I Couldn't Stop Yelling At My Kids. Then I Uncovered Something Surprising From My Childhood That Was Causing It.
I'm standing in my kitchen chopping garlic when my 2-year-old shouts for more cheese crackers. The timer on the oven beeps at me to flip the fish sticks when I hear a loud wail from the living room. My middle son has hit my oldest, and now they're both clamoring for me in tears.
'What happened now?' I bellow, my nerve endings frazzled from the exhaustion of being a mom to three kids ages 5 and under while pregnant with my fourth.
'Come on, guys! I'm trying to cook dinner. Why can't we just play nicely?'
Rather than respond with care and empathy for my child who got hurt, I feel like a volcano has erupted right there in the kitchen. Suddenly I'm burning to yell at everyone for everything. I take a huge breath in and hug my son. I direct a dirty glare toward my other kid but eventually hug him, too, and ask that the kids talk about and apologize for what happened.
Then I immediately feel ashamed of my overblown reaction. They're just kids, and everyone is OK.
The thing is, this incident was par for my parenting. Everyday moments used to catapult me into a fit of rage: a cup of spilled juice, a splotch of marker on the ottoman, running a few minutes late to a social event. I would yell at my kids and shame them for little things, things that all kids do. I knew that what I was doing wasn't great, and I knew it was probably harming my kids. But I didn't know how to break the cycle.
I searched for answers, following social media accounts of well-known child psychologists and parenting experts, like Becky Kennedy (who gives phenomenal advice, by the way). I tried being more patient and empathetic with my kids, and it worked — to a degree. But there was still something inside of me that caused me to unleash on my kids at a moment's notice. I'd then feel shame, apologize, and the cycle would repeat. I didn't want to be a rage-filled, yelling, anxious mom. What was my problem?
I had seen talk therapists and cognitive behavioral therapists in the past when I went through a breakup or needed help communicating better with my husband. But after continued struggles as a mother, I knew I needed to dig deeper. Oddly enough, my mom had told me about her recent experience of seeing an EMDR therapist to work through traumatic memories from her childhood and how she felt freer, better than she ever had. In fact, she said she wished she had gone 30 years ago and told me that she and my dad would give me some money for it so I could experience the mental and emotional freedom that they had. Little did I know, I would exceed their gift and keep going to my therapist every other week for three years, spending over $4,000 out of pocket.
I signed up to see an EMDR (eye movement desensitization and reprocessing) and IFS (internal family systems) therapist. EMDR is a psychotherapy technique that helps you reprocess traumatic memories to reduce the level of disturbance within your mind and body. During EMDR sessions, I would recall difficult core memories while I moved my eyes side to side. Over time, the memories that haunted me (and the memories I never knew existed that were underlying) became less potent and my anxiety less frequent.
IFS psychotherapy involved seeing that I — and every human being — is made of multiple parts. Working within this model, I learned how to identify, accept and heal my younger parts, and create more harmony within myself.
Digging into childhood memories to heal myself as a mother sounded a bit 'woo woo' and far-fetched, but week by week, the internal work fundamentally changed how I lived and parented.
Across three years in therapy, I discovered that most of the incidents that triggered me in parenting were reminders of the past. I was surprised to uncover this because I had a 'good' childhood. We always had a roof over our heads. My parents were generous (after all, they even paid for some of my therapy) and, like so many parents, did the best they knew how for their kids. They weren't alcoholics or abusive. But some things I now realize I could have benefited from, like more emotional attuning and opportunities to speak my own voice.
At first I was angry at my parents for all the things they had done or not done. And sure, anger is part of the healing process. But what was most transformative was focusing on how to notice when a younger, emotional part of me was being triggered by my own children.
Session after session, I sat on my therapist's couch to talk about what was challenging me: spills, messes, running late, noises, a daughter who was loud and independent. Rather than handing out a list of coping skills, my therapist taught me how to notice when my body was being triggered by the past.
When my daughter shouted and resisted, a younger part of me remembered when I wasn't allowed to speak up or balk at parental instruction.
When my sons fought, it reminded me of when my tears and feelings were suppressed.
When I'm running late, my body goes on high alert, remembering the pressure I felt to get out of the door as a kid.
