The kitchen drawer still makes that same scraping sound when I visit my parents’ house. You know the one—where the wooden spoons live alongside the spatulas and whisks. Except one spoon was never really about cooking, was it? That particular wooden spoon had a different purpose entirely, and if you grew up with one too, you already know exactly what I’m talking about.
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how those childhood experiences shaped who I am today, especially as I navigate parenting my own little ones. Growing up in our small Midwest town, with parents who believed in “traditional discipline,” left marks that go way deeper than skin. And here’s what I’ve realized: those of us who grew up fearing that wooden spoon developed some pretty specific ways of dealing with authority that we’re still carrying around as adults.
Maybe you recognize yourself in some of these patterns. I certainly see myself in all of them.
1) You became a world-class people pleaser
Remember that feeling of walking on eggshells, trying to read the room before anyone even spoke? That hypervigilance didn’t just disappear when we grew up. It morphed into something else entirely: chronic people-pleasing.
I catch myself doing it constantly. My boss mentions a project idea in passing, and suddenly I’m volunteering for extra work I don’t have time for. A friend seems slightly disappointed about something completely unrelated to me, and I’m mentally scanning for what I might have done wrong. The PTA president asks for volunteers, and my hand shoots up before my brain can say “you’re already overwhelmed.”
The wooden spoon taught us that keeping authority figures happy meant staying safe. So now we preemptively smooth things over, apologize for things that aren’t our fault, and twist ourselves into pretzels trying to make sure nobody’s upset with us. We learned early that other people’s emotions were our responsibility to manage.
The exhausting part? We often don’t even realize we’re doing it until we’re lying in bed at night, completely drained from a day of managing everyone else’s potential disappointments.
2) You either avoid conflict entirely or explode when pushed
There’s no middle ground for us, is there? We either bite our tongues until they bleed or we lose it completely when we finally hit our breaking point.
Last week, I spent three months quietly seething about a situation at my kids’ school, saying nothing, swallowing my frustration. Then one tiny additional thing happened, and I sent an email that probably came across way more intense than the situation warranted. Classic pattern: suppress, suppress, suppress, EXPLODE, then feel guilty and apologize profusely.
Growing up, expressing disagreement with authority meant consequences. So we learned to stuff it all down. But emotions don’t just disappear because we ignore them. They build up pressure like a shaken soda bottle, and eventually, something’s got to give.
The worst part is that both extremes damage our relationships. People either think we’re pushovers with no opinions, or they’re shocked when we suddenly come out swinging over something seemingly minor.
3) You have a complicated relationship with your own authority
Here’s something that really messes with my head: I struggle to see myself as an authority figure, even in situations where I clearly am one. As a parent, I sometimes feel like I’m playing dress-up in my mom role, waiting for someone to call me out as an imposter.
When my five-year-old challenges a rule I’ve set, part of me immediately questions whether I have the right to set that boundary in the first place. “Because I said so” feels hypocritical coming from someone who spent their childhood resenting that exact phrase. So I overexplain, negotiate everything, and sometimes undermine my own parenting because I’m so afraid of becoming what I experienced.
At work, it’s the same story. Even when I’m the expert in the room, I downplay my knowledge, add qualifiers to every statement, and defer to others who might have less experience but more confidence. That wooden spoon taught us that authority was something to fear, not something we could embody in healthy ways.
4) You’re hypervigilant about reading emotional temperatures
Walk into any room, and I can tell you who’s upset, who’s stressed, and who’s about to blow their top. It’s like having emotional radar that never turns off. This might sound like a superpower, but it’s actually exhausting.
My husband can’t even have a bad day at work without me immediately assuming I’ve done something wrong. The slight change in his tone when he walks through the door sends my nervous system into overdrive. “Are you mad at me?” has become such a frequent question that he’s started preemptively announcing, “I’m grumpy about work, not you!” when he comes home.
This hypervigilance served us well as kids. Knowing when to make ourselves scarce, when to be extra helpful, when to stay quiet—these were survival skills. But now they keep us in a constant state of alertness that’s frankly exhausting. We’re so busy monitoring everyone else’s emotional states that we often lose track of our own.
5) You struggle with boundaries (in both directions)
Setting boundaries feels almost impossible when you were raised to believe that authority figures had unlimited access to you and your compliance. Saying no to a request feels like inviting punishment, even when the “authority” is just your neighbor asking you to watch their dog for the tenth time this month.
But here’s the flip side: sometimes we build walls instead of boundaries. We might completely cut off relationships at the first sign of conflict or control. It’s all or nothing—either we’re completely permeable or we’re Fort Knox.
I see this in my parenting journey too. Some days I’m so worried about being too strict that I let my kids run wild. Other days, I overcorrect and become unnecessarily rigid about things that don’t really matter. Finding that middle ground feels like trying to balance on a tightrope while juggling.
6) You have an intense fear of making mistakes
Perfectionism isn’t just about wanting things to be perfect—it’s about protection. When mistakes meant consequences delivered via wooden spoon, we learned to be hypervigilant about getting everything right the first time.
Now I triple-check every email before sending it. I rehearse conversations in my head before having them. I lie awake replaying interactions, searching for any sign that I might have messed up. The fear of making a mistake can be so paralyzing that sometimes I don’t act at all, which ironically becomes its own kind of mistake.
My kids’ artwork on the fridge reminds me daily that mistakes are supposed to be part of learning. But that lesson feels like it’s for them, not for me. I’m still unlearning the belief that mistakes are dangerous, that they’ll lead to punishment, that they make me bad or unworthy.
Finding our way forward
Recognizing these patterns is the first step toward changing them. I’m not going to pretend I have it all figured out—I’m still very much in the middle of this journey. Some days I nail it, responding to my kids with the calm, respectful authority I wish I’d experienced. Other days, I catch myself repeating patterns I swore I’d never pass on.
What helps is remembering that we’re not trying to be perfect parents or perfect people. We’re trying to be conscious ones. Every time we notice ourselves falling into one of these patterns, we have a chance to choose differently. Every time we model healthy authority for our kids, we’re healing something in ourselves too.
That wooden spoon might have shaped us, but it doesn’t have to define us. We get to write a different story now—one where authority can be gentle, where boundaries can be firm but kind, where mistakes are met with grace instead of punishment. It’s not easy work, but our kids (and our inner children) are worth it.
