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Second Chances, Slower Starts: How We Got to Fewer Divorces

Love isn’t dead, but it is getting wiser.

Pew Research Center’s newly released brief on divorce lands with a hopeful headline for families: compared with the 1980s, Americans are less likely to divorce than they used to be. That’s not wishful thinking or an over simplification, it shows up in a long arc of numbers. Researchers at Bowling Green State University track the “refined” divorce rate (divorces per 1,000 married women). That rate peaked in 1980 at 22.6 and has fallen substantially since down to 14.4. In other words, among people who do marry, marriages today are, on average, more stable than they were in the Reagan era.

Pew’s snapshot brings the story into the present tense: divorce still touches many lives, with over 1.8 million Americans divorcing in 2023. But the broader trend is that divorce is less common than decades ago. 

So what’s behind the decline? A few big trends seem to be at play.

First, Americans are marrying later, and that matters.

The typical first-time bride is now around 28–29 years-old, and the typical groom is about 30–31, up dramatically from newlyweds being in their late teens/early twenties in the 1980s. Waiting a little longer tends to reduce divorce risk; people bring more maturity, more education, and a clearer sense of “fit.” Peer-reviewed studies find that marrying young is linked to higher odds of splitting. Translation: couples are slowing down, choosing more intentionally, and that’s paying off.

Second, the marriage pool has changed. Today’s marriages are more selective and more likely to involve partners with higher education, and education is tied to lower divorce risk. That compositional shift nudges the overall divorce rate down. (Think of it like this: if more of the people who marry have the traits associated with stability, the averages move.)

Now, a key caveat that actually strengthens the good news: the marriage rate itself is lower than it was in the late 20th century. Fewer marriages overall means fewer opportunities for divorce, which helps pull down “crude” divorce measures (per 1,000 people). But even when you focus only on those who are married—the refined rate mentioned above—divorce has still fallen since the 1980 peak. Both things can be true: we have fewer marriages, and the marriages that do happen are, on average, sturdier.

How should we interpret this shift?

First, take heart. The cultural panic of “half of all marriages end in divorce” was always an oversimplification and it’s even less true today. Many couples are entering marriage later, with more shared expectations, and they’re staying together longer. That steadiness shows up in the data Pew just pulled together and in the federal stats underneath it.

Second, remember what actually protects kids and couples day to day: not a date on a license, but the temperature of the relationship. Reviews in top journals keep pointing to the same levers such as lower conflict, clearer routines, and intentional commitment. Those are choices any couple can practice, whether you married at 23 or 33.

Finally, keep the denominator in mind. Because fewer people are marrying at all, crude divorce rates will stay low even if behavior doesn’t change. That’s why the refined rate is so useful, because it tells us that among those who are tying the knot, marriages really are more durable than they were a generation ago.

That’s worth a quiet cheer, a date night, and maybe a shared Google calendar to keep the wheels turning at home. 

Lauren Hall is the President and CEO of First Things First. Contact her at [email protected].

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Sharenting and Your Child’s Digital Footprint

I’ll go first: I haven’t been the best about guardrails around my kids’ “digital identity.”

Like a lot of parents, I posted the happy, the funny, and sometimes the very specific—team names, school logos, “We’re here!” vacation snaps. However, I’ve recently learned more about digital footprints, and while it didn’t send me into a shame spiral, it did nudge me toward a reset. There are simple ways for any parent to begin.

The big idea is this: move from impulse to intention. Researchers have long noted that parents often create a child’s first “digital dossier,” shaping an online identity years before kids can consent. There’s even a legal name for it: “sharenting.” It highlights the tension between a parent’s right to share and a child’s interest in privacy as they grow. At the same time, many parents use social media for community and advice, which is understandable—and common. The goal isn’t to quit celebrating our kids; it’s to celebrate with thoughtful guardrails.

A practical first step is to set a few family rules you can actually remember. The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends families create a media plan—simple, written norms for what gets shared, when, and with whom. Their online tool walks you through age-by-age decisions and helps you revise as kids grow. Many families land on versions of this: no live location tags, no medical details, avoid pairing full names with school or team identifiers, and post after you leave a place instead of while you’re there. UNICEF’s parent guidance adds quick wins like turning off geotagging in your camera settings and checking app privacy defaults so your photos aren’t broadcasting more than you intend.

