Why I Don't Give Parenting Tips

People are sometimes surprised by this.

They book a call expecting a list. What to say at bedtime. What to do about the hitting. The three steps for getting out the door.

It's a fair thing to expect. Most parenting help comes in that shape. And when you're tired, and it's the fourth rough night in a row, a script sounds like mercy.

Here's my hesitation with tips: they work right up until the moment you need them.

In a calm moment, you can remember the script. In the moment that matters, the one where your chest is tight and your voice is already rising, the script is gone. You didn't forget it. Something older than the script got there first.

That "something older" is what I'm interested in.

So when a parent asks me what should I do when she does that?, I usually ask something back.

What happens in you right before?

What does it remind you of?

What are you afraid it means?

I know this can be a little frustrating at first. You came for an answer and got a question.

But any tip I could give you was built for a generic parent and a generic child. You're a specific person, with a specific history, raising a specific kid. The answer that holds up at 6:45 on a school morning is the one you found yourself, because it's attached to something true about you.

And I don't live in your house. You're the one who knows your child. I'd rather help you trust that than replace it.

There's a moment in this work I love. A parent stops mid-sentence and says, oh. Nothing I said. Something they just heard themselves say.

That's coaching, at least the way I practice it. Fewer answers from me. More of yours.

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