Five phrases parents should NEVER say if they don't want naughty kids, according to kids psychologist
A child psychologist has revealed there are five phrases parents should avoid saying if they want well-behaved kids.
3
Parenting coach Reem Raouda discovered that interacting with angry toddlers by using threats or telling them consequences isn't helpful.
She found five phrases which 'instantly make kids not want to listen' and trigger a fight-or-flight response from them…
1. 'BECAUSE I SAID SO'
The first thing you should never say is 'because I said so' as Reem advised it shuts down communication and teaches your kids 'blind obedience.'
Instead, you should say 'I know you don't like this decision. I'll explain, and then we're moving forward.'
She explained that by using this different approach and explaining your reasoning, your child feels more respected and you are acknowledging their feelings.
You are also avoiding debating and negotiating, but reinforcing you are in charge in a 'calm and grounded way.'
2. 'IF YOU DON'T LISTEN, YOU'LL LOSE X'
The next thing you should avoid saying is 'If you don't listen, you'll lose [X privilege].'
Instead, Reem suggested that you tell them: 'When you're ready to do [X specific behavior], we can do [X desired activity].'
She explained that threats can force kids into a defensive state.
Reem said that her alternative phrase removes the struggle but still keeps your boundaries firm, and gives kids agency over when they do it.
I've tried for ages to potty train my 3-year-old, then he watched ONE Ms Rachel's video and started doing it immediately
3. 'STOP CRYING, YOU'RE FINE.'
The child psychologist also suggested you stop saying to your kids: 'Stop crying. You're fine.'
She said you should instead say: 'I see you're really upset. Tell me what's happening.'
Reem said that you shouldn't dismiss their emotions as it can teach them that their feelings are 'wrong' or 'too much' for some people to handle.
She said that 'emotional invalidation leads to disconnection' and when kids feel disconnected they are not likely to behave.
The psychologist advised helping your child to feel heard, as they will calm down more quickly and it'll lead to trust being built.
3
4. 'HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU?'
Instead of telling kids that they've been told multiple times to do something, she advised that you instead reframe it as 'I've asked about this a few times, help me understand what's making this hard for you.'
Reem said that when you are frustrated this can lead to kids being 'intentionally difficult.'
However, her suggested response invites 'problem-solving instead of blame' and helps to get to the 'root of the issue' more quickly.
3
5. 'YOU KNOW BETTER THAN THAT'
Finally, you should avoid saying 'you know better than that' if you can, and should ask them 'Something's getting in the way of your best self right now. Let's talk about it.'
She said 'you know better' can lead to a child feeling shamed.
However, the second phrase shifts the tone from punishment to partnership.
Overall, Reem advised kids are much more likely to want to behave if they feel emotionally safe and respected.
She added that any defiance can be seen as a 'call for connection' or emotional support, and parents should respond with empathy and leadership, instead of control.
Different parenting techniques
Here are some widely recognised methods:
Authoritative Parenting
This technique will often foster independence, self-discipline, and high self-esteem in children.
It is often considered the most effective, this technique is where parents set clear expectations - enforcing rules - whilst also showing warmth and support.
Authoritarian Parenting
This is opposite to authoritative parenting, as it is where the parent sets high demands but is low on responsiveness.
It involves ensuring the child is obedient and often employ punitive measures. While this can lead to disciplined behaviour, it may also result in lower self-esteem and social skills in children.
Permissive Parenting
Permissive parents tend to be indulgent and lenient, often taking on a role more akin to a friend than an authority figure. They are highly responsive but lack demandingness, granting children a lot of freedom. This method can nurture creativity and a free-spirited nature but may also result in poor self-regulation and difficulties with authority.
Uninvolved Parenting
Uninvolved or neglectful parenting is marked by low responsiveness and low demands. Parents in this category offer minimal guidance, nurturing, or attention. This often leaves children feeling neglected, which can have significant negative effects on their emotional and social development.
Helicopter Parenting
Helicopter parents are extremely involved and overprotective, frequently micromanaging their children's lives. Although their goal is to protect and support, this approach can hinder a child's ability to develop independence and problem-solving skills.