Consent can start early and evolve.

For little ones, consent looks like choosing dignity on their behalf—skip bath or swimming pics, diaper shots, discipline scenes, or medical specifics that might follow them later. As kids enter school age, ask before you post and offer options: “Okay to text to grandparents? Okay in our private album? Okay to post?” By the tween/teen years, many experts suggest treating consent as a negotiated default—assume “no” unless you hear “yes,” and invite kids into the decision. This shifts the culture at home from “parents publish everything” to “parents steward.”

If you want a quick gut-check before sharing, try three questions: Who is this for? What does it reveal (face, name, school, routine, location, health)? How might future-them feel about this? If anything snags your stomach, save it to a private album instead of a public feed. Many parents find they still share faces—just with fewer breadcrumbs in the caption and without real-time location.

That middle lane keeps joy public and privacy intact.

Cleaning up older posts doesn’t require burning your archive. Start with the highest-risk items (partial nudity, health details, discipline, or posts that reveal routines/locations), then narrow the audience on what remains. Update tag settings so you approve what appears on your profile. 

Schools, teams, and clubs deserve a glance, too. Read those photo permission forms—most let you opt into yearbooks or private galleries but out of public websites. If your league posts to public pages, ask whether they can use a password-protected gallery or skip tags with children’s names. One gracious question often resets the group norm.

If you’re co-parenting or have a big extended network, write the basics down so everyone’s pulling in the same direction: what you’ll share, where you’ll share it, and how you’ll handle requests. Keeping it simple and documented lowers the temperature and reduces “But I didn’t know” moments. (The AAP’s family media plan is a helpful template to reference together.) 

And because the point of all these photos is connection, don’t forget the fun alternatives: a private shared album for the inner circle, a rotating digital frame at Grandma’s, printed photo books on the coffee table. You’ll often end up sharing more with the people who matter—and less with the entire internet.

None of this requires perfection.

Parents are already carrying a lot, and surveys from The National Poll on Children’s Health show that concerns about kids’ device use and social media are top-of-mind across the country. The win isn’t a spotless feed; it’s a steadier habit: celebrate broadly, protect quietly, and invite your child’s voice as they grow.

I’ll end where I began: I’m not great at this. I’m just starting this new journey of learning how and why to protect my children’s digital identity. I plan to keep sharing the joy of our family, but with guardrails that let my kids inherit more control over their own stories. If you’re starting here too, you’re right on time.

Lauren Hall is the President and CEO of First Things First. Contact her at [email protected].

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Discipline That Builds, Not Breaks

At the Knoxville Zoo a few weeks ago, I watched a scene unfold that so many families will recognize. It was 1 p.m.—prime “tired and hungry” hour. A little boy, about two-and-a-half, was unraveling. His grandfather, clearly overwhelmed, was dragging him along and snapping, “Stop crying,” with the occasional swat and a promise that he’d never bring him to the zoo again. He worried out loud that everyone was staring and judging the child.

What struck me was how the parents around them weren’t judging the child at all—they were worried about how the grandfather was handling it.

One woman even threatened to find security. I stood up and walked over as gently as I could: “Do you think he might like an apple or a snack? I’ve got plenty. I have a two-and-a-half-year-old too—snacks are survival.” The grandfather sighed, “His mom’s inside. He wants her. He doesn’t like spending time alone with me, but he’ll learn.”

Five minutes later, Mom came out. The child didn’t turn into a robot—he was still spirited and zipping around the patio—but the tone changed. She crouched to his level, asked questions, set simple limits: “Are you finished with your food? Ready to play?” When he scrambled toward a wall, she said, “That’s a big wall. I’m going to hold your hand. I can’t let you go up there by yourself.” No yelling. No shaming. Just connection and clear boundaries.

Before they left, the grandfather circled back to me and said, “Thank you for being kind. Parenting is so different today. I think I got a lot wrong, and I’m not sure how to change.” I told him I understood—and that the fact he wanted to learn already mattered.

