,

Overwhelm, Accountability and Relationships That Matter 

Several people have told me lately that May feels less like spring and more like “May-cember.” It’s the December of the school year. 

There are graduations, field days, awards ceremonies, end-of-school parties, teacher gifts, final projects, Mother’s Day plans, Memorial Day travel, sports banquets, recitals, class celebrations, field trips, summer camp registrations and approximately 427 emails from school that all require a response, payment, permission slip or costume. 

May arrives with sunshine and flowers, but it can feel like it is wearing December’s calendar. 

And just like the holiday season, this month can leave people over-scheduled, overwhelmed and running on empty. We may be showing up everywhere, but not really present anywhere. We may be getting things done, but not actually doing well. We may be surrounded by people and still feel unseen. 

That kind of pace does not just affect our schedules. It affects our relationships. 

When we are exhausted, we often become less patient, less curious and less emotionally available. We snap at the people we love. We withdraw. We stop asking good questions. We forget to eat well, sleep well, listen well and love well. We confuse survival mode with normal life. 

This is why we need relationships deep enough to hold both vulnerability and accountability. 

Without vulnerability, people may be near us but not really know us. Without accountability, people may love us but never help us come back to ourselves. And where both are missing, relationships may remain pleasant, busy and functional, but shallow. 

Research continues to affirm what many of us know by experience: the quality of our relationships matters deeply. Robert Waldinger, director of the Harvard Study of Adult Development, has said one of the study’s clearest findings is that relationships help keep people both happy and healthy. The lesson is not simply “be around people.” It is that meaningful, reliable connection shapes our well-being over time.

But meaningful connection requires honesty. 

It requires being able to say, “I am not doing well.” Or, “I am stretched too thin.” Or, “I know I said yes, but I should have said no.” Or, “I don’t like who I become when I am this tired.” 

Brené Brown describes vulnerability as uncertainty, risk and emotional exposure. She also writes that “vulnerability is not weakness, but part of courage and connection.” Vulnerability is not telling everyone everything. It is letting the right people see what is true. 

And when vulnerability is met with care, relationships deepen. 

Relationship researchers have described intimacy as a process that involves self-disclosure and a caring response. One important concept is “perceived partner responsiveness,” which means we feel that another person understands us, validates us and cares for us. Research has identified this kind of responsiveness as central to intimacy and healthy connection. 

That means one of the most loving things we can do for someone in a chaotic season is notice them. 

Not just their schedule. Not just their productivity. Them. 

“You don’t seem like yourself lately.” 

“You sound exhausted.” 

“You have been carrying a lot.” 

“Have you eaten?” 

“Have you slept?” 

“What can I take off your plate?” 

“Is this pace sustainable?” 

Those questions are not intrusive when they come from love, humility and trust. They are a form of care. 

But the other half of a deep relationship is accountability.

Accountability has a bad reputation because many of us have experienced it as control, criticism or shame. But healthy accountability is not someone trying to manage your life. It is someone helping you live in alignment with your values. 

It sounds like: “I know you want to be a patient parent, and I can see how depleted you are.” It sounds like: “You are saying yes to everyone, but it seems like you are disappearing from yourself.” 

It sounds like: “You don’t have to keep this pace just because you can.” 

It sounds like: “This may be a season to move through, but it cannot become a lifestyle you maintain.” 

That kind of honesty can be uncomfortable. It can also be a gift. 

John Gottman’s research on couple relationships emphasizes the importance of repair, the ability to take responsibility, soften, reconnect and come back to one another after tension or disconnection. Healthy relationships are not conflict-free. They are marked by the willingness to repair and re-engage. 

The same principle applies beyond marriage. Strong relationships require people who can tell the truth with kindness and receive the truth with humility. 

So how do we know whether vulnerability and accountability are present in our relationships? 

Ask yourself: Do I have people who know when I am not myself? Can I admit when I am overwhelmed without being dismissed, mocked or immediately fixed? Can someone lovingly challenge me without me assuming they are attacking me? Do the people closest to me remind me of who I want to be, not just what I need to get done? 

Then turn the questions around. 

Am I safe for other people to be honest with? Do I listen without rushing to correct? Do I ask before giving advice? Do I notice when someone I love is running on empty? Do I have the courage to gently name what I see? 

