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The Mental Load Behind the Mess

Clutter looks harmless until you live with it.

It’s the shoes by the door that turn into a pile, the mail that never quite lands in a folder, the laundry that migrates from basket to chair to “I’ll deal with it later.” For some people, that’s background noise. For others, it’s like trying to relax while an alarm quietly beeps in the next room.

A 2025 study in the Journal of Environmental Psychology by researcher Francis Quinn helps explain why clutter can feel so heavy. In a survey of 501 adults, people who reported more clutter also reported worse mental well-being, lower life satisfaction, and more negative emotions.

The study found an important “middle step,” too: clutter tended to make people see their homes as less beautiful, and that loss of “home beauty” partly explained why well-being dropped. In other words, clutter didn’t just take up space, it changed how home felt, and that mattered.

Now, if you’ve ever thought, “Okay, but why does this stress me out more than it stresses my spouse?” you’re not imagining things. One of the most talked-about studies on this comes from psychologists Darby Saxbe and Rena Repetti. In their 2010 research, they asked dual-income couples with children to give video tours of their homes while describing what they saw, then the researchers tracked mood and measured cortisol, a stress hormone, over several days. The pattern was clear: wives who described their homes with more “stressful” language, words like cluttered, messy, or unfinished, showed less healthy daily cortisol patterns and worse mood. For husbands, the link between home conditions and stress was much weaker.

That doesn’t mean men don’t care about home, and it doesn’t mean women are simply “pickier.” It points to something deeper: clutter is rarely just clutter. It often stands for unfinished tasks, and unfinished tasks usually have an owner in the family system, even if nobody ever said it out loud.

This is where the idea of the female mental load connects to the mess on the counter.

Sociologist Allison Daminger, in her 2019 paper in American Sociological Review, described “cognitive labor” as the work of noticing what needs to be done, planning it, deciding how it will happen, and then monitoring whether it actually gets done. That’s the invisible job behind the visible chores, and it’s one reason clutter can feel like more than “stuff.” It can feel like proof that the whole mental checklist is still running.

More recent research has put numbers to the emotional cost. A 2024 study in Archives of Women’s Mental Health examined cognitive household labor and found it was linked to women’s depression, stress, burnout, overall mental health, and relationship functioning. The point isn’t that women are destined to carry this burden, it’s that many do, and clutter can become a daily trigger because it’s a constant visual reminder of all the managing that remains undone.

So what do couples and parents do with this information without turning it into a blame game?

Start by translating the fight. Many “clutter arguments” are really arguments about support, responsibility, and rest. A helpful sentence sounds like, “When the house is cluttered, my brain won’t shut off. It feels like a list I’m still responsible for.” That’s different from, “You’re a slob,” and it gives your partner something real to respond to.

Next, move from “help” to “ownership.” Helping is doing something when asked. Ownership is noticing, planning, and finishing without being managed. If the mental load is part of what makes clutter

 so stressful for women, then the solution can’t be one partner acting as the home manager who hands out assignments. A fairer approach is agreeing on a few areas that each person fully owns, like school papers, laundry start-to-finish, lunches, bedtime reset, or the kitchen close-down, and letting the owner decide how to handle it.

Then, lower the temperature by defining what “good enough” means in this season. Not your ideal house, not your childhood house, not the one on social media, just a shared minimum standard that protects peace. When couples don’t define the standard together, the more stressed partner often becomes the default enforcer, and that role is exhausting.

Finally, make it routine, not personal. A short daily reset, ten minutes after dinner, everyone involved, can do more for harmony than one big cleaning sprint on Saturday that ends in resentment. The goal is not a magazine-ready home. The goal is a home that feels livable to both of you, and restful to the person whose body treats clutter like a stress signal.

If the research teaches us anything, it’s that home isn’t just where we keep our stuff. Home is where our nervous systems try to recover.

When couples take clutter seriously as a mental load issue, not a character flaw, they stop arguing about piles and start building partnership, and that is the kind of clean-up that actually lasts.

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

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Why Mattering Matters, Especially for Children

Most of us learned “basic needs” as a short list: food, water, shelter, safety. Useful, yes. Complete? Not really.

Harvard’s Center on the Developing Child is asking us to widen the list with something that sounds soft but works like a load-bearing wall: mattering. In their working paper Mattering in Early Childhood, they define mattering as the feeling that we are valued and that we have value to add. Put simply: “I’m important to you, and what I do makes a difference here.”

What caught my attention is how direct they are: mattering isn’t a “nice extra.” It’s an essential human need. That doesn’t replace food or housing; it explains why some kids can have the basics and still feel shaky inside. A child can have a full fridge and still quietly wonder, Would anyone notice if I wasn’t here?

Harvard also clarifies a common mix-up. Belonging is about fitting in. Mattering is about significance. You can belong to a family, classroom, or team and still not feel valued. And you can feel loved but never trusted to contribute, which also chips away at mattering. Their paper keeps returning to the two parts: feeling valued and adding value.

This connects to the Center’s long-standing “serve and return” concept: the back-and-forth exchanges between a child and a caring adult. When a baby coos and you respond, when a toddler points and you name what they see, when a child is upset and you help them settle, those moments shape brain architecture and build early language and social skills.