That moment captured something important about generational shifts. There’s no condemnation here; people did the best they could with what they knew. Some of us turned out fine, some of us carry scars. But today we know more about brains, stress, and attachment. We know that condemning, shaming, and hitting don’t build the self-control we hope for. When my own family questions our approach, I ask, “If you knew a better way—one that didn’t require yelling or spanking—wouldn’t you want to learn it?” They always say yes. So what is that “different way”?

When we say “discipline,” most of us picture punishment. But the root of the word is “to teach.”

Teaching takes time, repetition, and a steady presence. Think less drill sergeant, less doormat, more coach. A coach sets the vision, offers warmth and structure, and follows through without theatrics. That mix—high warmth, clear limits—builds the inner muscles our kids actually need: self-control, empathy, problem-solving.

Here’s how it sounds in real life. I start with connection because a regulated brain learns and a dysregulated brain defends. Get on their level: “You really wanted to climb. That’s exciting and hard to wait.” Then clarity: “We eat first. Climbing comes after.” It’s amazing how far a concrete, bite-sized instruction will go compared to “Be good.” Finally, consistency: no speeches, no threats about no screens until college. Just the same calm follow-through we always use. If the tablet was misused, it rests until tomorrow. If the wall was the canvas, we grab a sponge together. Over time, that quiet predictability does more teaching than a perfectly worded lecture ever could.

Parents often ask, “So…time-out or time-in?” Use whichever helps your child reset. A time-out framed as “take a minute to get your body calm” can be helpful when it’s brief and predictable. A time-in—where you sit nearby and breathe together—works beautifully for kids who need to borrow your calm. Either way, the goal is the same: build the skill of self-regulation so they can carry it into the next hard moment.

I also love choices within limits.

“You can hop or tiptoe to the bathroom.” “Dessert follows dinner—want your two gummies tonight or save them for tomorrow?” Choices give a sense of control without moving the boundary line. And every so often, I ask for a do-over: “Try that again in a respectful voice.” It’s a tiny reset button that preserves dignity for everyone.

There are a few traps I fall into when I’m tired—the Lecture Loop is my specialty. I can explain for five minutes what my child can absorb in five seconds. When I catch myself monologuing, I switch to short scripts and practice: “Hands aren’t for hitting. Squeeze this pillow.” Threat inflation is another one. “No screens for a month!”—a sentence guaranteed to boomerang. Small, certain consequences beat big, unlikely ones every time. And then there’s Negotiation Nation, where every boundary is up for debate. I try to pair empathy with a firm no: “I hear you want more gummies. The answer is still no. Apple or yogurt?”

Public meltdowns deserve their own paragraph. When we’re in aisle seven and my child goes boneless, embarrassment can make me overreact. These days I whisper and move. “We’re stepping outside to reset.” No audience, no power struggle, just a quick regroup and a fresh start.

Discipline shifts as kids grow, but the heart stays the same. With toddlers, safety and simple routines rule the day. I child-proof, redirect, and give tiny jobs so they can help: “You’re strong—put the spoons in the drawer.” Early elementary kids thrive on visible structure and quick follow-through. I keep a visual schedule, offer limited choices, and circle back after conflict to repair: “I’m sorry I yelled. Next time I’ll use my calm voice, and you’ll keep the markers on paper.” Tweens are ready for ownership. We make plans together: “What’s our homework plan so evenings aren’t chaos?” Privileges are earned and tied to responsibility.

What about big misbehavior? Aggression gets a firm, immediate stop. “I won’t let you hit.” Then I move the other child to safety, help everyone calm down, and require repair—check on the hurt person, grab an ice pack, make a quick “sorry” note. Lying I treat as a skill gap. I praise the truth even when a consequence follows: “Thanks for telling me. Because you were honest, the consequence is shorter.” Sneaking tech or food? I lock the system, not the child. If the tablet didn’t work tonight, it returns tomorrow when we follow the plan.

The secret ingredient in all of this is repair.

After the dust settles, I circle back with a short, simple reset: “I love you. That was a hard moment. Next time I’ll take a breath before I speak, and you’ll put the snacks back the first time I ask.” Repair restores trust, and trust makes the next round of discipline easier.

If you want a quick place to start this week, pick one non-negotiable and enforce it calmly without speeches. Write two go-to lines on a sticky note and use them verbatim when you feel your temperature rising. And catch your child doing something right—anything!—and name it out loud. “You turned off the TV the first time I asked. That’s responsibility.” Kids grow toward the sunlight of what we notice.