My therapist told me that I had to learn to notice when something in my body changed, like a tenseness in my chest, a pause in my breath, my hands forming fists and shaking in the air. When those bodily manifestations begin, that's my signal. That's when I know I'm about to go off, rage or shame or yell. That's when I know something is bubbling up from my past, something that keeps me from being present in the moment. If I do nothing, my body gets hijacked, and I respond with an emotional outburst instead of peace and calm.
So now that's my daily work: noticing what's happening in my body and when a younger part of me seems to be flaring up. Sometimes that means I picture my 5-year-old self in the room with me now, seeing her tiny face and golden blond hair. I might say hi to her and tell her that she's safe now and she's not that little girl anymore. She is strong and capable. The practice of seeing and talking to 'little me' might sound trippy, and it certainly feels that way at times, but with practice, it works.
My therapist also told me I needed to get present in those triggering moments. Luckily, there are a few simple ways I can do that. I can rock my feet against the floor, pressing down on the hardwood from my ankle to my toes. I can glance at the wedding ring on my finger or the wrinkles on my hand to remind myself that I'm 37 now and married with four kids. I can look around the room and describe objects out loud, like the framed photo of the six of us at the beach or the thriving monstera plant sitting in the yellow pot. I can take a breath (not necessarily even a deep one) to find myself in my current adult body.
When I ground myself in the present (which, let's be honest, isn't easy to do when I'm overstimulated and exhausted), I can slow down the moment, almost as if I'm bending time. The slowness creates an opening, a chance to think before I respond to one of the kids. Like a bit of $4,000 magic, I can answer my daughter with more patience, give her a chance to speak her mind or cry in my arms.
More than anything, I have more agency over my emotions and the inevitable triggers of parenthood. I feel more connected and grounded, and attuned to my kids. I'm calmer, less anxious, less reactive and explosive. Rather than yelling or shaming my kids when they spill their cereal, I'm more likely to say, 'We can clean that up!' Rather than running myself ragged, answering everyone's needs, I'm more likely to notice when I need a break. Stepping away for a few moments prevents me from saying or doing something I'll regret.
I still mess up. I still say things to my kids I shouldn't. I still raise my voice sometimes. But far less than I used to, which I believe my kids have noticed. They laugh more. They're more at ease, less scared I'm going to go off on them. They seem more confident, too, and able to express their feelings. I'll overhear one of the kids sharing how they feel sad or hurt as they work out the issue with their sibling. I watch in awe as my son asks for space when he's frustrated.
I'm still learning. But I'm taking steps to do better, be better, just like my parents did in different ways. Without them, I wouldn't have tried such innovative therapy. And that's what parenthood is all about: healing and improving over time and doing the best we can with what we've got.
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CNBC
07-05-2025
- CNBC
Don't worry about being too soft on your kids, Ivy League-trained psychologist says: Compassion won't make them 'snowflakes'
When a child throws a full-blown tantrum over a minor setback, you might be tempted to respond with tough love. But the key to raising kids who grow up to be mentally strong, resilient adults is to treat them with compassion, rather than chastising them for over-reacting, according to child psychologist Becky Kennedy. "It's almost like we view compassion as dangerous," Kennedy, who has a PhD in clinical psychology from Columbia University, said on an April 22 episode of her parenting podcast "Good Inside." "When [kids] are having a big reaction to something we deem to be a small, childish thing, we think that compassion is going to lead to kids being soft, being snowflakes." Kennedy "thought these things myself" about her own three children when they were toddlers, she said. But when a young child's disappointment leads to a tantrum, a parent's criticism can actually make the overreaction worse, she said: "If I add my criticism, my invalidation, the feeling just gets bigger. It's so counterproductive." Instead, Kennedy recommended acknowledging your child's disappointment with calm, supportive statements like, "'It makes sense. You're upset ... That is real. And I know you're going to get through it.'" Validating language can help kids feel understood, especially when they're struggling or upset. You can even use it to discourage future emotional meltdowns: "Parents can use phrases like: "'It's OK to feel upset, but not OK to act this way,'" psychotherapist Amy Morin wrote for CNBC Make It in December. "It shows them that feelings like anger or sadness are normal, but it's not OK to disrupt or hurt others," Morin added, noting that parents can teach kids alternative ways of coping with big feelings, like taking deep breaths or naming their emotions. "Controlling