Last Tuesday, I watched my daughter’s face crumble when she showed me her painting. “It’s not very good,” she whispered, before I’d even said a word. My heart sank. Where did that voice come from?
That moment haunted me all week. Because here’s the thing: I pride myself on being a gentle, supportive parent. I co-sleep, babywear, practice attachment parenting. I left my kindergarten teaching career to be present for my kids. Yet somehow, my five-year-old already doubts herself.
After some serious soul-searching (and yes, a few tears into my morning coffee), I realized how many tiny moments add up to create that inner critic.
Those split-second reactions, the offhand comments, the things we don’t even register as significant. They’re building a soundtrack in our children’s minds that might play on repeat for decades.
Trust me, I know how this feels from both sides. Growing up with traditional, strict parents in a small Midwest town, I became a chronic people-pleaser and perfectionist.
I’m still unpacking those patterns at 35. And now I see how easily they slip into my own parenting, despite my best intentions.
1) Fixing their attempts before they ask for help
Remember when your toddler tried pouring milk and you swooped in mid-pour? I did this constantly with my son yesterday. He was trying to button his jacket, fingers fumbling, and before I knew it, my hands were doing it for him.
What message does this send? “You can’t do it right. Let me handle this.”
These moments feel like nothing. We’re just helping, right? But imagine hearing that message fifty times a day, every day, for years. No wonder kids stop trying.
Now when my kids struggle with something, I literally sit on my hands. I ask, “Would you like help, or do you want to keep trying?” Usually, they want to keep trying. And when they finally get that button through the hole? Pure magic.
2) The dreaded comparison trap
- “Your cousin already knows how to tie her shoes.”
- “When I was your age, I was reading chapter books.”
- “Look how nicely that little boy is sitting.”
Oh, how these words tumble out so easily. Last month at the farmers market, I caught myself saying, “See how that girl is helping her mom with the bags?” My daughter’s shoulders dropped just a fraction, but I saw it.
Comparisons teach kids they’re only valuable when they measure up to someone else. They learn to scan every room, wondering who’s doing it better. Is that really what we want echoing in their heads at sixteen? At thirty?
3) Dismissing their feelings with logic
Your child says they’re scared of the dark. You respond with, “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
They’re upset about a broken toy. “It’s just a toy, we’ll get another one.”
They’re nervous about school. “You’ll be fine, stop worrying.”
During my teaching years, I watched countless parents do this at drop-off. Kid crying, parent explaining why they shouldn’t be sad. But feelings aren’t logical. When we dismiss them with reason, kids learn their emotions are wrong or inconvenient.
These days, I try to say, “Tell me more about that feeling” or simply, “I’m listening.” Sometimes my daughter just needs to know her big feelings have somewhere safe to land.
4) Using their behavior to define them
- “You’re being so difficult today.”
- “Why are you always so messy?”
- “You’re too sensitive.”
Notice how these statements make behavior into identity? When my two-year-old throws his blocks, it’s tempting to say, “You’re being destructive.” But what if, years from now, “destructive” becomes how he sees himself?
Instead, I try to separate the behavior from the child: “Throwing blocks can hurt someone” rather than “You’re being bad.” It’s a small shift that makes a huge difference in how kids internalize our words.
5) The subtle eye roll and sigh combo
Your kid spills juice for the third time this week. You don’t yell, you don’t punish, you just… sigh. Maybe add an eye roll.
Harmless? Not quite.
That sigh says, “You’re exhausting. You’re too much. You’re a burden.”
I discovered this one the hard way when my daughter started sighing dramatically every time she made a mistake. Wonder where she learned that? Mirror, meet mom.
6) Praising the outcome, not the effort
- “You’re so smart!”
- “You’re such a good girl!”
- “You’re naturally talented!”
Sounds positive, right? But what happens when the smart kid fails a test? When the good girl makes a mistake? When natural talent hits a wall?
After seven years in kindergarten classrooms, I watched how outcome-based praise created anxious kids terrified of challenges. They’d rather quit than risk not being “smart” anymore.
Now I focus on process: “You worked really hard on that puzzle” or “I noticed you kept trying even when it was frustrating.”
7) Making their problems about you
- “You’re making Mommy sad.”
- “I’m disappointed in you.”
- “How could you do this to me?”
When kids mess up and we make it about our feelings, they learn they’re responsible for our emotional state. That’s a heavy burden for small shoulders.
My perfectionist tendencies make this one particularly challenging. When my daughter acts out in public, my first thought is often about how it reflects on me. But she doesn’t need to carry my baggage along with learning to navigate her own emotions.
8) Rushing them through their stories
- “Hurry up, what happened?”
- “Get to the point.”
- “We don’t have time for this.”
Picture your child, bursting with excitement about something that happened at preschool. They’re taking forever to tell it, circling back, adding random details about someone’s shoes.
Do you listen? Or do you half-listen while mentally planning dinner?
When we rush their stories or seem uninterested, kids learn their thoughts aren’t worth sharing. They stop trying to connect. By adolescence, we’re begging them to talk to us, wondering where the silence came from.
9) Apologizing for their existence in public
- “I’m so sorry she’s being loud.”
- “Sorry, he’s going through a phase.”
- “She’s not usually like this.”
When we apologize for our kids being kids, what are they hearing? That their natural state is something to be sorry for. That they’re an inconvenience to the world.
Last week at the library, my son was being a typical two-year-old. Excited, a bit loud, very interested in everything. An older woman glared at us. My instinct was to apologize profusely while shushing him.
Instead, I smiled at her and redirected him to a quieter activity. No apologies. He’s two. He’s allowed to exist in public spaces.
The path forward
Looking at this list, you might feel overwhelmed. I certainly do. How many of these have I done today? This week?
But here’s what I’ve learned: Awareness is everything. Once you start noticing these moments, you can catch yourself. You can pause. You can choose differently.
Some days I nail it. Other days, I’m sighing over spilled milk and comparing my kids to their cousins before breakfast. The goal isn’t perfection. It’s progress.
Our children don’t need perfect parents. They need parents who are willing to examine their patterns, acknowledge mistakes, and keep trying. They need to see us being human while working to do better.
Because ultimately, the voice in their head won’t just be our words. It will also be our effort to grow, our willingness to repair, and our commitment to seeing them as whole, capable people.
That painting my daughter showed me? After taking a breath, I asked her what she loved about creating it. Her face lit up as she told me about mixing colors and making the sun extra sparkly.
That’s the voice I want echoing in her mind: Curious, creative, and confident in her own experience.
We won’t get it right every time. But we can try to make sure that the soundtrack we’re creating includes plenty of tracks about resilience, self-compassion, and unconditional love. One small moment at a time.