That family at the zoo reminded me: discipline isn’t about proving who’s in charge; it’s about showing a child what to do next. It’s not breaking a spirit—it’s building a person.

Lauren Hall is the President and CEO of First Things First. Contact her at [email protected].

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The Comfort of Discomfort for Both Parents and Children

My two-year-old loves chocolate milk, especially in the morning with breakfast. Every day she asks for a big glass to drink with her fruit and toast. Most mornings I mix it up for her, but one morning we were out of chocolate syrup. Tragedy followed. 

The crying and the gnashing of teeth, the wallowing on the floor and refusal to eat breakfast–it was almost enough to make me serve her a handful of chocolate chips to suffice.

But as much as I want to smooth the path, I’ve learned (sometimes the hard way) that a little discomfort is not the enemy, it’s the gym where resilience grows.

Psychologists sometimes call this the “Goldilocks zone” of challenge, not too much, not too little. Research following thousands of people over time found that those who had some adversity, not none, not a ton, ended up with better mental health and well-being. Like muscles, our coping skills strengthen when they lift manageable weight. You see it in schoolwork, too. Learning scientists talk about “desirable difficulties.” When we let kids wrestle with a problem, space out their practice, or mix up what they’re learning, it can feel harder in the moment, yet it actually leads to stronger, longer-lasting learning. Struggle today, stick tomorrow.

Pediatricians say play is the perfect training ground for this. The American Academy of Pediatrics calls developmentally appropriate play a “singular opportunity” for building social-emotional skills, self-regulation, and a healthy stress response, the heart of resilience. Play isn’t a break from learning; it is learning. And yes, a dash of “risky play” (the supervised, common-sense kind—climbing, balancing, moving a bit faster than feels comfy) can boost confidence, risk detection, physical activity, and resilience.

Bubble wrap is for packages, not childhood.

Here’s the tricky part: our help can become a handicap if we give it too fast and too often. When we rescue kids from every uncomfortable moment, tying every shoe, solving every social tangle, emailing every teacher, we may accidentally teach them, “You can’t handle this.” Studies link chronic over-involved parenting with more anxiety and less self-efficacy in kids and young adults. Even our praise can backfire. Consistent research shows that praising kids for being “so smart” can make them avoid challenges and crumble after mistakes. Praising effort, strategies, and progress nudges them to lean into hard things and try again. That’s the heartbeat of a growth mindset.

If you’re thinking, “But watching them struggle hurts,” same. Here’s a reframe that helps me at home and at work: discomfort is data. It tells us where growth is happening and what support, not rescue, our kids need. When my toddler totters up the slide, my job isn’t to shout “No!” from the bench; it’s to spot, set a boundary (“feet first”), and cheer her small wins. When my first grader melts down over a tricky word, my job isn’t to say “I’ll read it for you”; it’s “Let’s slow down, try the first sound, and check the picture.” That style fits with what brain-based parenting experts like Dr. Dan Siegel teach: co-regulate first (our calm becomes their calm), name the feeling, offer a doable next step, and let kids take the lead as they’re able. We’re not tossing them in the deep end; we’re being swim coaches in the shallow end.

Here’s a simple loop we use around our kitchen table.

  • First, name the feeling: “Looks like this is frustrating.” Feelings first; logic later.
  • Second, normalize the struggle: “Hard means your brain is growing.”
  • Third, narrow the next step: “Let’s try just the first piece,” or “Show me two ways you might start.”
  • Fourth, notice the process: “You slowed down and tried a new strategy—nice.”
  • Finally, let it be a little messy. Resist the urge to fix. Sit with them—coaching, not controlling.

None of this means tossing safety out the window. Letting kids be uncomfortable is not letting them be unsafe. Helmets, seatbelts, and clear boundaries aren’t negotiable. The research on “risky play” isn’t a free-for-all; it’s a reminder that age-appropriate challenges build judgment and confidence when adults provide a safe “yes-space” and supervise with wisdom.

