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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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The Low Down on Mental Health, Stress and Family Genetics

My brother and I had a lengthy conversation this week about mental health. We both work in what I’ll call “high-impact” jobs, though they seem worlds apart.

Some days, coping and processing the stress can feel like mental gymnastics, flipping and stretching the capacities of our mental health. 

According to a 2016 meta-analysis on mental health and families, the way we feel and deal with stress is part genetically inclined and part learned behavior. Does this mean we’re doomed from the start? 

Not at all, but the more you recognize your actions and identify thoughts and behaviors you’d like to shift, the more likely you can transform the cycle for yourself and others.

First, the genetics.

Think of genes like a blueprint, not a verdict. As I mentioned before, research on twins shows that depression and many anxiety disorders are partly inherited; roughly a third to a half of the risk comes from our DNA. That sounds scary until you remember the other half is about life, habits, and help. Genes can load the dice, but they don’t decide the roll.

Now, the relationships.

Kids learn how to “do” emotions and deal with stressful situations by watching us. When we name feelings, stay steady, and coach them through tough moments, kids tend to have fewer symptoms of anxiety and depression. When we’re harsh, dismissive, or always rush in to rescue, it can keep worries alive. One recent study even showed that a parent-only program where moms and dads learned how to respond more supportively and stepped back from “over-accommodating” reduced children’s anxiety as much as traditional child therapy. Parents matter (which is equal parts empowering and humbling, I know).

Stress can echo across generations, too.

Adverse Childhood Experiences, things like abuse, neglect, or living with a parent who’s seriously struggling, raise the risk for anxiety and depression later on. That doesn’t mean a child is doomed. It does mean safe, stable, nurturing relationships are medicine. The more we can make home predictable, warm, and firm-but-kind, the more we turn down the volume on risk.

And yes, the body keeps the score.

Here’s a simple illustration of how our genetics affect our mental health: life can act like a dimmer switch on our genes. Chronic stress can nudge some genes “brighter” or “dimmer” without changing the DNA code itself. That sounds heavy, but there’s hope in it—healthy routines, supportive relationships, and good skills to cope can move those dimmers back to bright.

So what do we do with all this?

If you’re struggling, start with you.

When a parent gets effective care, kids benefit. Cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT) has a strong track record for both depression and anxiety. If in-person sessions are hard to manage, ask your doctor about guided online CBT options. It’s not about being perfect; it’s about getting access to tools and using them.

Make feelings part of normal life at home.

Use simple, honest language: “My chest feels tight. I’m going to take three slow breaths—want to try with me?” Regular check-ins on a daily basis are helpful. Ask for one high, one low, and one gratitude at dinner and turn the conversation into a tiny support group. Programs that help parents talk openly about a parent’s depression or anxiety have been shown to improve how families function and how kids feel. Silence is scarier than the truth.

Help anxious kids by changing how you respond.

It’s natural to “save” a worried child from hard things: you email the teacher, cancel the sleepover, skip the tryouts. Sometimes that helps short-term, but it can feed anxiety long-term. A supportive stance sounds like, “I see you’re scared, and I know you can do hard things. I’m here to help you practice.” Step by step (and yes, sometimes with tears), kids build courage.

Protect the basics: sleep and movement.

Tired brains are cranky brains. Consistent bedtimes, phones out of bedrooms, and a calm wind-down routine help everyone. And regular movement like walking, biking, and dance parties in the kitchen, has real, measurable benefits for mood. You don’t need a gym membership to help your nervous system breathe.

Parent with warmth and structure.

The parenting style that research suggests works best is called authoritative: clear rules, consistent follow-through, and plenty of warmth. Think steady schedules, predictable consequences, and lots of affection. You can be kind and firm at the same time. (Honestly, that’s the secret sauce.)

If your family is in a hard spot today, please know help is available. For everyday support, reach out to your primary care clinician, your child’s pediatrician, or a trusted counselor. First Things First would love to help you through coaching and family support. You are not alone in this.

Here’s the heart of it: mental health issues such as anxiety and depression can echo through families, but echoes fade when we change the dynamics of the room. Awareness first. Skills help. Routines soothe. Relationships heal. Start small. Keep it kind. And celebrate every tiny win. Those are the bricks that create a stronger foundation in you and build a healthier next generation.

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

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The Quiet Sting of Feeling Left Out (& How to Deal With It)

A few days ago, my six-year-old came home from a playdate with shoulders sagging and tears in his eyes. “Nobody wanted to play with me today,” he said. In that moment, I was catapulted back to my own grown-up version of the same sting, learning about a meeting I wasn’t invited to.