If vulnerability is missing, start small. Tell a trusted person something true: “I am overwhelmed.” “I need help.” “I am not sleeping.” “I feel like I am failing at everything.” Depth is built through small moments of honesty met with care.

If accountability is missing, invite it. Say to a friend, spouse, sibling or mentor, “When I get too busy, I lose sight of myself. Will you help me notice when that’s happening?” Or, “If you see me slipping into a pattern that is hurting me or the people I love, I want you to say something.” 

And when someone gives you permission to speak honestly into their life, treat that permission as sacred. Be gentle. Be specific. Be humble. The goal is not to win, diagnose or control. The goal is to help someone remember who they are. 

“May-cember” may be a funny word, but the exhaustion behind it is real. Many families are limping toward summer with full calendars and empty tanks. And in seasons like this, we need more than another productivity hack or color-coded calendar. 

We need people. 

People who can see past our busyness. People who notice when our pace is costing us something. People who can offer help without judgment and honesty without harshness. People who remind us that our worth is not measured by how many events we attend, how many tasks we complete or how well we hold everything together. 

And we need to be those people for others. 

Because deep relationships are not built by pretending everyone is fine. They are built when love becomes brave enough to tell the truth and safe enough to receive it. 

Lauren Hall is the President and CEO of First Things First. Contact her at lauren@firstthings.org

/0 Comments/by
, ,

What It Means to Put First Things First

First Things First is in the middle of a rebrand.

Same name. Same mission. Deeper alignment.

And as part of that process, I’ve had the privilege of sitting across from some of the founders of the organization and key stakeholders who prompted this work decades ago. I’ve asked them questions that sound simple until you try to answer them out loud.

What does it mean to put first things first? Why did we name the organization that? What does it look like in relationships?

What does it look like on a Tuesday afternoon when the laundry is loud, the inbox is louder and everyone in your house needs something at the exact same time?

Again and again, the answer pointed back to Stephen Covey’s 1990s book, First Things First. Covey wrote about the difference between living by urgency and living by importance. In other words, there are things that scream for our attention, and there are things that quietly shape our lives.

The problem is, the screaming things usually win.

The text message. The deadline. The appointment. The sports schedule. The dishes. The bill. The group chat. The thing we forgot to sign. The thing we said yes to when we should have said, “Let me check my calendar.”

Urgency is not always bad. Children do need to be picked up from school. Bills do need to be paid. Work matters. Dinner, in some form, should probably happen.

But urgency becomes a problem when it consistently outruns importance.

And importance is where relationships live.

Putting first things first means deciding, on purpose, what matters most before life decides for us. It means we do not simply ask, “What needs to get done today?” We also ask, “Who needs to feel loved today?” “What kind of person do I want to be in this moment?” “What kind of family are we building?”

And here’s where the idea of “steps” matters.

Putting first things first will not look the same for every person or every family. We are all in different seasons, carrying different responsibilities, pressures, resources and rhythms. The young couple trying to build trust after a hard season may have a different next step than the parents of toddlers who are just trying to survive dinner without someone crying into a chicken nugget. The empty nesters learning how to reconnect may have a different next step than the single parent who feels like every plate in life is spinning at once.

That is why putting first things first is not about doing everything at once. It is about taking the next right step.

For one person, the next right step may be asking for help. For another, it may be putting the phone away at dinner. For someone else, it may be making the counseling appointment, apologizing first, setting a boundary, joining a community, creating a bedtime routine or simply sitting still long enough to remember what matters.

The step may be small, but small does not mean insignificant. A step in the right direction is still movement. And enough small steps, taken with intention, begin to shape a life.

For individuals, putting first things first may look like taking care of your health before your body forces you to. It may mean choosing rest without guilt. It may mean making time for prayer, reflection, counseling, recovery or friendship before you reach the point of crisis. It may mean having the hard conversation you keep avoiding because peacekeeping has started to look a lot like resentment.

For couples, it may mean remembering that the relationship cannot survive on logistics alone. A marriage or partnership can become a very efficient small business if we are not careful. Who is paying the bill? Who is picking up groceries? Who forgot picture day?

These things matter. But they are not the whole relationship.

Putting first things first in a relationship means making room for eye contact, affection, repair and honest conversation. It means saying, “I’m sorry,” before pride builds a wall. It means asking, “How are we doing?” not just, “What’s on the calendar?” It means treating your spouse or partner as someone to cherish, not simply someone to coordinate with.