Now for the part we don’t say out loud: sometimes our kids’ discomfort dents our image of being a “good parent.” It stirs our anxiety. It slows the morning routine. It’s messy. But growth shows up messy and right on time. When we choose to tolerate our own discomfort by watching them wobble, try, fail, and recover, we model the exact courage we hope to see in them. And we don’t have to make grand speeches. We can practice in low-stakes moments: letting them talk to the cashier, carry the backpack, or work out a playground mix-up. Parenting author Jessica Lahey calls these the “gifts of failure,” small, safe chances to learn how to bounce back while the price tags are low.

So here’s what this looks like in real life.

When my six-year-old asks for help, I’ve started saying, “Show me what you tried first.” Then I add one hint—not the answer. When my toddler wants to climb, we make a quick “yes plan”: shoes on, rules set (“feet first, one at a time”), grown-up nearby. 

If you’re anything like me, you want your kids to be capable, kind, and brave. That future doesn’t come from clearing every hurdle out of their lane. It comes from running beside them, sometimes out of breath but always cheering them on while they learn to clear those hurdles themselves.

A little discomfort, for them and for us, is a sign we’re both getting stronger.

Lauren Hall is the President and CEO of First Things First. Contact her at [email protected].

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How Families Turn Exposure into Opportunity

Here’s what my friend told me over coffee last week. “They have so many opportunities,” he said about the teens he mentors. “If I had half the opportunities around me at your age that you do right now… I would not be sitting where I am.”

I asked him what was holding them back. He answered with one word: “Exposure.” Many of the young people he loves haven’t left the neighborhoods they were born in. They haven’t seen other corners of our own city or met people living very different lives.

When I asked whether the problem was a lack of chances or something missing at home, he gave me one more word: “Family.”

Exposure isn’t just a nice extra. It changes what kids believe is possible. A major research project led by Harvard economist Raj Chetty found that when children grow up with more friendships that cross income lines (what the researchers call “economic connectedness”) they are far more likely to rise out of poverty as adults. In plain terms, when kids see new worlds and know people in those worlds, doors open later on. The team’s summary puts it simply: communities rich in cross-class connections produce more upward mobility, and boosting those relationships helps kids climb.

But exposure alone isn’t enough if a teen feels pulled back by invisible strings at home.

You may have heard the phrase, “Your parents’ ceiling should be your floor.”

I love that vision of every generation building on the last. Yet some teens feel a different message: Don’t outgrow us. Don’t leave us. Don’t make us look like we failed. Researchers even have a name for a piece of this: family achievement guilt. Studies with first-generation students show that when success feels like a threat to family ties, motivation can dip and well-being can suffer. The hopeful news is that when schools and programs speak directly to families, that guilt eases and students do better. 

Another pattern that can quietly hold kids back is “psychological control,” when a parent uses guilt or love-withdrawal to steer a child’s choices. Classic research links this to more depression and behavior problems in teens. By contrast, “authoritative” parenting, consisting of high warmth with clear limits, predicts stronger confidence, responsibility, and school success. Said simply: exposure opens the door; a healthy family climate gives a child the courage to walk through it. 

My own family history holds a story of how this could work.

We’ve owned a farm for more than a century in the most rural part of Hamilton County. In the early 1950s, my grandfather chose to marry my Mamaw (southern for Grandmother) and move about 15–20 minutes down the road—on purpose. He wanted my dad and his two brothers to have more opportunities. He also wanted to start businesses of his own, which he did, more than once. But he never turned his back on the farm or on his parents. We still gather there for our biggest celebrations. The love, encouragement, wisdom, and connection planted on that farm became rich soil for the rest of us. Because my grandfather was grounded in who he was and where he came from, and because his parents cheered him on, he could see opportunity, reach for it, and build a better life for his family. That step didn’t cause a rift. It caused a ripple, still moving through our generations today.

There is a paradox at work in our community; most parents want this for their kids and most are stretched thin, juggling long hours, bills, and child care. The good news is that small choices add up. Motivation research (often called Self-Determination Theory) shows that when parents pair warmth with real autonomy support, listening to a teen’s perspective, offering true choices, and letting them try age-appropriate risks, kids’ motivation and mental health improve. Even brief moments of support can brighten a teen’s day. Pediatric guidance says the same in everyday words: notice effort, set realistic expectations, and give kids chances to master real skills. Confidence grows from doing hard things with someone cheering nearby. 