Free-Range Parenting
Free-range parenting encourages children to explore and learn from their surroundings with minimal parental interference. This method promotes independence and resilience but requires a safe and supportive environment to be successful.
Attachment Parenting
According to Marriage.com, Attachment parenting focuses on physical closeness and emotional bonding, often through practices such as co-sleeping and baby-wearing. This approach aims to create secure attachments and emotional well-being, but demands significant time and emotional commitment from parents.
Each of these parenting techniques has its own set of strengths and weaknesses. The key is to find a balanced approach that aligns with the family's values and meets the child's needs for a healthy, happy upbringing.
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
The Guardian
an hour ago
- The Guardian
Boomers once gave their kids the sex talk. Now it's time for them to speak frankly about dying
Sitting looking over a sparkling river, my 92-year-old mother and I were chatting about little things. The lovely day, the need for a dry-cleaning drop and kookaburras. Then she pointed at a blond beach bend and said, 'Scatter me there when I'm dead.' I responded, 'It's a beautiful spot, Mum – do you want some cake?' I was not being glib in this confronting conversation. It was afternoon teatime and this is how my family do chats; we go from cake to carking it. We combine the big, the small and the space beyond. Besides, I already knew that's where she wanted to end up. We've always been a family who goes there. Including on the two big topics of life – sex and death. There was no big 'sex talk' at adolescence. No sitting us down, squirming with embarrassment and launching into the whole 'when a couple really love each other'. There was instead matter-of-fact information given in cake-sized chunks, questions answered in age-appropriate ways and increments of information that built up over the years. This is now how parents are advised to have the sex talk. Don't make it a big deal, answer curiosity with candour and use concepts and language that are suited to that child's level of intellectual development. And this is how I'd like to recommend we have the ageing and death talk. Introduced carefully, in small chunks, in age-appropriate ways. Avoiding these conversations won't cause teen pregnancies and disease but it will lead to a great deal of stress, anguish and a complication of grief for families. The baby boomers redefined what it meant to be young. Their generation came of age at a time of endless possibilities, explored sex, drugs and rock'n'roll and got to tune in, drop out, then seize power. But while they have won a lot in the lottery of life, they won't be able to defeat ageing and death. I'm hoping they can face the inevitable with the same passion to do things differently. The oldest boomers are in their late 70s. In 2032 it's estimated 62,000 of them in Australia will turn 85. That's five times more than turned that age last year. Fertility rates have fallen and life expectancy is rising. The opposite of the baby boom is the ageing, illness, dependency and death boom and our hospitals, our healthcare and our psyches are not prepared for it at all. It's going to hurt. Boomers were perhaps the first generation to come up with birth plans for having babies. Now they need to start making aged care and death plans – and they need to start now. An initial chat could start at 70 with something like 'when a couple really love each other and their kids they … reveal they have decided to downsize to a single-storey townhouse with no garden'. At 80 give your thoughts about whether you want to be force fed if you end up with dementia in an aged care home. At 85 the greatest gift you can give your child is a meaningful plan about what's important in terms of care and interventions you would want in hospital. These conversations won't jinx you, they won't make you age faster – they will actually help your child age slower. Because the stress of having to push parents towards decisions and realities is psychologically bruising, and it ultimately often comes down to one son or daughter. And they're struggling right now. She's the middle-aged woman you may see crying in frustration at the counter in Centrelink. She's the sixtysomething stressed at work because after a long day she's still got go drop food, pick up washing and do shopping for her ninetysomething mum. He's the guy who gets pushed out of a job because he missed two big meetings when his mum went back into hospital for the fifth time this year. I've been the primary carer for my mother and previously Mum and Dad for more than a decade. It's demanding, stressful and requires endless diplomacy. It's also emotionally exhausting. Eight years on from selling the family home I still wake up in a panic when it rains too much because I fear the roof will be leaking. But I've been lucky. I know what my parents wanted in life and death. We'd had the 'death talk'. We'd also had the aged care facility talk many times. Some conversations are hard. But without them decisions will be made for you. And leaving things unsaid – and unfaced – is unfair. So, beautiful boomers. Sit down that child you once sat down for the sex talk. Take a deep breath. And tell them what you're thinking about the unthinkable. Sarah Macdonald is a writer, broadcaster, an advocate for the sandwich generation and an ambassador for Violet organisation