how emotions are expressed is a key skill they'll need for life's inevitable ups and downs." Mentally resilient adults tend to have self-compassion. Parents can help establish that skill from an early age, said Kennedy. "A parent's voice becomes a child's self-talk," Kennedy said. If parents invalidate or criticize their child's distress, that kid is more likely to react to a setback as an adult with self-criticism, rather than reflecting on what went wrong and trying to figure out the best way forward. "[That] is only going to make it more difficult for them to find their feet, find their confidence, find their self-trust, find their resilience, and actually move on and figure out what they want to do next," said Kennedy. Teaching your children how to show themselves compassion can help ensure that, as they age, they'll be better equipped to handle setbacks without spiraling into negativity. "Compassion is a huge part of self-regulation," said Kennedy, adding: "When we berate ourselves, ironically, that makes us so much softer, because we're not able to deal with the feeling [and] it lasts longer and gets even bigger." Self-compassion makes both children and adults more motivated to learn new things, and to change their behavior to avoid repeating past mistakes, according to research from psychologist and University of Texas at Austin associate professor Kristin Neff. "Compassion after failure makes people more likely to persevere and try again as compared to those who self-criticize," Kennedy said, referencing Neff's research. "Also, self-compassion helps people take responsibility for mistakes without spiraling into shame. That's huge." Want a new career that's higher-paying, more flexible or fulfilling? Take CNBC's new online course How to Change Careers and Be Happier at Work . Expert instructors will teach you strategies to network successfully, revamp your resume and confidently transition into your dream career. Start today and use coupon code EARLYBIRD for an introductory discount of 30% off $67 (+taxes and fees) through May 13, 2025. Plus, sign up for CNBC Make It's newsletter to get tips and tricks for success at work, with money and in life.
Vox
15-04-2025
- Vox
The controversial anti-poverty solution coming to public schools
is a policy correspondent for Vox covering social policy. She focuses on housing, schools, homelessness, child care, and abortion rights, and has been reporting on these issues for more than a decade. Students sit at their desks and look toward the blackboard and their teacher in a primary school, in Valence, France, on September 1, 2023. Nicholas Guyonnet/Hans Lucas/AFP via Getty Images Public schools in America are becoming testing grounds for a tenuous theory: that poverty can be avoided by making three choices in the right order. This wave of education policy largely originates from model legislation provided by the Heritage Foundation, the conservative think tank that published the influential Project 2025 agenda. It represents a growing effort to codify a particular view of mobility into public school curricula, one that suggests personal choices primarily drive economic prosperity. While the sequence enjoys real popularity across party lines — and to many casual observers sounds fairly innocuous as life advice — policy experts say the actual evidence underpinning its anti-poverty message is thin and vastly overstated. The success sequence, explained The term 'success sequence' first appeared in 2006 when historian Barbara Dafoe Whitehead and sociologist Marline Pearson co-authored a report for the National Campaign to Prevent Teen Pregnancy. They wrote that modern teenagers 'lack what earlier generations took for granted: a normative sequence for the timing of sex, marriage and parenthood.' Their solution was to promote the 'success sequence.' The concept was later popularized by Ron Haskins and Isabel Sawhill at the Brookings Institution, a liberal-centrist think tank, and championed by researchers at the conservative American Enterprise Institute (AEI) and the Institute for Family Studies (IFS), particularly Brad Wilcox, who directs the National Marriage Project at the University of Virginia. Advocates claim the results are impressive: According to research from IFS, 97 percent of millennials who follow all three steps avoid poverty as adults. Even among those who grew up in poverty, the majority who complete the sequence reach middle-class status or higher. 'We do have, in certain parts of our state, problems with fatherlessness, and we do have pockets in our state like in metro Nashville with poverty and lots of kids not having the type of economic opportunity that we all want them to have,' Tennessee Rep. Gino Bulso, the House sponsor of the bill, told Vox. 'When I saw [the success sequence] cut across all demographics, that even Black adults were 96 percent likely to avoid poverty, I thought it was something we should go ahead and introduce.' But the idea has been largely debunked, as the evidence confuses correlation with causation. As Michael Tanner of the libertarian Cato Institute pointed out in 2018, 'Ownership of a private jet is even more strongly associated with financial success, yet that doesn't mean jet ownership is what allowed these individuals to escape poverty.' There's little to back up the claim that the exact sequence matters. A 2021 study funded by the federal Department of Health and Human Services found that young adults who finish high school, work full time, and get married are less likely to experience poverty, but the specific order doesn't seem to matter much. These steps — except for marriage — don't strongly predict family stability either, and researchers say more data is needed to understand what really helps young people thrive. 