If you’re a mentor, teacher, or coach, you can help untie those home-tugging strings by inviting families in. When colleges, training programs, and youth groups say to caregivers, “We want you involved, and here’s how,” students feel less torn and more free to take the next step. That small shift in message can make a big difference.

I also want to speak to any parent who feels a twinge of fear when your child dreams big. Maybe their success pokes at old shame or raises the fear of being left behind. Please hear this with grace: your worth is not measured by your child’s résumé. They aren’t leaving you; they are carrying you with them. When you cheer them on, you don’t disappear—you multiply your impact through their life.

At First Things First, we see this change all the time. Families heal old patterns, set new expectations, and try new things together. Teens find mentors, say yes to opportunities, and taste success. The circle turns. If exposure is the spark and family is the wood, then love, limits, and autonomy are the match. Let’s light a few fires this month, for our kids and for the city they will lead.

Lauren Hall is the President and CEO of First Things First. Contact her at [email protected].

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Should Parents Care If Their Kids Like Them or Not?

I received a phone call from a concerned grandfather, parent and community leader recently. He said he and his wife have been volunteering at several elementary schools in the area, and there’s one glaring factor that school faculty are concerned about: Parents seem to be more concerned about whether or not their kids like them than anything else. 

Here’s an uncomfortable truth: I want my kids to like me, and they often do, but that’s not the North Star of my parenting. My job is to love them, keep them safe, teach them how to be decent humans, and give them room to grow. If they like me along the way, wonderful. If they’re temporarily mad because I said “no” to midnight YouTube or ice cream for breakfast? Also okay.

So should parents try to be “liked” by their kids?

The better target is connection and trust, not popularity. Psychologists have studied this for decades, and the style that helps kids thrive is called “authoritative” parenting. It blends warmth and responsiveness with clear limits. In plain English: you listen, you explain, and you still mean what you say. Studies consistently link this approach with better social skills, mental health, and school outcomes compared to harsher or looser styles.

When “please like me” becomes the main goal, it’s easy to drift into the land of “anything for a smile.”

That’s what researchers call permissive parenting—high on warmth, low on boundaries.

It feels peaceful in the moment, but over time it’s tied to more behavior problems and tougher emotions for kids. I’ve seen that in families we serve, and the research backs it up.

There’s a trap on the other side, too. If we fixate on obedience above all else, we can slide into psychological control with guilt trips, shaming, love-withdrawal, or “because I said so and you should feel bad for questioning me.” That style may get quick compliance, but it’s consistently linked to more anxiety, depression, and acting out. Kids need guidance; they don’t need their inner world micromanaged.

What does the middle path look like in a Tuesday-night living room?

It starts with connection.

You get on their level and name what’s happening: “You’re furious about the tablet being turned off. I get it.” Then you hold the limit calmly and explain why: “Sleep fuels your brain for school; the tablet is done for tonight.” That combo, warmth plus structure, is basically the recipe the American Academy of Pediatrics recommends: clear expectations, positive reinforcement, natural or logical consequences, and no corporal punishment.

Some parents worry that if they hold firm, they’ll damage the relationship. The evidence points the other way. High-quality parent–child relationships, marked by warmth, support, and trust, are connected to better well-being even in adulthood, across many countries and cultures. Your child may not like your decision tonight, but the steady, caring relationship you build by being both kind and clear pays dividends years down the road.

Here’s a simple gut-check I use at home: Am I saying “yes” because it’s best for my child, or because I want to dodge a meltdown? Did I connect first, then correct? Would “future me” thank “present me” for this decision? If my answer is mostly about keeping the peace or protecting my image as the “fun parent,” it’s time to reset.

None of this means you can’t be playful, goofy, and close with your kids. Please be all of those things. It does mean we shouldn’t make our children responsible for our feelings.

When we chase their approval, we can start negotiating every boundary or using emotional pressure to pull them back to us. A 2009 Developmental Review study on autonomy-supportive parenting shows that when we respect a child’s need to feel some ownership of their choices—within sensible limits—they develop more internal motivation and healthier coping skills. That’s very different from letting them run the show. It’s also very different from controlling their thoughts and feelings to keep them “close.”