Telegraph
2 hours ago
- Telegraph
It's time to shorten school holidays and end six weeks of childcare hell
My eldest son Rafferty finishes nursery this week. It feels funny writing that down because I've been in denial about it for a while. Not for any sentimental reason (though there is a touch of that) but because the arrival of the summer holidays fills me with so much panic that I've chosen, rather unwisely, to stick my fingers in my ears and pretend it's not happening. Surely a shorter school holiday would be far more manageable – for all families? In fact, 53 per cent of all parents – single, married or otherwise – surveyed by Parentkind last week would prefer that the summer break was cut to a month. Tempting, no? I've even had to mute the nursery WhatsApp group too, because it's become the holiday camp headquarters. Parents are trading secret codes, exchanging insider tips and demonstrating levels of forward planning that terrify me. For the uninitiated, these holiday camps are action-packed days of fun hosted by schools and sports clubs – and a way to enable parents to carry on working as normal-ish out of term time. Thank goodness they exist, frankly. But they do have their downsides. For starters, they are expensive, at about £250 a week. And most of them finish at 3pm – perfectly reasonable, unless you're trying not to get sacked. You usually have to pack a lunch, too, which sounds like nothing – but over half-term was somehow the straw that broke me. Add to that the co-ordination: trying to match up camps with your kid's friends, so they don't end up in a random scout hut with a bunch of strangers and a deflated parachute. Hence the WhatsApp group chatter. I really must unmute. A unique kind of pressure Dr Ally Tomlins, a consultant clinical psychologist, sees my brand of seasonal stress all the time in her clinic. 'The summer holidays are often painted as a time of joy and togetherness, but for many families they can bring a unique kind of pressure,' she says. 'The mental load on parents can become overwhelming. They're juggling logistics, childcare, work commitments, sibling squabbles and the invisible labour of trying to 'make memories' while everyone is a bit hot, tired and off-routine.' Tell me about it. Rafferty usually loves a holiday camp. His days are spent leaping on giant inflatables, playing football and larking about. On one occasion, I showed up early to surprise him and he made me promise never to do it again. But that doesn't stop the guilt. At the end of my working day, I know that I'll still be scrolling Instagram feeling bad that he isn't doing something 'immersive' with dinosaurs, petting llamas with me at the zoo or flying to Mauritius. To be fair, I haven't made things easy for myself. I'm a solo mother by choice, so I can't swap out with a co-parent, because there isn't one. The burden of six weeks without childcare falls squarely on my shoulders, and as I'm self-employed, taking time off is its own financial and logistical maze, although luckily my youngest Milo, 16 months, has year round care at his nursery. But at least I knew what I was letting myself in for; many single parents didn't. Should we make it a month? Should we actually make it a month-long break, instead of the dreaded six weeks? Although it sounds appealing to adults, it may not really be the right thing for our kids. Dr Tomlins offers her perspective. 'Children benefit hugely from unstructured time,' she says. 'Long holidays give space to decompress, play deeply and develop life skills that don't fit neatly into a school timetable. So rather than shortening the holiday outright, we might focus on how we scaffold it better, with accessible community activities, safe spaces to play, and support for parents to manage their own wellbeing.' Grandparents are increasingly part of that solution – with more than half helping out while their children are at work. SunLife Insurance estimates that they save UK parents up to £96 billion a year in childcare costs. However, mine are, ahem, cruising the Norwegian fjords as we speak for their 50th wedding anniversary. How can I begrudge them that? Plus, they are in – or approaching (before my mother disowns me) – their eighties, there's only so much I can reasonably expect them to do. Thankfully, I have an exceptional support network around me, which helps. There are neighbours and friends who'll help with drop-offs and pick-ups and who can take the kids for playdates on the days I haven't been able to shell out for 'extended hours'. That stuff is gold dust when you're working full-time, solo parenting – or both. For once, the Europeans want to be more like us Looking at our European counterparts – where 12-, 13- and even 14-week breaks (gah!) are the norm in many countries – maybe I should count my blessings. In Lombardy, where three-month summer holidays are standard, mental health appointments with parents rise by up to 40 per cent every summer compared with the rest of the year. A petition with more than 70,000 signatures was even delivered to the Italian senate demanding holidays more in line with the British system. So perhaps I'll pipe down – or at least try to chill out. 