Brains of every age register that exclusion as actual pain; functional MRI studies show the anterior cingulate cortex lighting up during social rejection just as it does when we stub a toe.

We like to think adulthood vaccinates us against playground politics, yet a meta analysis of 120 Cyberball experiments (a virtual ball tossing game researchers use to simulate ostracism) finds that even brief exclusion tanks self-esteem and mood in participants well past puberty.

The long-running Harvard Study of Adult Development echoes the cost: people who nurture warm relationships live longer, are happier, and stay mentally sharper—decades of data distilled to one sentence, “Good relationships keep us healthier and happier, period.” 

So what helps? First, call the feeling by its name. Neuroscientists argue that labeling an emotion recruits the thinking parts of the brain and lowers its intensity; it’s like dimming a harsh light.

Next, treat yourself with the same gentleness you’d offer a friend; a 2025 systematic review shows self-compassion cushions the blow of social media comparisons and other modern snubs.

Then take a small risk: send the “Miss you! Coffee soon?” text. People with about five dependable friends report the highest well-being, while those averaging barely three lag behind, according to a recent Australian survey on friendship and mental health. Building (or rebuilding) those five can start with one invite.

When our kids feel iced out, the script shifts from fixing to listening. Researchers tracking online peer rejection found that children bounced back fastest when they felt supported by parents or teachers. So I sit on the kitchen floor, eye level with my son, and say, “That sounds rough. Tell me everything.” Only after he exhales do we practice what he might say tomorrow: “Can I have a turn after Jason?” or, if need be, “That hurts. Please stop.” 

Remember, modeling is powerful; when children see or hear their parents experience rejection or feeling left out, and they see a healthy, action-oriented response, they learn that resilience is an action verb.

It can be tempting to try and hide our own “negative” or “hurtful” feelings from our children. But being open with them about what’s going on in our world and how we’re dealing with certain issues can build our connection with them and boost their confidence. Of course, it’s important these conversations remain age-appropriate.

Sometimes exclusion crosses the line into bullying. If your child’s stomachaches multiply or their spark dims, loop in the teacher early and document patterns. Often, though, the remedy is simpler: genuine connection. Last night, while my toddler built block towers, my son and I drew a “friend web” on scrap paper: classmates, cousins, and neighbors. These circles and lines reminded him (and me) how many doors can swing open when one seems shut.

Feeling left out is universal, but it doesn’t have to be terminal. Name it, tend to it with kindness, and reach out, whether you’re six or thirty-five.

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

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The Surprising Subject That’s Missing from Our Kids’ Lives

The other night, my six-year-old son asked, “Can something be true for one person but not for another?” And just like that, between spaghetti and bedtime, we stumbled into philosophy.

I know—it sounds like something best left to college kids with thick glasses and lots of coffee. But recent research says otherwise. In fact, teaching philosophy to kids might be one of the best ways to help them think more clearly, speak more confidently, and understand the world around them. Even better? It doesn’t require fancy lessons or textbooks. Just a little curiosity and a lot of listening.

Philosophy is all about asking big questions and thinking deeply about them. Questions like: What’s right and wrong?, What makes something real?, Why do we do what we do?

It’s not about having the right answers. It’s about learning to ask smart questions, listen to others, and explain your thinking.

And yes, even young kids can do this. They already do—every time they ask “Why?” five times in a row.

According to a recent article from OK Diario, philosophy is one of the best subjects for sharpening kids’ minds. In places where it’s taught, students do better in reading, writing, and math. But here in the U.S., it’s hardly ever part of the school day.

Why? A few reasons. Schools focus so much on testing that there’s little time for open-ended thinking. And some adults assume kids aren’t ready for deep ideas—but the research suggests that’s just not true. Research shows children who study philosophy become better thinkers, kinder classmates, and more confident speakers.

So if it’s so helpful, how can we bring it back?

You don’t need a degree in ancient thinkers to get started. Philosophy can happen anywhere—on the way to school, at dinner, or during storytime. The key is to welcome questions and let your child do the thinking.

When your child asks a big question—like “What happens when we die?” or “Why do some people lie?”—try this:

  • Ask what they think. Instead of giving an answer, say, “That’s a great question. What do you think?”
  • Listen. Let them talk without jumping in right away. Sometimes just saying things out loud helps kids understand their own thoughts.
  • Wonder with them. You can say, “Hmm, I’m not sure either. Let’s think about it together.”