So, should parents strive to be liked? I hope my kids like me. I hope they think I’m fun and fair and safe to talk to. But my real aim is to be trustworthy. Trustworthy parents tell the truth about limits and hold them without drama. They apologize when they blow it (we all do), repair quickly, and keep showing up. Ironically, kids often end up liking and respecting those parents the most.

If you’re a parent who’s been leaning hard into “please like me,” you’re not alone. Start small. Pick one boundary you believe matters. Explain the “why,” hold it kindly, and follow through. Expect pushback. Stay calm. Then do it again tomorrow. You’re not auditioning for their best friend; you’re building a relationship that can carry your child through big feelings, bad days, and growing-up moments.

In the long run, that’s better than being liked, it’s being loved and trusted.

Lauren Hall is the President and CEO of First Things First. Contact her at [email protected].

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Taming and Learning From the Voice in Your Head

Sometimes my inner critic has a megaphone.

Like when I’m late to first grade pickup or send an email with a typo. 

When does your inner critic show up? When you say the wrong thing in a meeting? At breakfast when you’ve burned the toast? Or maybe you’re in a season of high stress and your inner critic is consistently whispering… You could be doing more or better in life… You need to be more focused at work and at home… Why did you do that?

Helpful, right? Not always.

But here’s the twist: that critical voice is usually trying to protect you. And when we learn to listen wisely, it can actually help us grow.

Psychotherapist Richard Schwartz, who created a form of therapy called Internal Family Systems (IFS), says our inner world has “parts,” like members of a little family inside us. The inner critic is one of those parts, usually a protector, trying awkwardly to keep us safe from shame or failure. Instead of fighting it, IFS suggests we get curious about what it’s worried about. That stance can soften the sting and reveal what we truly need. 

Research shows that self-compassion—treating yourself like you’d treat a good friend—links to better mental health and even healthier habits like sleeping, exercising, and managing stress. A large meta-analysis found people higher in self-compassion practice more health-promoting behaviors; the effect held across multiple samples. 

There’s more: compassion-focused training (a cousin to self-compassion practices) reduces self-criticism and symptoms like anxiety and depression in clinical settings. In other words, practicing warmth with yourself can help you build grit. 

And a simple language tweak helps, too. Studies on “distanced self-talk” (using your name or “you” with yourself like: “Okay, Lauren, take a breath”) show it can dial down emotional heat and boost self-control in tough moments.

Here’s a 5-step “kitchen-counter” routine I use to process my inner critic between packing lunches and board meetings:

  1. Spot it. When the voice gets loud (“You blew it!”), pause and name it: That’s my inner critic. Naming creates a little space. (IFS calls this getting curious about the “part” that’s talking.)
  2. Say thanks (yes, really). Try: “Thanks for trying to protect me.” This signals safety and often lowers the volume.
  3. Ask what it’s afraid of. “What are you worried might happen if I relax?” You might hear: “People will think you’re careless.” Now you’ve found the deeper need—perhaps for perceived competence or respect.
  4. Switch to coach mode. Use distanced self-talk: “Okay, Lauren, what’s one next best step?” (Fix the typo, send a brief follow-up.) Small actions restore control.
  5. Add a dose of self-compassion. Try the “3s” check-in:
    • Self-kindness: “It’s human to slip up.”
    • Common humanity: “Everyone sends imperfect emails.”
    • Mindfulness: “This is stressful, and I can breathe through it.”

For parents, modeling how you treat yourself and how you process your inner critic for your children can give them lifelong tools to manage their own self criticism. When my son struggles with his math workbook and mutters, “I’m so dumb,” I try to model a reset: “Talk to yourself like you’d talk to a friend.” Practicing out loud teaches our kids a lifelong skill—turning the critic into a coach. 

If your inner critic is relentless—fueling shame or shutting down your life—extra support can help. Reaching out to a counselor, especially one trained in IFS-informed therapy, can help you ease harsh self-attacks and build a steadier, kinder inner voice.

Asking for help is strength, not failure.

Your inner critic will never fully disappear, but with practice, you’ll hear its warning, meet the real need, and move forward with a clearer head and a kinder heart–which, honestly, is something we could all use.

Lauren Hall is the President and CEO of First Things First. Contact her at [email protected].