'Even with delaying parenthood, the importance of that for poverty is swamped by the importance of having and keeping a job, so it's worth asking whether policymakers are also making it easier for people to access contraception and abortion services and to have an income when they have kids,' said Paul Bruno, an education policy professor. 'If not, I'm not sure that having classes about those things amounts to much more than scolding students about things a long time in the future that they either already know or have limited control over.' Despite the success sequence's weak intellectual basis, it remains very popular across political and demographic lines. According to a 2021 American Enterprise Institute survey, 77 percent of Americans support teaching the concept, including 85 percent of Republicans, 72 percent of Democrats, and 78 percent of independents. Support spans racial groups as well, with 68 percent of Black respondents, 80 percent of white respondents, and 74 percent of Hispanic respondents favoring its inclusion in school curricula. 'Teaching the success sequence has overwhelming support on the left and right, with higher, and more intense support among conservatives, so it's not surprising that red states are leading on these bills,' Nat Malkus, the deputy director of education policy at AEI, told Vox. 'The broad support among liberals is there, but the minority of liberal opponents would be more vocal in their opposition, so the same bills could be more trouble than blue state legislators are willing to bear.' Bruno cautioned that polling support for educational concepts often proves fragile upon implementation, pointing to the Common Core standards as an example. 'It's very easy to find political support for proposals for schools to teach kids stuff that sounds nice,' he said. 'Because the proposals sound nice and are pretty vague about the details and don't ask anybody to make any hard choices, this often means the real support is not that strong.' Matt Bruenig of the left-wing People's Policy Project think tank has been pointing out methodological problems with the sequence for the last decade. At its heart, he argues, the formulation is about deflecting attention from how policy choices produce poverty. 'It's always been a way to undermine efforts to improve the welfare state,' he told Vox. 'That's why the right likes it and why they want to teach it to students.' For most people, the success sequence sounds like harmless and practical life advice. But its deeper appeal, Bruenig argued, is that it offers lawmakers a palatable way to frame poverty as a matter of personal failure rather than systemic design. Teaching personal responsibility while ignoring structural barriers When Tennessee's success sequence bill was being debated, Democratic Rep. Aftyn Behn of Nashville attempted to add language to teach that economic barriers can prevent students from completing the sequence. Her amendment — which framed delayed marriage and childbearing among millennials as the result of challenges like wage stagnation, student debt, and unaffordable child care and housing — ultimately failed. In an interview with Vox, Behn pointed to her own experience: 'I make $26,000 a year as a Tennessee legislator. I have student debt from graduate school, I rent, and I represent a large swath of millennials who have decided to forego children because of the negative economic impact. My amendment would have made the curriculum address the reality facing many young people. Without it, we risk teaching young people a narrative that blames them for systemic failures.' She continued: 'We have foster kids sleeping on the floors of our [child services] offices. We have gay kids sleeping in their cars because of the policies forcing schools to out them to their parents. No young person working three jobs can afford the down payment on a house in Nashville, where I represent. The Tennessee legislature has done nothing to address the affordability of living, and yet expect us to buy into a false narrative that if you follow one individualized path, you can claw your way out of systemic poverty. Give me a break.' Rep. Bulso, who sponsored the bill in Tennessee, said it's 'very rare' for the legislature to amend any bills on the floor of the House, adding that 'it didn't seem to me that the substance of the amendment added anything to what we were doing.' He said, 'the last thing we want to do' is present facts to students that could 'cause emotional distress,' but he believes the success sequence ultimately presents a 'very compelling and uplifting message.' Curriculum vs. reality Education researchers have long questioned whether school-based instruction on life choices really influences students' future decisions. Teen pregnancy has declined dramatically over recent decades, for example, not primarily because of abstinence education, but due to increased access to high-quality birth control. How these broad success sequence concepts will translate into actual classroom instruction remains an open question. 