Last week, my five-year-old asked if I could watch her do a cartwheel. Not just once, but seventeen times in a row.
And somewhere between cartwheel number three and four, it hit me: When was the last time she asked me to just sit with her? To read that extra story? To listen to her elaborate plans for her fairy garden?
The requests have gotten simpler, smaller. More transactional. Less… needy.
That’s when I realized something heartbreaking. Our kids learn early which needs will be met and which ones won’t. And eventually, they stop asking for the things that feel too big, too much, too inconvenient.
They adapt. They shrink their expectations. They decide, somewhere along the way, that needing less is easier than being disappointed.
Growing up, my family ate dinner together every single night.
My father provided everything we needed materially, but our conversations stayed surface-level. Weather, school grades, weekend plans. I learned not to bring up the deeper stuff.
The fears, the dreams, the questions about why Jenny at school said those mean things. It was easier to need nothing than to reach for something that wasn’t there.
Now I see my own children navigating this same territory, and I’m determined to catch those needs before they disappear into silence.
1) Your undivided presence (not just your proximity)
Yesterday, my two-year-old climbed onto my lap while I was scrolling through my phone. He pushed it away and put his little hands on my cheeks, turning my face toward his. Message received, buddy.
Kids used to ask “Watch me!” constantly. Remember that phase? But somewhere along the line, if we’re distracted enough times, they stop. They learn that our presence comes with conditions: After this email, once I finish this task, when I’m less tired.
They need us to put down the mental to-do list and actually see them. Not the Instagram-worthy moments. The mundane, everyday them.
The way they concentrate when building with blocks. How they hum while coloring. Their elaborate explanations about why dinosaurs would definitely be friends with unicorns.
Try this: Next time your child is doing something, anything, just watch. Don’t multitask. Don’t plan dinner in your head. Just be there.
You’ll be amazed at what unfolds when they feel truly seen.
2) Permission to feel all their feelings (even the inconvenient ones)
“I’m listening” and “Tell me more” have become my parenting superpowers. But it took me years to learn them.
Kids initially come to us with everything. The rage about broken cookies. The devastation over a lost stick. The worry about monsters. But how often do we minimize these feelings because they seem silly to our adult brains?
- “It’s just a cookie.”
- “We’ll find another stick.”
- “Monsters aren’t real.”
Eventually, they stop bringing us their feelings. They learn which emotions are acceptable and which ones need to be hidden. They stuff them down, act out, or find less healthy ways to cope.
What they desperately need is for us to make space for all of it. The anger, the sadness, the frustration, the jealousy. Not to fix it or minimize it, but to acknowledge it. “You’re really upset about that cookie breaking. That must be frustrating.”
It sounds simple, but it’s revolutionary for a child who’s learning that their feelings matter.
3) Your authentic self (including your struggles)
My daughter recently caught me crying after a hard day. My instinct was to brush it off, but instead I said, “Mommy’s having some big feelings right now. Sometimes adults feel sad too.” Her response? She brought me her favorite stuffed animal and sat with me.
Kids need to know we’re human. They need to see us navigate emotions, make mistakes, and try again. When we present ourselves as having it all together all the time, they learn that struggle equals failure.
They stop asking for help with their own difficulties because they think they should be able to handle everything alone.
Share your appropriate struggles. Let them see you work through problems. Apologize when you mess up. Show them that being human is messy and that’s okay.
4) Unscheduled time together
Remember when they used to beg for “five more minutes” at bedtime? For one more story? For you to stay just a little longer? Many kids stop asking because they’ve learned the answer is usually about the schedule, the routine, the next thing that needs to happen.
What they need is time that isn’t squeezed between activities. Time without an agenda. Time where they can unfold at their own pace and share what’s really on their minds.
Last Tuesday, I canceled our afternoon plans and we just… existed together. We made mud pies. We watched clouds. My daughter told me about a dream she had three weeks ago that she’d been thinking about.
These conversations don’t happen in the car between activities. They happen in the spaces we create by doing nothing together.
5) Physical affection without conditions
My son is in peak cuddler phase right now, but I already see my daughter pulling away sometimes. Not because she doesn’t want hugs, but because she’s learned they come with questions.
- “How was school?”
- “Did you clean your room?”
- “What happened to your shirt?”
Kids need touch that doesn’t want anything from them. A hand on their shoulder as you pass. A quick squeeze. Hair ruffling. The kind of affection that just says “I love you” without any strings attached.
6) Your belief in their capability
“Let me do it myself!” Remember when they used to insist on this? But after enough times of us stepping in because it’s faster, neater, or easier, they stop trying. They stop believing they can.
They need us to step back. To let them struggle with the zipper. To watch them pour milk and miss the cup. To bite our tongues when they’re taking forever to tie their shoes. They need to know we believe they can figure it out, even when it’s hard.
7) Respect for their autonomy
When they were toddlers, they fought for independence. “No!” was their favorite word. But gradually, if we override their choices enough times, they stop asserting themselves. They learn that their voice doesn’t matter.
They need us to respect their preferences when we can. Let them choose their clothes (even when it hurts your eyes). Honor their “no” when it’s safe to do so.
Ask for their opinion and actually consider it. Show them that their autonomy matters, even in small ways.
8) Your delight in who they are (not who you want them to be)
Every child starts out believing they’re wonderful. They show us their drawings, their dance moves, their silly faces.
But somewhere along the way, if we’re too focused on improvement, achievement, and molding them into something else, they stop sharing. They stop believing they’re enough as they are.
They need to see our eyes light up when they walk in the room. Not because of what they’ve accomplished, but because they exist.
They need to know that we like them, not just love them. That we enjoy their company. That they don’t have to earn our delight.
Closing thoughts
These needs don’t disappear when kids stop asking. They just go underground. They learn to adapt, to cope, to need less. But those needs are still there, waiting.
The beautiful thing? It’s never too late to start meeting them. To show up differently. To create space for what they’ve stopped asking for.
Tonight, when my daughter does her eighteenth cartwheel, I’ll be watching. Really watching. And maybe, just maybe, she’ll remember that she can ask for more than that. That she can need things from me. That I’m here for all of it.
Because our kids shouldn’t have to choose between needing us and protecting themselves from disappointment. They should get to need us fully, messily, inconveniently. That’s what we’re here for.