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How We Learn to Hate and How We Can Stop

Recent events (both near and far) have led me to question one small little word with a big bite: “hate.”

My son’s school had to go into lockdown mode while we were having an outdoor celebration breakfast for his class. Nothing was going on at the school, but only a couple of blocks down the road gunshots were fired between people who were raging with hate towards each other. Out of an abundance of caution, we made our way into the cafeteria and had a giant dance party instead. 

Of course the kids asked all the questions, “Why did we have to come inside?”, “Are we safe?”, “Will we ever be able to go back outside?”

But they had no idea what happened only a few streets away, and they definitely didn’t feel the hate that started the whole issue.

Where does hate begin? How do regular disagreements turn into something darker? What helps us step back from that edge?

Psychologists say hate isn’t just “really strong dislike.” It’s a hot mix of anger, contempt, and disgust that can push us toward action. One brain-imaging study in 2008 even found a distinct pattern when people looked at someone they hated. Parts of their brain tied to strong emotion and action planning lit up, as if the mind were putting the body on standby.

But the slide into hate usually starts earlier. We sort the world into “us” and “them.” Then we tell simple stories about “them.” Psychologist Nick Haslam’s review of decades of studies shows how this can turn into dehumanization, which means to treat other people as less than fully human. This makes it easier to justify harsh words or worse. We don’t notice it at first; it feels normal, and that’s the trap. 

Politics turns that trap into a bear pit. A team led by Northwestern’s Eli Finkel, director of the university’s Relationship and Motivation lab, calls today’s political dynamic “political sectarianism,” othering, aversion, and moral contempt mixing into a poisonous cocktail. Their work notes that in the U.S., many of us feel more heat toward the other party than warmth for our own. That’s not just disagreement; that’s relationship acid.

Here’s a twist that sounds like every family argument ever: research from Adam Waytz and colleagues finds both sides think we act from love, while they act from hate. It’s called “motive attribution asymmetry,” and it locks conflict in place because compromise starts to feel like giving in to bad people with bad motives. 

So what actually helps? First, real contact. The human kind, not the comment-section kind. Back in 2006, a massive meta-analysis of 515 studies found that contact between groups reliably reduces prejudice, especially when people work together as equals and leaders support the effort. Translation: volunteering side-by-side beats arguing on Facebook.

Second, a bigger “we.” Social psychologists Samuel Gaertner and John Dovidio show that when we recategorize from “us vs. them” to “all of us,” bias drops. In normal life that sounds like, “We’re neighbors raising kids in the same city,” before we ever talk about policy. It’s simple and surprisingly powerful.

Third, shared goals. The classic 1954 “Robbers Cave” summer-camp study split boys into rival teams and—surprise—hostility erupted. What cooled it wasn’t a lecture; it was fixing problems together (like hauling a stuck truck) that neither team could solve alone. Families can borrow this: when a fight stalls, pick a goal bigger than the argument and push the truck together.

Fourth, better conversations. “Deep canvassing” is the term to describe 10-minute, nonjudgmental, story-sharing chats. In 2016, researchers David Broockman and Joshua Kalla found these conversations produced durable attitude change on a hot-button issue. The magic wasn’t debating harder; it was listening, reflecting, and trading personal stories.

And because our media diet shapes our mood, here’s a timely note: a 2024 University of Michigan analysis warned that rage-bait politics on social media can crank up our cynicism and hostility. If your feed makes you feel permanently itchy, that’s not a character flaw, it’s a design feature. Curate accordingly.

What does all this mean for daily life? In my house, we try to “disagree like teammates.”

We name the shared goal first (“We both want kind, sturdy kids”), we assume decent motives (“You’re aiming for safety; I’m aiming for independence”), and we take a break when we start narrating the other person as the villain. It’s not perfect. But the research backs up these small habits: contact, common identity, shared goals, and decent motives interrupt the slide from conflict to contempt and from contempt to hate.

So here’s a simple play for this week. Invite one person you disagree with for coffee. Ask three sincere questions before you share your view. Tell a short story about why you care. Then look for one thing you can do together like coach a team, pick up trash on your block, help a neighbor.

It won’t fix the internet, but it can change a relationship. And relationships are where the heat cools and the future is built.

Lauren Hall is the President and CEO of First Things First. Contact her at [email protected].

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