For families, putting first things first means understanding that children are not just being raised by what we say. They are being raised by what we prioritize.

If we say family matters but never have time for each other, they notice.

If we say kindness matters but speak harshly under stress, they notice.

If we say faith, character, service or connection matter but every margin of our lives is consumed by achievement, entertainment or exhaustion, they notice that too.

Children do not need perfect parents. Thank goodness, because that ship sailed for most of us somewhere between the missing shoe and the spilled applesauce.

But they do need parents and caregivers who are willing to pause and realign. They need adults who can say, “This is not working. We need to reset.” They need families who understand that busy is not the same as healthy, and full calendars are not the same as full hearts.

On a practical level, putting first things first does not require a complete life overhaul. Most of us cannot quit our jobs, cancel every activity and move to a quiet cabin where no one ever asks what is for dinner.

It starts smaller.

Sit down once a week and ask, “What matters most this week?” Not just what is due, but what is important. Protect one meal, walk, bedtime routine or conversation from the chaos. Put the phone down when someone you love is talking. Say no to something good so you can say yes to something better. Apologize faster. Ask for help sooner. Make space for the people and values you say matter most.

And when you get it wrong, because you will, begin again.

That may be the most hopeful part of putting first things first. It is not a one-time decision. It is a daily practice. Sometimes an hourly one. Sometimes a “take a deep breath in the driveway before walking into the house” one.

So here is the invitation: look at your calendar, your spending, your conversations, your energy and your habits. Not with shame. With curiosity. Ask yourself, “Do my choices reflect what I say matters most?”

If they do, keep going. If they do not, take one step.

Because if individuals put first things first, we would see healthier people. If couples put first things first, we would see stronger relationships. If families put first things first, we would see children growing up with a clearer sense of love, stability and belonging.

And if enough of us did that, our communities would change too.

We would be less reactive and more rooted. Less distracted and more connected. Less consumed by the urgent and more committed to the important.

We may not fix everything overnight.

But we can begin building a world where people matter more than pressure, relationships matter more than busyness, and love is not something we squeeze in after everything else.

It becomes the first thing.

Lauren Hall is the President and CEO of First Things First. Contact her at lauren@firstthings.org

/0 Comments/by

The Mother’s Day Column I Forgot to Write

I try to keep one eye on the calendar. That is part of choosing topics to write about, after all: talk about what people are thinking about when they are thinking about it. Holidays, seasons, school rhythms, cultural moments, whatever emotional casserole we are collectively carrying that week.

And yet, somehow, I missed Mother’s Day.

To be clear, I did not miss Mother’s Day in my actual life. I knew it was Mother’s Day when it arrived. I accepted the hugs, the cards, the sweet little gestures, the “please do not make me decide what we are eating today” energy of it all.

What I missed was writing about it.

As a columnist.

As a mom.

As a person who tries very hard to notice these things before they happen, not several days later when the internet has moved on and every florist in America is taking a nap.

Mother’s Day was not even on my radar as a timely column topic. Which is ironic, because I am a mother. You would think I might remember the holiday specifically designed to celebrate the demographic group to which I belong. But alas, no. My brain looked at Mother’s Day, shrugged politely, and kept scrolling through the list of 10,000 other things it was trying to hold.

There are one million reasons this happened. Work. Kids. Schedules. Groceries. Appointments. End-of-school-year chaos. The tiny but relentless administrative tasks of family life. But the biggest reason is this: my brain is overloaded.

And I know that.

I also know I am not alone.

Researchers often describe this invisible work as cognitive labor or the mental load. It is not just doing the task. It is noticing the task, remembering the task, planning the task, anticipating what happens if the task is not done, and somehow being the person who knows where the extra glue sticks are.

A 2024 study of mothers of young children found that mothers reported carrying about 73% of the cognitive household labor, compared with about 64% of the physical household labor. The same study found that carrying more cognitive labor was associated with more depression, stress and burnout, as well as lower overall mental health and relationship satisfaction.

So when moms say they are tired, they may not only mean they need sleep. They may mean they are tired of being the family calendar, emotional weather app, snack inventory manager, appointment tracker, school-spirit-week interpreter and keeper of all missing shoes.

And then comes the advice we hear all the time: “Just ask for help.”

Which sounds simple.

It is not.

