Parenting is a long game of modeling.
Our kids are always watching how we treat them, our partners, and ourselves.
They learn what authority feels like by living under ours.
That’s why some lines just can’t be crossed—not if we want influence that lasts beyond the toddler years and actually grows through the teen ones.
I’m a hands-on dad with two little ones and I work mostly on-site with one work-from-home day, so my wife and I run a tight ship: Diaper caddies stocked, backpacks by the door, and calendar syncs every Sunday.
None of that matters, though, if the way I use my power erodes trust.
Respect is about being steady, fair, and safe to follow.
Here are seven boundaries I refuse to cross, with real-life scripts and small systems that make them doable on messy Tuesdays:
1) Publicly humiliating your child
Have you ever felt your cheeks burn when someone called you out in front of a group? Our kids feel that tenfold.
Public shaming—mocking, eye-rolling, threatening “Do you want me to tell everyone what you just did?”—might stop behavior in the moment, but it wounds dignity.
The cost is long-term.
I learned this the hard way at the playground with Elise.
She shoved for a turn on the slide, and I blurted, “Elise! That’s not nice.”
Heads turned and her bottom lip trembled.
I saw the shame flood in her face.
I walked over, crouched to her level, and said quietly, “We take turns on the slide. You can say, ‘My turn next.’ Let’s try again.”
It took two minutes longer, but she stayed with me emotionally.
2) Using fear or intimidation to control
Could I yell loud enough to freeze Elise mid-couch jump? Sure.
Do I want her nervous system to link “Dad” with cortisol? No.
Fear creates compliance without conscience and it also teaches that power equals threat.
That’s not the kind of authority I want her to copy with classmates (or later, coworkers).
As noted by researcher Brené Brown, “We don’t have to do all of it alone. We were never meant to.”
I read that as permission to trade intimidation for connection and support.
When Julien is testing boundaries, I aim for firm voice, open body.
Calm is my leverage.
Routine that helps: We do “practice runs” when everyone is calm.
Before dinner at a restaurant, we’ll role-play: “What do we do if we’re bored? What can we order with our quiet voice?”
Reps keep me out of shout mode later.
3) Breaking promises
Nothing tanks credibility faster than “We’ll go to the park after naps” turning into “Maybe tomorrow” for the third time this week.
Life happens, and plans change.
However, when adults shift rules and rewards without warning, kids stop trusting our word—and start bargaining, melting down, or checking out.
On my work-from-home day, the post-nap park run is sacred.
If weather or meetings get in the way, I offer a fair substitute right away: “We can’t do the park because it’s storming. I owe you outside time. We’ll do a rain walk in boots for ten minutes and make hot cocoa after.”
Then I write it on the whiteboard because if it’s written, then it’s real.
Respect is saying what you mean and doing what you say.
4) Dismissing or mocking feelings
“Don’t cry.”
“Boys don’t cry.”
“You’re fine.”
I grew up hearing versions of that, and I’ve caught those phrases on my tongue with Julien, who is a world-class contact napper and Olympic-level crier.
Telling kids what not to feel teaches them to hide it from us and this boundary is about emotional safety.
When I say, “It looks like you’re frustrated that your tower fell,” I’m helping Elise organize what’s happening inside so she can choose better outside.
5) Violating privacy and autonomy without cause
Our kids’ bodies and boundaries matter, even when they’re small.
Respect grows when they feel ownership over their space, choices, and stories.
Reading diaries, posting embarrassing photos without consent, or forcing hugs “for Grandma” says, “Your no doesn’t count.”
That message echoes.
We try to practice consent in low-stakes ways so it sticks in high-stakes ones.
At bedtime, I’ll ask, “Do you want the blue pajamas or the star pajamas?”
With Julien, it’s “May I wipe your face?” and then I do it gently even if he protests, naming why: “I’m wiping to keep you healthy.”
The tone matters.
A small ritual helps here: “Privacy practice.”
Before bath, Elise gets a towel and says, “I’m covered.”
It’s playful, but it teaches the language of boundaries.
6) Weaponizing love, affection, or attention
Withdrawing warmth—silent treatment, “I’m not talking to you,” withholding bedtime stories because of a meltdown—confuses kids.
Love becomes a reward instead of a given.
When attachment feels contingent, children perform or rebel; neither builds genuine respect.
I keep this boundary by separating relationship from behavior.
Consequences still happen, but connection stays on.
If Elise throws her cup, she cleans up water and loses the cup, but she still gets my tuck-in and a goodnight song.
“I’m upset about your choice, and I love you. Both can be true.”
When I forget and try to lecture a dysregulated four-year-old, I watch the words bounce off.
If I reconnect first—snack, cuddle, a laugh—then set the limit, we get somewhere.
7) Disrespecting your co-parent
Kids are radar-sensitive to how their caregivers treat each other.
When we roll our eyes at our partner, undermine their decisions in front of the kids, or use our child as a messenger—“Tell Mom she was late again”—we’re asking them to pick sides.
They lose respect for the system, and by extension, for the people running it.
Camille and I aren’t perfect, we disagree about screen time like every other couple. but we try to keep conflict adult-to-adult.
If I have feedback, I save it for “the huddle” after bedtime, not the dinner table.
During the day, we back each other: “Mom said it’s shoes on. That’s the plan.”
Later, we debrief: “Could we give a five-minute warning next time?”
Chronic interparental conflict erodes kids’ sense of security; steadiness between adults is a buffer.
I keep that in mind when I want to score a point.
Closing thoughts
Respect is built in the small hours—how we set a limit in the cereal aisle, whether we keep our word on Tuesday, if we offer repair on Wednesday.
The seven boundaries above aren’t about being soft; they’re about being strong in a way kids can trust.
When we protect their dignity, manage our power carefully, and stay connected through the mess, our influence deepens.
They listen because we’re safe.
I don’t get it right every day, but these lines help me course-correct fast.
If you want a place to start, pick one boundary for this week: Write one script on a sticky note, tell your co-parent your plan, then notice what shifts—not just in your child’s behavior, but in the tone of your home.
Our kids are learning what leadership feels like from us.
Let’s make it feel steady, kind, and firm.
That’s the stuff that lasts when they’re taller than we are and facing real-world decisions beyond our front door.
