Latest news with #BeckyKennedy
Economic Times
10-05-2025
- Health
- Economic Times
Are you 'too soft' on your child? Ivy League-trained psychologist says compassion builds resilience, not 'snowflakes'
The Surprising Truth About 'Soft' Parenting You Might Also Like: Silent damage: How parental screen time is rewiring young minds and fueling mental chaos? Study reveals Compassion is Not Coddling—It's Coaching Why Self-Compassion Is the Real Superpower Softness Today, Strength Tomorrow You're in the middle of the grocery store, and your child is on the floor wailing because you didn't buy the frosted cereal. Eyes turn. Embarrassment creeps in. Your instinct might be to discipline—or even scold. But what if the real answer is not toughness, but tenderness?A new wave of parenting wisdom suggests that showing compassion—even in the middle of a meltdown—isn't spoiling your child. It might just be building the foundation for a resilient, emotionally strong adult. Dr. Becky Kennedy , an Ivy League-trained clinical psychologist and bestselling author, wants parents to know they don't have to fear being 'too soft.' In a recent episode of her popular podcast Good Inside, she addressed a common misconception: that compassion in parenting leads to emotional fragility.'It's almost like we view compassion as dangerous,' said Kennedy, who holds a PhD from Columbia University. 'We think it's going to lead to kids being soft, being snowflakes.'But Kennedy challenges that assumption with both research and personal experience. As a mother of three, she admits she once believed that calm parenting in the face of tantrums might reinforce bad behavior. Over time, she discovered the opposite.'When I add my criticism, my invalidation, the feeling just gets bigger. It's so counterproductive,' she of reacting with frustration, Kennedy suggests that parents acknowledge their child's emotions—even the explosive ones. Simple affirming phrases like, 'It makes sense you're upset,' or 'I know you'll get through this,' can do goal is not to excuse the behavior, but to validate the emotion behind it. Psychotherapist Amy Morin supports this approach, writing that parents can say, 'It's OK to feel upset, but not OK to act this way,' reinforcing emotional awareness while gently guiding method helps children learn that feelings like anger, sadness, or disappointment are normal—but expressing them destructively is not. Over time, it cultivates emotional intelligence and equips kids with the tools to handle life's inevitable emphasizes that a child's inner voice often echoes what they've heard from their parents. If criticism and dismissal dominate the early years, children may grow up internalizing those voices as adults—resulting in self-doubt, shame, or paralysis in the face of failure.'A parent's voice becomes a child's self-talk,' she explains. 'If that voice is critical, it'll be that much harder for a child to find their feet, confidence, or resilience later.'The antidote? Teaching self-compassion. According to psychologist Kristin Neff's research, this quality is crucial not only for emotional health, but also for personal growth. People who respond to failure with compassion are more likely to try again, take responsibility, and avoid spiraling into negativity.'Compassion after failure makes people more likely to persevere and try again,' Kennedy says. 'It helps people take responsibility for mistakes without spiraling into shame. That's huge.'In a culture that often glorifies grit and discipline, Kennedy's approach feels like a breath of fresh air. She isn't advocating permissiveness—but rather mindful parenting that sees emotional outbursts not as misbehavior, but as opportunities to teach empathy, resilience, and the next time your child screams over the wrong color of sippy cup, take a breath. Offer compassion, not correction. You're not raising a snowflake—you're helping sculpt a human being who knows how to weather the storm.
CNBC
07-05-2025
- General
- 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.
Buzz Feed
20-03-2025
- General
- 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.
Yahoo
05-02-2025
- General
- Yahoo
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. Do you have a compelling personal story you'd like to see published on HuffPost? Find out what we're looking for here and send us a pitch at pitch@ I Have A Nonbinary Child. This Is The 1 Parenting Challenge I Never Saw Coming. I Thought This 1 Parenting Trait Was Helping My Kids Succeed. It Was Doing The Exact Opposite. When My 8-Year-Old Said These 5 Horrifying Words, I Had To Change Everything About My Parenting