Moms may not ask because the people they would ask are also drowning. Their spouse is working late. Their sister is juggling her own kids. Their friend is caring for aging parents. So instead of asking, moms do the math in their heads and decide, “Never mind. I’ll just handle it.”

Some moms do not ask because asking still feels like work. You have to identify the need, choose the person, explain the task and maybe remind them anyway. By the time you have assigned the job, you could have done it yourself and eaten three stale crackers over the sink.

Some moms do not ask because they are afraid the person will say no.

Others are afraid the person will say yes.

Because what if they help, but they do it wrong? What if the laundry comes back folded in a way that makes no architectural sense? What if the lunchbox contains the wrong yogurt and now a child is writing their memoir about abandonment?

That last one is hard to admit, but it matters. Sometimes the mental load is reinforced by perfectionism, fear and the belief that if we want something done “right,” we have to do it ourselves. But “right” can become an expensive word when the cost is our peace.

And then there are moms who truly do not have someone to ask. Or they feel like they do not. Some are parenting without a partner. Some are far from family. Some are in relationships where asking for help is unsafe, unproductive or emotionally costly. Some are surrounded by people but still feel profoundly alone.

That loneliness matters. Research consistently links social support with maternal mental health. Feeling supported helps us stay well.

So what do we do when we feel overloaded and “ask for help” feels impossible?

Start smaller than a rescue.

Support does not have to look like someone arriving with a casserole, taking the children, deep-cleaning the house and fixing the printer. Lovely? Yes. Likely? Not always.

Support can be a shared calendar. A carpool swap. A grocery delivery. A text that says, “Can you remind me Friday is pajama day?” It can be a parent group, faith community, therapist, school counselor, pediatrician, postpartum organization or neighbor who also looks like she is one permission slip away from collapse.

And sometimes the most powerful help is not adding another person.

Sometimes it is subtracting a demand.

This is where boundaries come in.

Boundaries can sound harsh, like slamming a door. But healthy boundaries are often much quieter. They sound like, “We can’t make it this time.” “I’m not available for that.” “That doesn’t work for our family right now.” “I need more notice.”

For overloaded moms, saying no is not selfish. It is load management.

Every yes has a receipt. Yes to the extra committee means yes to more emails. Yes to the elaborate birthday plan means yes to late-night ordering, wrapping, transporting and cleaning. Yes to being endlessly available means no to rest.

Not everything deserves the same amount of you.

That sentence is easy to type and hard to live.

My missed Mother’s Day column was funny, yes. A little embarrassing, certainly. But also useful. It told me my brain is carrying too much in too many invisible places.

So I am going to take a step back.

I am going to write down what I am holding instead of pretending I can keep storing it all in the cloud of my own skull. I am going to ask what can be delegated, what can be deleted and what can be done imperfectly by someone else. I am going to practice saying no before my body has to say it for me.

And I am going to look at the calendar again.

Not just so I can catch the next holiday.

But so I can remember that I am on it, too.

Lauren Hall is the President and CEO of First Things First. Contact her at lauren@firstthings.org

/0 Comments/by

Love in a Neurodiverse Relationship

A friend of mine recently said, “I love him deeply… but sometimes it feels like we’re having two completely different conversations.”

Not louder conversations. Not meaner ones. Just… different.

She’ll hint. He’ll miss it.
He’ll answer directly. She’ll feel like something got skipped.
She wants to process in the moment. He needs time to think.

Neither of them is trying to be difficult. But they both walk away, at times, feeling unseen.

In some relationships, those disconnects aren’t just personality differences. They reflect something deeper: neurodivergence.

Neurodivergence, a term introduced by sociologist Judy Singer and expanded by researchers like Dr. Nick Walker, includes conditions such as autism and ADHD. It frames these not as deficits, but as natural variations in how the brain processes information. In romantic relationships, that distinction matters. It shifts the question from What is wrong with us? to What is different, and how do we work with it?

Because relationships that include a neurodivergent partner often don’t follow the typical script.

Communication is usually where couples notice it first.

Research published in the scholarly journal Autism describes the “double empathy problem,” the idea that communication breakdown between autistic and non-autistic individuals is mutual. It’s not that one partner lacks empathy; it’s that both may struggle to interpret the other’s cues.

So in a relationship, one partner may think, Why didn’t they notice I was upset?
While the other thinks, Why didn’t they just tell me?