Mattering grows in those ordinary, repeated returns: I see you. I’m with you.

It also helps explain why chronic stress hits kids so hard. Harvard defines toxic stress as prolonged activation of stress response systems, especially when a child lacks supportive relationships to buffer that stress. Support doesn’t erase hardship, but it helps a child’s body return to calm, again and again, which supports resilience.

That’s why “mattering” is so important for kids in vulnerable neighborhoods, or in families with chaos, conflict, untreated mental illness, or substance use. In those settings, mattering can be the first thing to slip, even when adults love their children. When life is unpredictable, kids often stop asking, “Do you love me?” and start asking, “Do I count? Will anyone show up consistently?” The Center’s resilience paper notes that children who do well despite serious hardship often have had at least one stable, committed relationship with a supportive adult. 

So what do we do on a normal Tuesday? Start small on the “valued” side. Make eye contact. Put the phone down for one minute. Notice what they’re trying to tell you beneath the behavior. Comfort first, correct second. That’s serve and return in real life. 

Then build the “value to add” side. It’s faster to do everything yourself, but kids need real chances to contribute. Harvard notes that welcoming a child’s contributions helps build mattering. Let them set out napkins, feed the pet, carry in groceries, sweep after dinner, read to a sibling, and say the quiet part out loud: “That helped our family. You made a difference.”

If you’re tired reading this, you’re not disqualified. Mattering doesn’t require perfect parenting. It requires consistent signals, some warmth, some attention, and some real opportunities to help, until kids believe something sturdy: My presence counts, and I can do good here.

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

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What High Vs. Low Effort Looks Like in Families

“Low effort family” is a new term trending across social media. With therapists, researchers and relationship enthusiasts weighing in and providing different definitions of what a “low effort family” looks like, I had to do my own research.

Some families run on “auto-pilot.” Plans are last minute. Rules change depending on who’s tired. Conversations are mostly logistics (“Where’s your backpack?”). Conflict either blows up or gets buried.

Other families aren’t perfect, but they’re more intentional. They follow through. They build a few steady routines. They repair after hard moments.

That’s what I mean by “low effort” vs. “high effort” families.

These aren’t official research labels. But they describe real, research-backed family processes that shape how kids and adults do over time.

A “low effort” family often isn’t lazy. It’s usually low bandwidth. Stress, long work hours, money pressure, anxiety or depression, and lack of support can drain a family’s capacity. When you’re running on fumes, you react instead of plan. Limits get inconsistent. Connection gets replaced by correction. And the hard conversations keep getting pushed down the road.

A “high effort” family isn’t a “perfect family.” It’s a family that puts energy into a few basics: predictable routines, warmth plus limits, direct communication, and real repair. Family therapist and researcher Froma Walsh, PhD, describes family resilience as learnable processes—how families organize, communicate, and make meaning under stress. In other words, “high effort” is a set of skills you can build, not a personality you either have or don’t.

Why does any of this matter? Because small, repeated patterns add up. For example, routines aren’t just nice, they’re protective. A large systematic review of family routines (spanning decades of studies) found that routines are linked with positive child outcomes and can be especially helpful in high-risk settings. When a home is predictable in a few key ways, like sleep, meals, school rhythm, kids tend to feel safer and more steady.

Follow-through matters too, especially as kids get older.

A 2025 meta-analysis that pulled together 571 studies with more than two million participants found parental monitoring and behavioral control are associated with lower substance use in adolescents and emerging adults. That’s a research way of saying: when parents pay attention, set limits, and stay engaged, risk goes down.

And the emotional climate matters. A systematic review and meta-analysis found parenting behaviors are meaningfully related to internalizing problems in kids and teens, things like anxiety and depression. Kids don’t need parents who never mess up. They need parents who are present, responsive, and willing to repair.

If you’re wondering where your family falls right now, don’t overthink it. Just look at the past two weeks. Have you had two or three predictable routines most days? Have you followed through on limits more often than not? Have you had any daily connection with your kids that wasn’t correction or logistics, even ten minutes? And when there’s conflict, does it get repaired within a day or so? If you’re answering “not really,” that’s a sign you might be in a low-effort season.

Here’s the good news: moving toward “high effort” doesn’t mean doing everything. It means doing one thing consistently. Pick one routine that causes the most chaos, such as bedtime, mornings, dinner, homework, and simplify it until it’s repeatable.

The goal is not a Pinterest routine. It’s predictability.

Or choose one repair habit and practice it like a script: “I didn’t handle that well. I’m sorry. I hear you. Let’s try again.” That one sentence can change the emotional temperature of a whole house.

And if your home feels stuck with constant conflict, ongoing shutdowns, or mental health concerns, getting support is not a sign you failed. It’s a high-effort move. A licensed marriage and family therapist (LMFT), psychologist (PhD/PsyD), or psychiatrist (MD) can help you build skills and lower stress.

Naming the difference between low effort and high effort matters because it turns “We’re struggling” into something you can actually work with: specific, changeable habits. And families don’t transform in one big dramatic moment.

They change through small choices, repeated often, that make home feel steadier and more connected.

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

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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 lauren@firstthings.org.

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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 lauren@firstthings.org.

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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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