'Thoughtful implementation is key to ensure the success sequence is used to inform, rather than browbeat students,' said Malkus, of AEI. 'But I am confident educators can manage this, particularly given the far more charged topics 'family life' teachers have to routinely cover.' Malkus believes teachers should have flexibility in presentation. 'The requirement to teach the success sequence does not mean it cannot be taught in context,' he added. 'I trust most teachers have the common sense to do this well, and I think when it comes to their local schools, most Americans do too.' But Bruno, the professor, worries about opportunity costs. 'Teaching the success sequence probably won't have much impact for anybody, but will take up time and energy that could be used to teach kids skills that will actually help them get jobs or to set up social safety nets that make sure they don't fall into poverty if they get hit with bad luck,' he said. 'Those costs are going to be especially important for kids from lower-income families.' Some critics offer alternative frameworks for addressing poverty in educational settings. Bruenig suggests students could 'learn about countries that have low levels of poverty and inequality' and study 'notable successes in poverty reduction in America, such as the massive drop in elderly poverty following Social Security expansion and the halving of child poverty that occurred in 2021 following an increase in child benefits.' Bulso, meanwhile, is optimistic. 'I would hope that 100 percent of students in middle and high school will be exposed to facts that actually show them that if they follow the sequence where they finish high school and go to college and get a job and have full-time employment and then get married and then have children, their chances are better than in some other circumstances,' he said. 'The most important milestone is finishing high school.'
Buzz Feed
20-03-2025
- Buzz Feed
I Couldn't Stop Yelling At My Kids. Then I Uncovered Something Surprising From My Childhood That Was Causing It.
I'm standing in my kitchen chopping garlic when my 2-year-old shouts for more cheese crackers. The timer on the oven beeps at me to flip the fish sticks when I hear a loud wail from the living room. My middle son has hit my oldest, and now they're both clamoring for me in tears. 'What happened now?' I bellow, my nerve endings frazzled from the exhaustion of being a mom to three kids ages 5 and under while pregnant with my fourth. 'Come on, guys! I'm trying to cook dinner. Why can't we just play nicely?' Rather than respond with care and empathy for my child who got hurt, I feel like a volcano has erupted right there in the kitchen. Suddenly I'm burning to yell at everyone for everything. I take a huge breath in and hug my son. I direct a dirty glare toward my other kid but eventually hug him, too, and ask that the kids talk about and apologize for what happened. Then I immediately feel ashamed of my overblown reaction. They're just kids, and everyone is OK. The thing is, this incident was par for my parenting. Everyday moments used to catapult me into a fit of rage: a cup of spilled juice, a splotch of marker on the ottoman, running a few minutes late to a social event. I would yell at my kids and shame them for little things, things that all kids do. I knew that what I was doing wasn't great, and I knew it was probably harming my kids. But I didn't know how to break the cycle. I searched for answers, following social media accounts of well-known child psychologists and parenting experts, like Becky Kennedy (who gives phenomenal advice, by the way). I tried being more patient and empathetic with my kids, and it worked — to a degree. But there was still something inside of me that caused me to unleash on my kids at a moment's notice. I'd then feel shame, apologize, and the cycle would repeat. I didn't want to be a rage-filled, yelling, anxious mom. What was my problem? I had seen talk therapists and cognitive behavioral therapists in the past when I went through a breakup or needed help communicating better with my husband. But after continued struggles as a mother, I knew I needed to dig deeper. Oddly enough, my mom had told me about her recent experience of seeing an EMDR therapist to work through traumatic memories from her childhood and how she felt freer, better than she ever had. In fact, she said she wished she had gone 30 years ago and told me that she and my dad would give me some money for it so I could experience the mental and emotional freedom that they had. Little did I know, I would exceed their gift and keep going to my therapist every other week for three years, spending over $4,000 out of pocket. I signed up to see an EMDR (eye movement desensitization and reprocessing) and IFS (internal family systems) therapist. EMDR is a psychotherapy technique that helps you reprocess traumatic memories to reduce the level of disturbance within your mind and body. During EMDR sessions, I would recall difficult core memories while I moved my eyes side to side. Over time, the memories