Neither is wrong. They’re speaking different relational dialects.

ADHD brings its own dynamics. Clinical psychologist Dr. Russell Barkley’s work emphasizes that ADHD is fundamentally a disorder of self-regulation. In romantic relationships, that can show up as emotional intensity, impulsive responses, or difficulty with follow-through. A partner may interpret those behaviors as inconsistency or lack of care, when in reality, they reflect neurological differences in how attention and emotion are managed.

Then there’s sensory and emotional processing.

Studies in the Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders show that many autistic individuals experience heightened sensory sensitivity. A crowded restaurant, a last-minute change in plans, or even a shift in routine can trigger real physiological stress. In a relationship, one partner may interpret withdrawal as disconnection, while the other is simply trying to regulate an overwhelmed nervous system.

Predictability is another common point of tension.

Research referenced in the DSM-5-TR (American Psychiatric Association) notes that many neurodivergent individuals rely on routine to reduce anxiety and maintain stability. A partner who prefers structure is not necessarily being rigid; they may be creating the conditions they need to function well. Meanwhile, a more spontaneous partner may feel constrained or confused by that need.

So what helps?

Encouragingly, research suggests that understanding these differences can significantly improve relationship satisfaction. Studies in the Journal of Social and Personal Relationships find that neurodiverse couples tend to do better when they move from assumption to education—when they actively learn how their partner’s brain works rather than expecting similarity.

That often means becoming more explicit.

Clear, direct communication tends to outperform hints or implied meaning. Saying what you feel, instead of expecting it to be inferred, reduces unnecessary conflict. It also means learning not to personalize differences in emotional expression. One partner may show love through consistency, loyalty, or problem-solving rather than verbal reassurance.

That still counts, even if it looks different than expected.

It also means understanding triggers without assigning blame. Emotional reactivity, shutdowns, or avoidance are often regulatory responses, not relational rejection.

None of this makes relationships easy. But then again, no relationship really is.

What it does is reframe the goal.

Instead of asking, Why aren’t we more alike? The better question becomes, How do we understand each other well enough to build something that works for both of us?

Because every romantic relationship is, in some way, a meeting of two different worlds.

Neurodivergence simply makes those differences more visible.

And while that visibility can be challenging, it also offers something meaningful: an invitation to be clearer, more patient, and more intentional in how we love.

Lauren Hall is the President and CEO of First Things First. Contact her at lauren@firstthings.org

/0 Comments/by
, ,

What Will This Generation Not Hear from Their Parents?

A friend recently posed a question to me that I have not been able to shake. He said that for many Boomers, the phrase they rarely heard growing up was, “I love you.” For many Gen Xers and older millennials, the missing phrase was often, “I’m sorry.”

Then he asked: What will this generation say they did not hear from their parents?

It is such a smart question because every generation tends to correct the mistakes of the one before it. And, being human, every generation also manages to create a few fresh ones of its own.

In many families, earlier generations were not especially verbal with affection. Love was often present, but it was shown through sacrifice, duty, provision and perseverance more than spoken aloud. Then many of us came along determined to become more emotionally fluent. We wanted our children to know they were loved. We wanted them to identify their feelings, name their struggles and feel seen.

That is not a bad correction. In many ways, it is a very good one.

But I wonder if the phrase this generation may not hear enough is this: I believe in you.

Maybe even more fully: I believe in you, and I will support you while you do hard things.

Parents today hear a great deal about helping children identify and process emotions, and that matters. Children should absolutely learn to recognize fear, disappointment, anger, embarrassment and anxiety. They should know that feelings are real and that they are not shameful. But somewhere along the way, many families seem to have absorbed a second message that is less helpful: that feeling uncomfortable is itself a reason not to proceed.

It is not.

A friend told me recently about a family vacation where her 8-year-old son (a rambunctious, brave, beautifully wild little boy in most settings) froze at the idea of doing a high ropes course. He got scared and immediately said, “I’m not doing it.” His mom, to her credit, did not instantly rescue him from the challenge. She told him he could choose the ropes course or the rock wall, but one way or another, he was going to face a fear that day.

He protested. He resisted. He did not feel ready.

But what mattered most was not simply that she pushed him. It was that she stood beside him with the clear message: I believe in you. She was not mocking his fear, dismissing his feelings or throwing him to the wolves. She was supporting him through something difficult and telling him, in word and deed, that he was capable of more than his fear was telling him in that moment.