Even toddlers can join in. My daughter, who’s almost two, recently said, “Moon sad.” I didn’t correct her—I asked, “Why do you think the moon is sad?” Her answer? “It’s alone.” Philosophical gold. 

In a world full of quick opinions and loud arguments, kids who can think deeply and speak kindly have a big advantage. Philosophy helps them pause, reflect, and connect with others. It doesn’t just build brains—it builds better people.

So next time your child asks a big question—or even a weird one—lean in. You might just find yourself in the middle of a thoughtful, funny, meaningful conversation. And that’s something no app or worksheet can teach.

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

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The Poverty We Don’t Talk About Enough

I’ve worked in the non-profit space long enough to know poverty wears more faces than just financial strain. And while my current reality is keeping my toddler from climbing everything in sight and trying to stop my six-year-old from sneakily waking up in the middle of the night to play legos for hours, I can’t help but reflect on another kind of scary reality—one we don’t often see but we feel: social poverty.

Social poverty isn’t about empty wallets. It’s about empty calendars, empty tables, and empty inboxes.

It’s the absence of dependable relationships and meaningful community—what some researchers from Northwestern University call a “lack of perceived or actual support from social networks.” It cuts across economic lines, affecting everyone from CEOs in high-rise condos to single parents in subsidized housing. But it hits harder and sticks longer in low-income communities, often compounding the already heavy weight of generational poverty.

Simply put, social poverty is a lack of social capital. That’s a wonky term, but think of it as your “people portfolio”—the relationships that give you help, guidance, accountability, encouragement, even opportunity. When that portfolio is empty, you’re socially poor. And the consequences? They’re not just sad; they’re significant.

Social poverty can impact everything from mental health to job prospects, parenting to physical well-being.

According to a 2023 study in Social Science & Medicine, those with weak social networks and disconnected family structures are at increased risk of depression, substance abuse, and chronic illness—regardless of income.

Yet for families living in low-income neighborhoods, where institutions are often strained and trust is fragile, this scarcity of connection becomes generational. Kids raised without a strong web of relationships and supportive families are more likely to grow up without the very safety nets that help them thrive.

Now let’s talk family. Because the breakdown of the family unit plays a huge role here.

Strong families are the original social safety net.

They’re the first responders in crisis, the late-night babysitters, the ride to the doctor, the wisdom at the dinner table– the built-in support system. But as marriage rates fall and single-parent households rise—particularly in economically vulnerable communities—many families find themselves going it alone.

Melissa Kearney, a University of Maryland economist and author of The Two-Parent Privilege, makes this point clearly: “We have a growing class divide in family structure, and that divide exacerbates inequality.” Two-parent families, she notes, are more likely to provide the kind of consistent emotional and logistical support that buffers kids against adversity. Without that, children are more vulnerable to instability, and parents are more likely to feel isolated.

And when isolation becomes the norm, social poverty isn’t far behind.

Let’s be clear: solving financial poverty matters. But if we address only the bank account and ignore the relational account, we’re missing half the story.

While I mentioned before that relational poverty exists across the socioeconomic divide, Dr. Robert Putnam, author of Our Kids: The American Dream in Crisis, highlights how affluent families not only have more money, but also have more access to “mentors, tutors, more stable family structures, social networks, and community stability.” This web of relationships supports upward mobility. Meanwhile, lower-income families often lack access to the very connections that could help them climb out of poverty.

As a mom of two, I think about this all the time. Not just What do my kids need? but Who do my kids need? Who’s going to show up when life gets hard? Who’s in our corner?

If we want to support families and children in poverty effectively, we need to build community and relationships as fiercely as we build resumes.

That means:

  • Rebuilding the family: Supporting healthy marriages and involved parenting is not just good policy—it’s good economics and social strategy. Programs that teach relationship skills, co-parenting strategies, and conflict resolution actually increase family stability, according to research published in the Journal of Family Psychology.
  • Investing in community: Whether through churches, schools, neighborhood groups, or nonprofits, communities thrive when people know and are known. Communities thrive when residents are empowered to make a difference from within.
  • Reducing stigma: Admitting loneliness or a lack of support should be met with compassion, not shame. Let’s normalize reaching out, showing up, and making room at our metaphorical tables.

Financial poverty may be easier to measure, but social poverty is just as real—and arguably more insidious. As a society, we can’t afford to keep treating relationships like luxuries when they’re basic necessities.

So when it comes to considering how to support families in poverty, let’s do more than ask, “How much do they make?” or “What type of education do they have?” but “Who do they have?” Because sometimes, the kindest thing we can offer isn’t a handout—it’s a hand to hold.

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

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