'Intentional parenting with a light touch' could also help. 'That means approaching the holidays not as something to survive or perfect, but as an opportunity to pause, reset and connect in small, meaningful ways,' says Dr Tomlins. 'Start by getting clear on your values. What do you really want your children to remember from these weeks? It's usually not the expensive outings, but the moments of playfulness, calm and feeling seen. And remember: 'Good enough is great'.' And – as every adult born pre the digital age knows, getting bored is an essential part of the summer holiday routine. Dr Tomlins adds, 'If the goal is joy and connection, you don't need to entertain your children every minute. In fact, boredom is a gateway to creativity. Give them time to be 'delightfully under-stimulated' – it supports emotional regulation and independence.' Music to my ears – now that I've removed my fingers from them. Small, spontaneous moments of playfulness feel achievable. I can feel my shoulders drop just thinking about the holidays in that way. A camp-free day here and there to spend intentional, quality time together feels like a revelation. Suddenly, I can look forward to a day off to get really involved in Rafferty's latest Lego creation or to play swingball with him in the garden. As Dr Tomlins puts it: 'Summer can bring both joy and tension. My advice is to lower the bar and raise the connection. Focus on small wins: a shared laugh; a moment of calm; a soft evening spent side by side. That's where the joy of childhood and family life really lives.' She's right, I think. Just last week, Rafferty and I did some 'gardening' together, which mostly involved him painstakingly spraying all the plants with his tiny water pistol and then sweeping up the odd leaf with a dustpan and brush. He's still talking about it now. I won't pretend I'm looking forward to every minute of the summer. I know there will be moments when I want to hide in a cupboard – and possibly will. But perhaps I'll go in with lower expectations – and that reminder from Dr Tomlins on the fridge: 'Good enough is great'. See you on the other side.
The Guardian
5 hours ago
- The Guardian
America's new wave of hunger is here. A Maine food bank is tackling it head on
One Sunday in June, it's 20 minutes before opening time at the No Greater Love food pantry in Belfast, Maine, two hours north of Portland. A line of cars stretches down the block and curls around the corner. I lean into a car window and ask the driver if he will speak with me. 'Nah,' he says, 'I'd rather not.' 'How about you?' I ask his passenger. The younger, skinny man recoils, shrinking into the far corner of the car. 'I'm good,' he mutters, hiding his face. Maine is the most food insecure state in New England. One in seven people here are often hungry, including 50,000 children. Nationwide, 53 million people – 15% of all Americans – are food insecure, meaning they lack reliable access to a sufficient quantity of affordable, nutritious food. But asking for help still makes people burn with shame. Mary Guindon gets it. Today, Guindon is 63, a grandmother, church secretary and the diplomatic assistant director of the food pantry, a woman who is somehow always busy and never flustered. Decades ago, she was a single mother working full time. Some nights, she didn't have enough food to make dinner for her kids. Finally, friends persuaded her to visit a pantry. 'Standing in that line and swallowing my pride was probably one of the worst moments of my life,' she says. Behind the two men who will not talk, I find a patron who will: another woman named Mary. This Mary, 75, leans crookedly on a walker. She smiles, a small woman with bright eyes and short, white hair. I'm reminded of a chickadee. 'I'm house cleaning,' she says, referring to her car, filled to the brim with stuff she is reorganizing. A former housekeeper, Mary lives alone in a trailer. Food prices soared 25% from 2020 to 2024. 'Chocolate chips and baking things doubled,' she says, her eyes wide. 'Bread, meat – all the basics.' You can stretch social security only so far. Mary now buys only essentials. That means losing her favorite activity. 