And he did it.

That is such an important message for children to hear.

Because emotions are important, but they are not dictators.

Fear can be real without being right. Anxiety can be loud without being wise. Discomfort can be intense without being dangerous. Children need help learning that they are not helpless in the presence of strong feelings. They can feel afraid and still move forward. They can feel embarrassed and still try. They can feel unsure and still begin.

Usually, they do that best when a steady adult is nearby saying, “I believe in you.”

That is how resilience is built. Not by shaming children for being afraid, and not by removing every obstacle before they have to face it, but by helping them discover that they can survive challenges and come out stronger on the other side.

Of course, this takes wisdom. Parenting is not about pushing children harshly, humiliating them or ignoring genuine limits. It is about refusing to let a child’s first impulse of fear become the final authority. It is about teaching them that courage is not the absence of fear, but the willingness to act in spite of it, especially when someone loving is there to help steady them.

Maybe that is one of the great parenting assignments of this era: to care deeply about our children’s emotional lives without raising them to believe that their emotions should run their lives.

Yes, help them name their feelings. Yes, sit with them in their struggles. Yes, be a safe place.

But also tell them the truth: I believe in you. You can be scared and still be brave. You can feel deeply without being ruled completely. You can try, fail, recover and try again. And I will be here to support you as you do.

That may be one of the most loving things a parent can say.

Because what children need is not just protection from hard things. They need a parent who believes they are capable of facing them.

And in a world increasingly tempted to treat discomfort as danger, that may be one of the most necessary messages of all.

Lauren Hall is the President and CEO of First Things First. Contact her at lauren@firstthings.org

/0 Comments/by
,

When Your Adult Child Hasn’t Launched

There is a particular ache in parenting adult children: they are old enough to vote, drive, and ignore your excellent advice, yet sometimes not quite old enough to stop making decisions that make you want to stare at the ceiling and reconsider every permissive moment since preschool.

The job has changed, but the love has not.

Psychologists call this season “emerging adulthood,” a stretch of life, often from the late teens through the twenties, marked by freedom, instability, and uneven progress. Temple University psychologist Dr. Laurence Steinberg has noted that the path to adulthood now takes longer than it once did, and that many parents and grown children are trying to build a new relationship while the old one is still rattling around in the trunk.

That helps explain why so many parents feel confused. We were trained for bedtime, broccoli, and booster seats. Nobody really prepared us for a 22-year-old with a fully formed opinion, a half-formed plan, and a habit of making choices that leave the family group text one message away from combustion.

The research is surprisingly clear on one point: love helps, but over-control does not.

In a 2016 study in the Journal of Child and Family Studies, Kayla Reed and colleagues found that helicopter parenting was linked indirectly to worse outcomes for emerging adults through lower self-efficacy, while autonomy-supportive parenting was linked to better life satisfaction and physical health. A newer review in Youth likewise found that parents still matter a great deal in this stage, but the healthiest approach balances warmth, expectations, and autonomy support.

The more troubling findings involve psychological control, using guilt, intrusion and manipulation tactics, or treating a grown child’s mind like it is still your rental property. Developmental psychologist Brian Barber famously described psychological control as parenting that “constrains, invalidates, and manipulates” a child’s emotional and psychological experience. In real life, it sounds like: “After all I’ve done for you, this is how you repay me?” or “If you loved this family, you wouldn’t do this,” or “I guess you just don’t care about us anymore.” The key difference is this: behavioral guidance says, “If you live here, you need to follow these rules.” Psychological control says, “I will make you feel guilty until you think and feel what I want.” Research has long distinguished those two forms of control because psychological control is more strongly tied to internal distress, while healthy behavioral limits are a separate thing altogether.

That distinction matters when an adult child has not launched well, or is making decisions that are harmful to themselves or others. Parents are still allowed to have standards. In fact, they need them. But a boundary is not a guilt trip in pearls. “You may not live here rent-free if you are using drugs,” is a boundary. “You are breaking your mother’s heart, and good children do not do this,” is emotional pressure wearing a church hat.

If you are in this season, the research points toward a hard but hopeful middle path: support without rescuing, honesty without humiliation, and love without emotional takeover.

