your daughter’s school notifying you that she didn’t do her writing homework for the past week. You get home and ask her about it, and she says over and over, “I did do it! I did! I don’t want to talk about it!” After an initial pause, when you feel you have a tiny opening, you might say: “Oh . . . okay . . . well, all I’m saying is that if a kid in this family did have a few days of not doing homework, I would really try to understand. Because every kid in this family, if they didn’t do homework, would have some reason for this. It makes me think about when I was seven and didn’t do writing homework for a bunch of days. Something about writing felt so tricky and it was so hard for me to work on it. Anyway, if it did happen, I’d sit with you and talk it out. You wouldn’t be in trouble . . .” Then play it cool.

Mantras I love mantras. They take moments or emotions that feel big and overwhelming—like episodes of frustration—and give us something small and manageable to focus on. As a result, they can be very grounding for kids. But rather than coming in heavy-handed with a mantra your child should say to themself, try framing it as something you learned that you just happen to be passing along. This might sound like: “You know, when I was six, I used to get sooooo frustrated when things felt hard! Oh my goodness, it felt so bad! And I still remember something my dad—yes! Grandpa Harry!—told me. He said that when he gets frustrated, he places his hand on his heart, takes a breath, and tells himself, ‘This feels hard because it is hard, not because I’m doing something wrong.’ And so, I started saying that to myself! If you want to try that too, that could be cool . . . it seems kinda silly, but it really helps. Here, I’ll show you . . .” For younger kids, a mantra might be “I can do it” or “I like to be challenged” or “I can do hard things” or “This is tricky and I can stay with it.”

Growth Mindset Family Values It can be really helpful, as a family, to establish a set of growth mindset family values that you can refer to in moments of struggle or challenge (both your kids’ moments and your own). Here are four of these values I love, which I often write down in work areas or the kitchen, for my entire family to see: In our family, we love to be challenged. In our family, how hard we work is more important than coming up with the right answer. In our family, we know that not-knowing sits next to learning something new. We love learning new things, so we embrace “I don’t know” moments. In our family, we try to remember that sticking with something hard makes our brains grow. And we’re big into brain growth.

Frustration tolerance is the ability to sit in the space between not-knowing and knowing, or between starting and finishing, which means we really want to build our child’s skills for coping with hard feelings rather than building skills for finding success. This way, our kids can feel more at home while working hard, before they’ve reached success. But doing this starts with a mindset shift on the part of the parents. Tell yourself, “I don’t have to teach my kid how to put his shirt on smoothly . . . I need to teach my kid how to tolerate when it doesn’t go on right.

A child is hesitant to join a birthday party Circuitry for consent: “You’re not so sure about playing with the other kids right now. That’s okay. Take your time.” Circuitry for self-doubt: “You’re being ridiculous, go join your friends.” A child is hurt by a well-meaning joke Circuitry for consent: “I can see that felt bad to you. I believe you. I won’t say it again.” Circuitry for self-doubt: “Oh my goodness, you are so sensitive. Pleeeeeease.” A child says he’s full at dinner Circuitry for consent: “Only you know your body, so you’re the only one who can know if you’re full. Here’s the thing: once dinner is over, the kitchen is closed. Maybe do one check-in, see what your body is saying, and double-check you’re good for the night.” Circuitry for self-doubt: “You can’t be full. You hardly ate. If you want to leave the table, you have to have eight more bites.”

“I Believe You” Building circuitry for consent comes from building circuitry for self-trust. If children don’t trust themselves and their feelings, they won’t believe in their ability to take charge of personal decisions. When your daughter tells you she’s cold even though it feels perfectly pleasant to you, believe her: “You’re cold, huh? I believe you. Let’s see what we can do about it.” When your child tells you he doesn’t like to be tickled, believe him: “I hear you. Tickling doesn’t feel good to you. I believe you, I’m glad you’re telling me, and I won’t do it anymore.” When your child tells you she feels scared at a cartoon movie, believe her: “This feels scary to you. I believe you.”

Words like “I can tell something important is happening for you. I care about that. I’m here,” or “I can see how upset you are. I believe you. I really do,” are powerful scripts for your toolbox in these moments. Now, remember, this doesn’t mean you have to “give in” to whatever your child happens to want in that moment—after all, we know from our family jobs that two things can be true: we can hold a firm boundary while still approaching a child with empathy and validation.

How’d You Think to . . . ? “How’d you think to draw that?” “How’d you think to start your story that way?” “How’d you think to solve that math problem?” “How’d you think to use those materials together?” When we wonder with our kids about the “how” instead of praising the “what,” we help build up their tendency to gaze in and be curious about themselves, and maybe even to marvel at the things they’ve done. After all, nothing feels better than when someone around us expresses interest in how we think about things, how we came up with our ideas, or where we want to go next. When we ask our child, “How’d you think to . . . ?,” we are letting them know that we’re interested in their process and not just their product; this builds up a self-belief inside them that proclaims, “The things inside me are interesting and valuable.”

Kids who are perfectionistic are also prone to rigidity; they have extremes to their moods and to their reactions, so they often feel like they’re on top of the world or at the bottom of the barrel. Their self-concept is exceptionally fragile, which means there’s a relatively narrow range in which they can feel safe and happy with themselves; anything outside of that range is seemingly bad—this is why these kids shut down after things don’t go the way they want.