'I just love to cook and give it away,' she says. She parked here, outside the rundown Veterans of Foreign Wars (VFW) hall that houses the pantry, before 8.00am – more than two and a half hours early. This is how she spends every other Sunday morning, when No Greater Love is open for a scant 90 minutes. Months ago, Mary learned the importance of getting a good place in line to get fresh vegetables and fruits before they run out. Behind her, Donna, 71, also waits. She grew up on a farm in Maine. She leans toward me and gives a conspiratorial smile. 'I used to give chewing gum to the pig,' she says. 'But one day the pig was gone. I knew where it went.' She, too, lives alone on a fixed income. 'I give people rides to make a little extra money,' she says – her own personal Uber service. She won't charge the two neighbors she has brought with her today, though. Like Mary, Donna is also hoping for good fresh produce. Today, they will be disappointed. No Greater Love's volunteers began noticing it in January: a slow but steady increase in need. The line of cars, barely visible through a dirty window in the pantry's small kitchen, stretches a little longer every time: a new family here, another elderly patron there, finally accepting that as costs climb, they can no longer keep hunger at bay by themselves. Food pantries, non-profits, and school feeding programs distributed almost 6bn meals' worth of free food in every state in the nation last year. When Congress's historic cuts to Snap (Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program) and Medicaid take effect, that need will almost triple. Somehow, food pantries like the scrappy, all-volunteer-run No Greater Love, will need to come up with enough food. That line outside the VFW hall? It will snake down three blocks and take up who knows how many hours of waiting time. If, after 12 years of serving people like Mary and Donna, No Greater Love is able to keep its doors open at all. Tanya McGray moves cases of canned food, her hands flying in practiced motions. Nearby, Mary Guindon packs cardboard boxes two rows high on a metal dolly, piling them with corn, beans, peanut butter and elbow noodles. They try to fill each box with several meals' worth of food. They are overstocking them with canned goods today, making up for a surprise shortage of fresh produce. 'Make another row,' McGray barks. 'You sure?' Guindon says. 'Last I counted, we had 18.' She's referring to the 18 families in line outside. Before long, there will be more. As quiet and languid as it is outside, the pine-paneled hall hums with energy inside. There is a lot to do before 10.30am – before McGray, the pantry's director, can allow the first patrons in. Guindon grabs three more banana boxes. The white, yellow and blue Chiquita boxes are ubiquitous in the emergency food system, the standard luggage of the servers and the served, the charitable and the hungry. Often, these two groups are the same. I offer to help, feeling useless holding my digital recorder rather than flexing a muscle for these women. McGray is 52, 11 years younger than Guindon. Working alongside them is McGray's mother, Candy, her gray hair tied in a ponytail. She is 74, a not uncommon age for volunteers in Maine's food pantries. In fact, it's not an uncommon age for the volunteers who keep the entire nation's fragile emergency food network afloat. At least in Maine, some 75% of the state's 250 pantries are run solely by volunteers. Her long, brown hair swinging as she works, McGray waves me off. Her loud, cigarette-tainted voice is as rough as sandpaper. 'We're a well-oiled machine,' she says. 'But thanks.' There is an air of tense anticipation in this small room, lined with metal shelves crammed with canned corn, low-fat milk and soup. Like a crew setting the stage before the curtain rises, they must be completely ready when the doors open. They have less than 30 minutes. Behind them is a handful of refrigerators and freezers. One refrigerator has been broken for months. Some freezers are full of food; this week, it is leg of lamb that Guindon paid Good Shepherd, Maine's only food bank, $1.82 a case for. 'It's what we can afford,' Guindon says. The meat is coming up on its expiration date in a month. What she doesn't say is how hard something like leg of lamb can be for many patrons to cook. Some don't know how. Some only have microwaves. Others have no kitchens. McGray wears a fist-sized tattoo on her left shoulder. Her large, brown eyes, ringed with gray shadows, are framed with schoolgirl bangs. She is the third generation of her family to serve in food pantries. Forty-five years ago, her grandfather distributed government food in a Belfast parking lot. Her aunt, Cindy Ludden, has run the Jackson, Maine, food pantry for 34 years. Ludden is mentoring the fourth generation: her eight-year-old granddaughter, Scout, wants to direct a food pantry when she grows up. McGray began helping out at No Greater Love when her church founded it years ago. 'It was just something I did,' she shrugs. But when the church decided it needed to reclaim the space for other programs, McGray says, 'Then it became something I fought for.' 'I'm always fighting for the underdog,' she says. 