Bowen family systems theory, developed by psychiatrist Murray Bowen, warns that in anxious families, the person who does the most accommodating can end up absorbing everybody else’s anxiety. That is a helpful reminder for parents who have become full-time fixers, financiers, or emotional paramedics. Steinberg makes a similar point in gentler language: the task is not to dominate your adult child, but to learn how to resolve conflict and build a strong adult relationship.

Which is another way of saying: your grown child may still be on the runway, but you do not help the plane take off by tying yourself to the landing gear, screaming directions along the way.

Love them dearly. Tell the truth calmly. Set boundaries you can actually keep. Refuse to confuse rescuing with helping.

That is not giving up on your child. It is making room for them to become an adult, which, in the end, was the assignment all along.

Lauren Hall is the President and CEO of First Things First. Contact her at lauren@firstthings.org

/0 Comments/by
,

The Long Shadow of Harsh Parenting

Most parents have had that moment.

You are tired, running late, already stretched thin, and your child does the very thing you asked them not to do. Again. The milk spills. The attitude appears. The shoes are still not on. And suddenly, before you can even catch it, your voice is louder than you meant for it to be. Your words are sharper. Your patience is gone.

Most of us know what it feels like to parent from frustration instead of wisdom.

That does not make someone a bad parent. It makes them human. But it is also worth asking an uncomfortable question: when does discipline stop being correction and start becoming harm?

That question matters because there is a real difference between raising children with strong boundaries and raising them with strong fear. One builds character. The other can quietly chip away at it.

Researchers generally define harsh parenting as discipline that relies on fear, pain, shame, or intimidation. That can include physical punishment like spanking, hitting, or grabbing, but it also includes verbal and emotional aggression: yelling, threatening, insulting, humiliating, or regularly tearing a child down. In simpler terms, it is parenting that tries to control behavior by overpowering the child rather than guiding the child.

That is not the same thing as being firm. It is not the same thing as setting rules, following through on consequences, or expecting respect. Healthy parenting can absolutely be strong. It can be clear, steady, and unmoving when it needs to be. But it does not require cruelty to be effective.

That distinction is important because decades of peer-reviewed research show that harsh parenting is linked to poorer outcomes later in life, especially in the areas of mental health and substance abuse.

Large reviews of the research have found that children exposed to harsh parenting are more likely later to struggle with anxiety, depression, aggression, and difficulty regulating emotions. That makes sense when you think about what children are learning at home. A child’s earliest lessons about love, safety, authority, and belonging are not learned in a classroom or from a podcast. They are learned in the living room, at the dinner table, and in the moments when something has gone wrong.

When discipline is consistently wrapped in fear or humiliation, the lesson may not simply be, “I made a bad choice.” The lesson can become, “I am a bad kid,” or “The people I trust most can turn on me when I fail.”

That message has staying power.

Child development experts have long noted that repeated harsh treatment can shape how children respond to stress. Kids raised in tense, explosive, or emotionally unsafe homes may become overly alert to conflict. They may struggle to calm themselves, trust others, or manage strong feelings. In childhood, those patterns may look like acting out, shutting down, or living constantly on edge. In adulthood, they may show up as anxiety, depression, anger, or unstable relationships.

In other words, what starts as survival can later become suffering.

This is one reason harsh parenting is connected to later mental health struggles. A child who grows up bracing for criticism may become an adult who expects rejection. A child who is constantly shamed may carry that shame into friendships, marriage, work, and parenting. Sometimes the wounds are loud and visible. Sometimes they are quiet and buried under achievement, busyness, or a good sense of humor. But hidden pain is still pain.

Research also shows a connection between harmful childhood environments and later substance use risk. That does not mean every child from a harsh home will struggle with addiction. It does mean the odds are higher. And honestly, that is not hard to understand. Alcohol and drugs often offer what wounded people have been needing all along: relief. Relief from anxiety. Relief from shame. Relief from emotional pain that never had a safe place to go.

For someone who never learned how to calm distress in healthy ways, a substance can feel like help before it becomes harmful.

That is one of the heartbreaks here. A child who needs comfort may grow into an adult who goes looking for comfort in dangerous places.

None of this is meant to heap shame on parents. Parenting is hard, and many mothers and fathers are trying to raise children while carrying their own exhaustion, wounds, and family histories. Some are repeating what they were shown because it is the only model they ever had. But love alone does not cancel impact. Good intentions are important, but they are not the same as good outcomes.