that haunted me (and the memories I never knew existed that were underlying) became less potent and my anxiety less frequent. IFS psychotherapy involved seeing that I — and every human being — is made of multiple parts. Working within this model, I learned how to identify, accept and heal my younger parts, and create more harmony within myself. Digging into childhood memories to heal myself as a mother sounded a bit 'woo woo' and far-fetched, but week by week, the internal work fundamentally changed how I lived and parented. Across three years in therapy, I discovered that most of the incidents that triggered me in parenting were reminders of the past. I was surprised to uncover this because I had a 'good' childhood. We always had a roof over our heads. My parents were generous (after all, they even paid for some of my therapy) and, like so many parents, did the best they knew how for their kids. They weren't alcoholics or abusive. But some things I now realize I could have benefited from, like more emotional attuning and opportunities to speak my own voice. At first I was angry at my parents for all the things they had done or not done. And sure, anger is part of the healing process. But what was most transformative was focusing on how to notice when a younger, emotional part of me was being triggered by my own children. Session after session, I sat on my therapist's couch to talk about what was challenging me: spills, messes, running late, noises, a daughter who was loud and independent. Rather than handing out a list of coping skills, my therapist taught me how to notice when my body was being triggered by the past. When my daughter shouted and resisted, a younger part of me remembered when I wasn't allowed to speak up or balk at parental instruction. When my sons fought, it reminded me of when my tears and feelings were suppressed. When I'm running late, my body goes on high alert, remembering the pressure I felt to get out of the door as a kid. My therapist told me that I had to learn to notice when something in my body changed, like a tenseness in my chest, a pause in my breath, my hands forming fists and shaking in the air. When those bodily manifestations begin, that's my signal. That's when I know I'm about to go off, rage or shame or yell. That's when I know something is bubbling up from my past, something that keeps me from being present in the moment. If I do nothing, my body gets hijacked, and I respond with an emotional outburst instead of peace and calm. So now that's my daily work: noticing what's happening in my body and when a younger part of me seems to be flaring up. Sometimes that means I picture my 5-year-old self in the room with me now, seeing her tiny face and golden blond hair. I might say hi to her and tell her that she's safe now and she's not that little girl anymore. She is strong and capable. The practice of seeing and talking to 'little me' might sound trippy, and it certainly feels that way at times, but with practice, it works. My therapist also told me I needed to get present in those triggering moments. Luckily, there are a few simple ways I can do that. I can rock my feet against the floor, pressing down on the hardwood from my ankle to my toes. I can glance at the wedding ring on my finger or the wrinkles on my hand to remind myself that I'm 37 now and married with four kids. I can look around the room and describe objects out loud, like the framed photo of the six of us at the beach or the thriving monstera plant sitting in the yellow pot. I can take a breath (not necessarily even a deep one) to find myself in my current adult body. When I ground myself in the present (which, let's be honest, isn't easy to do when I'm overstimulated and exhausted), I can slow down the moment, almost as if I'm bending time. The slowness creates an opening, a chance to think before I respond to one of the kids. Like a bit of $4,000 magic, I can answer my daughter with more patience, give her a chance to speak her mind or cry in my arms. More than anything, I have more agency over my emotions and the inevitable triggers of parenthood. I feel more connected and grounded, and attuned to my kids. I'm calmer, less anxious, less reactive and explosive. Rather than yelling or shaming my kids when they spill their cereal, I'm more likely to say, 'We can clean that up!' Rather than running myself ragged, answering everyone's needs, I'm more likely to notice when I need a break. Stepping away for a few moments prevents me from saying or doing something I'll regret. I still mess up. I still say things to my kids I shouldn't. I still raise my voice sometimes. But far less than I used to, which I believe my kids have noticed. They laugh more. They're more at ease, less scared I'm going to go off on them. They seem more confident, too, and able to express their feelings. I'll overhear one of the kids sharing how they feel sad or hurt as they work out the issue with their sibling. I watch in awe as my son asks for space when he's frustrated. I'm still learning. But I'm taking steps to do better, be better, just like my parents did in different ways. Without them, I wouldn't have tried such innovative therapy. And that's what parenthood is all about: healing and improving over time and doing the best we can with what we've got.