'I do it everywhere I go. Not intentionally, it just happens.' By day, McGray drives a public school minivan for unhoused kids. By night, she is a foster mom. In April, she had an infant at home. Guindon, shorter and with a soft, round face, gray hair and glasses, fundraises and orders food. At the end of their shift, the two women, along with other volunteers, will deliver food to those who can't come in: people with physical disabilities. Those without cars. Veterans with PTSD who can't be around people. Without McGray, Guindon and a tall, rangy 57-year-old volunteer named Kenna Dufresne, No Greater Love wouldn't function. Outside this storage room, Dufresne sprints from one end of the long VFW hall to another, hefting heavy boxes into a staging area. From there, she will help move them to the 25ft-long conveyor belt that runs down the center of the hall. 'Do you work out?' I yell. She flashes a wide grin. 'This is my gym,' she yells back. If it is her gym, she is diligent about training several times a week. To keep the pantry stocked, volunteers collect unsold food from Hannaford grocery stores up to an hour away. (Last year, Hannaford donated 14m lb of food in Maine alone.) Every two weeks, Dufresne drives from store to store, slinging thousands of pounds of food a year into the pantry's van. She has been on pickup duty for nine years, ever since McGray plucked her from the pantry's patrons and put her to work. She loves it. 'It's a family,' she says. 'Even our patrons.' As rewarding as it is, the work is also physically strenuous, emotionally exhausting and logistically complex. Every political, economic and cultural problem in America shows up at a food pantry. Funding is tight. The cost of living is rising. Hunger is growing. Stigma remains enormous. Volunteers are essential, but in rural areas like this one, it can feel impossible to recruit younger helpers. Years ago, No Greater Love was open every week. 'We had to cut back to twice a month because I couldn't get volunteers,' McGray says. And that was before March, when an email arrived and everything got even harder. On 13 March, Guindon opened her computer to an email from Good Shepherd. The food bank distributes government and donated food to Maine's 600 anti-hunger organizations, including its 250 pantries. What Guindon read alarmed her. The Trump administration planned to cut more than $1bn from the federal emergency food assistance program. Almost overnight, No Greater Love would lose half to two-thirds of the food they receive, for free, from the federal government. The USDA would also end another program that helps sustain small farmers while providing local produce to food pantries. In Maine, pantries would lose up to 600,000lb of produce. No Greater Love had $5,000 in the bank. When I first visited in April, a few weeks after Good Shepherd's bombshell email, No Greater Love's menu had already shrunk. 'We used to be able to provide seven or eight meals a week,' Tanya McGray says. Now, they were down to three or four. In April, they had received 1,100lb less food than they had in March. On 22 June, they are down another 700lbs. There has not been any free meat in weeks. Luckily, the pantry still has extra donated food to offer. Guindon and I survey today's choices. Her teenage grandsons, Bentley and Liam, hover nearby. In April, these boxes were bursting with carrots, lettuce, apples, bread, almonds and crackers. Today, eight bruised apples barely cover the bottom of a box. In another, I cringe at an oozing nectarine. The day before, high winds had knocked out power to the local Hannaford. They lost much of their produce. This is the result. But then some gorgeous kale catches my eye. I spot magenta rhubarb longer than my arm. Local farms provided them. They will be a happy surprise for those at the front of the line. Bentley taps Guindon on the shoulder and points to his watch. 'Two minutes,' he says, glancing at the door. The boys preside over bags of bread and desserts. Before food began dwindling, patrons could take what they wanted from the heaping boxes I had seen in April. Now, Bentley and Liam hand it out to avoid hoarding. The doors finally open. The volunteers' quiet hum swells into a hubbub of conversation as patrons enter. I catch Mary's eye as she drops a $5 bill into a donation jar on the kitchen counter. That $5 is meaningful. No Greater Love's bank account has shrunk to $3,500, all of it allocated to rent, electricity, gas, vehicle maintenance and maybe some extra food, like the inexpensive leg of lamb. Guindon has already started on the next grant applications. The future of this food pantry and thousands like it now rests on their ability to raise private funds. For now, McGray and Guindon will put one foot in front of the other. They will send another box down the conveyor belt. They will welcome another new patron in the door. They will spend one more day fulfilling three generations' worth of persistence in the face of hunger. The doors are still open. So far.