The hopeful news is that families are not stuck.

Parents can learn to correct without crushing. They can hold boundaries without humiliation. They can lead without threats. They can apologize when they get it wrong, repair what has been damaged, and create a home where truth and grace live together. That is not weak parenting. That is deeply strong parenting.

Strong families are not built on fear. They are built on trust, consistency, accountability, repentance, forgiveness, and love that knows how to stay calm. Children need rules, yes. They also need dignity. They need guidance, but they also need safety.

Because in the end, the goal is not just a well-behaved child at the moment. The goal is to become a healthy adult later on.

And that kind of future is shaped, in part, by what kind of home we build now.

Lauren Hall is the President and CEO of First Things First. Contact her at lauren@firstthings.org

/0 Comments/by

How Confidence in Your Relationship Shapes Your Well-Being

There is something deeply calming about believing your relationship is steady.

Not perfect. Not conflict-free. Not untouched by stress. Steady.

A recent study published in the Journal of Marital and Family Therapy found that when couples improved their “relationship confidence” through a relationship education program, they also saw gains in their individual well-being, including mental health, sleep, and substance-use outcomes. What stood out most in this study was that relationship confidence appeared to matter even more for personal well-being than communication or partner support alone. In other words, it was not just whether couples talked better. It was whether they believed we can handle life together.

That makes sense, because human beings do not separate relationship stress from the rest of life very well. When home feels uncertain, that uncertainty tends to bleed into everything else such as sleep, concentration, mood, and even the way we carry stress in the body. Research by Brian Doss and colleagues, published in Current Opinion in Psychology, has shown that romantic relationship quality and mental health are closely intertwined, and often in a direction that runs from the health of the relationship to the health of the individual. A secure relationship does not fix everything, but it can create a kind of emotional stability that supports the person inside it.

So what does it mean to be confident in your relationship?

It does not mean never having doubts. It does not mean always feeling close. And it does not mean pretending problems do not exist. Relationship confidence is more like trust in the bond itself and the belief that your partner is with you, the relationship has a future, and the two of you can face challenges without everything falling apart.

People who are confident in their relationship usually recognize a few signs. Conflict may still be hard, but it does not immediately feel catastrophic. The future feels discussable. Reassurance is helpful, but not constantly required. There is a sense of stability underneath the ordinary ups and downs.

When confidence is low, the opposite tends to happen. Small disagreements feel loaded. One or both partners become hyperaware of distance, tone, or ambiguity. Conversations about commitment or the future feel avoided, unclear, or tense. The relationship may still exist, but it does not feel emotionally secure.

Attachment research helps explain why. Meta-analytic findings published in Personality and Individual Differences shows that insecure attachment (particularly anxiety and avoidance)  is consistently linked with lower relationship quality. Anxious partners often fear rejection and scan for signs that something is wrong. Avoidant partners often withdraw from closeness and dependence. Both patterns make it harder to feel confident in the relationship, even when love is present.

And confidence matters beyond the relationship itself. In Current Opinion in Psychology, Brooke Feeney and Nancy Collins argued that close relationships help people thrive by serving as both a source of strength in adversity and a base from which to grow. In other words, a strong relationship does not just comfort us when life gets hard. It helps us function better in life overall.

So how can confidence be built if it is missing?

Usually, not through grand declarations, but through evidence.

Confidence grows when partners become reliable in small, repeated ways. Keeping promises. Repairing after conflict. Telling the truth. Following through. Handling stress as a team. Over time, those moments create a track record that says, we have faced hard things before, and we can do it again.

It also grows through clarity. Ambiguity erodes confidence. When commitment is vague, future plans are unspoken, or one partner stays emotionally half-in and half-out, insecurity fills the gap. People feel safer when they know where they stand.

And finally, confidence grows through shared resilience. The research also noted that one way to reinforce relationship confidence is to remember past challenges the couple has already survived. That memory becomes its own kind of strength.

In a healthy relationship, confidence is not just a nice extra. It is part of what helps both people breathe easier.

We often speak of love as a feeling. But sometimes love is also a shelter. And when people trust that their shelter will hold, they are often better able to rest, recover, and live with a little more peace.

Lauren Hall is the President and CEO of First Things First. Contact her at lauren@firstthings.org

/0 Comments/by