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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 lauren@firstthings.org.

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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 lauren@firstthings.org.

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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 lauren@firstthings.org.

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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 lauren@firstthings.org.

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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 lauren@firstthings.org.

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Understanding the Stories We Tell Ourselves About Our Childhood

There’s a story I tell myself about my childhood.

It goes something like this: I was a pretty easy kid. My parents loved each other. My siblings and I had some spats here and there, but nothing too out of the ordinary. We laughed a lot. There were Saturday morning cartoons, tons of playing together outside, the occasional grounding, and a general sense that life was simple and safe.

But lately, as I watch my two-year-old daughter throw bananas on our glass door for sport, and my six-year-old son asks questions that would make a philosopher sweat, I’ve started to wonder if the story I tell myself is… entirely true.

Several of my close friends and colleagues have been processing the same questions. Things like: Did coming home to an empty house everyday really not bother me? Should I have been left alone at seven-years-old with my teenage siblings and their friends? Did my mom and dad enjoy being together or did they tolerate their marriage?

Because sometimes, what we remember and what actually happened aren’t the same thing.

Memory isn’t a recording device. It’s more like a scrapbook we keep rearranging.

According to Dr. Elizabeth Loftus, a leading expert on memory and false memories, our brains are constantly rewriting the past based on new experiences, emotions, and even the way we talk about what happened. “Memory is malleable,” she says. “We can be led to remember our past in different ways.”

That means the bedtime stories we heard, the way our family framed events, and even the old photos we looked at can all shape or reshape how we remember.

And if we’ve spent decades telling a particular version of our childhood? That version starts to feel like gospel.

What happens when our story starts to crack? Sometimes, it’s subtle. You hear a sibling talk about “how chaotic things were” growing up—and you think, Wait… what? Or maybe a therapist asks a question that makes a memory pop up sideways. Or maybe, like me, you become a parent and start seeing your own upbringing through a totally different lens.

And when that happens, it can feel disorienting.

Realizing your childhood wasn’t what you thought, whether it wasn’t as happy, or it was better than you gave it credit for, can trigger a whole range of emotions: grief, anger, guilt, even relief.

But here’s the good news: This is part of growing up. Even at 35.

Dr. Dan Siegel, a clinical professor of psychiatry at UCLA, talks about the power of developing what he calls a “coherent narrative” about our lives. He found that people who can make sense of their past (especially the hard parts) are more likely to have secure, healthy relationships with their children, even if their own childhoods were rough.

In short, it’s not about having a perfect past. It’s about making peace with it.

When do memory shake-ups start to happen? Usually during what researchers call “identity-shifting moments.” Big life changes. Getting married. Becoming a parent. Losing a loved one. Moving back to your hometown. Turning 30. Turning 50. Sitting in the car after a long day and realizing… huh, maybe I wasn’t the “easy kid” after all.

One fascinating study published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology found that our memories tend to be filtered through who we are now, not who we were then. As our identities shift, so does our version of the story.

Which explains why, when my toddler throws a tantrum that rattles the windows, I suddenly remember my mom closing her bedroom door a lot. I used to think she just really liked her alone time. But maybe—just maybe—she was overwhelmed and didn’t know how to handle my own emotional outbursts.

Here’s the truth: Our memories might not be perfect, but they’re still powerful.

Looking back with clearer eyes doesn’t mean we have to villainize anyone. In fact, it might help us extend grace to ourselves, to our parents, and to the whole messy cast of characters who shaped our early years.

It also helps us do better. Be more intentional. Choose the kind of stories we want our kids to tell themselves when they’re grown.

So if you’re ever surprised by a memory you forgot, or one you’re starting to see differently, you’re not broken. You’re evolving. And that’s a beautiful, brave thing.

Don’t be afraid to tell a new story. One that holds both the good and the hard. One that lets your past be honest and your present be hopeful.

And if your toddler ever chucks a banana at your face, just know: You have the opportunity to give them something sweet to remember (even if it’s a little mushy).

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

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New Study Shows Online Dating Can Lead to Lower Relationship Satisfaction

According to a global team of researchers, people who meet their romantic partners online tend to be a little less satisfied in their relationships than people who meet the old-fashioned way, through friends, work, or a random meet-cute at the grocery store. Now before anyone throws their dating app out the window, let me say this: meeting online isn’t the problem.

In fact, it’s how millions of people meet these days, especially busy single parents, college students, young professionals, and even those looking for love later in life. But the study, which surveyed over 6,600 people from 50 different countries, found that on average, couples who met online reported lower levels of intimacy, passion, commitment, and overall relationship satisfaction than couples who met offline. 

So what’s going on? Well, one reason might be that online dating throws open the floodgates of possibility. You suddenly have access to more potential partners than ever before, which sounds great, right?

But psychologists have long pointed out that too much choice can lead to decision fatigue. It’s the jam aisle dilemma: faced with 24 flavors, we freeze up, question our choice, or assume there’s always something better.

Another factor is what researchers call “homogamy.” It means people tend to have stronger, more satisfying relationships when they share common ground, such as similar values, cultural backgrounds, education levels, and life goals. Offline couples, it turns out, are more likely to have that natural overlap because they tend to meet in shared spaces, like church, school, mutual friends, the lunch line at work.

There’s also the challenge of community support. When you meet someone through friends or your social circle, you automatically get a little network of encouragement. Your people know their people. There’s history. And maybe some gentle accountability. But when you meet online, you don’t get that built-in backup system, at least not right away.

None of this means online dating is doomed. Plenty of strong, loving, deeply connected couples met on Bumble or Hinge or (gasp!) even Craigslist back in the day.

The research just reminds us that if we’re going to find love in the digital age, we need to be intentional.

We have to move beyond swiping, past the highlight-reel conversations, and toward the real stuff: communication, vulnerability, shared purpose, and mutual respect.

As someone who leads a nonprofit focused on strengthening families, I think a lot about how relationships begin and how they grow. The spark is fun, sure. But it’s the slow burn of trust, laughter, shared grocery lists, and “I’ll get up with the baby this time” moments that keep couples going strong.

So if you met your partner online, wonderful. Keep watering that relationship. Build your community. Don’t be afraid to ask the hard questions. And if you’re still swiping, maybe balance that screen time with real-world connection. Let your friends set you up. Go to that birthday party. Say hello at the library. Sometimes love shows up when your phone is in your pocket.

We live in a world where everything moves fast. But building love? It still thrives the most when we slow down.

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

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