Tag Archive for: Communication

How to Be Mad and Still Be Kind

Anger gets a bad rap. But anger isn’t the villain in your relationship.

It’s more like your body’s push notification: “Something feels unfair, unsafe, or important—please look here.” The trouble is that when anger is loud, we tend to do one of two things: explode (control) or shut down (connection at any cost). Neither one helps you feel heard.

So the goal isn’t “never get angry.” The goal is to handle anger in a way that protects the relationship and protects your dignity. That starts with a humbling truth: you can’t control another adult. You can only control what you bring to the moment through your tone, your timing, your words, and your next move.

Here’s what research suggests actually helps.

First, remember: when you’re angry, your body is part of the conversation (whether you want it to be or not). In research on couples, John Gottman and Robert Levenson found that physiology and patterns of negative emotional exchange during conflict were tied to relationship satisfaction in later outcomes (see their work in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology). In normal-person language: when your nervous system is in overdrive, your brain is not great at listening, problem-solving, or being generous.

That’s why the first step to “getting your point across” is surprisingly simple:

Regulate first. Speak second.

A large meta-analysis in Clinical Psychology Review analyzed 154 studies on anger management and found that strategies that decrease arousal, like relaxation, breathing, and mindfulness, reduce anger and aggression. Meanwhile, arousal-increasing strategies, like “venting,” punching things, or working yourself up, were not effective overall.

If your current plan is “I just need to blow off steam,” the research kindly suggests: maybe not like that.

Brad Bushman’s well-known study in Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin found that “venting” while thinking about the person who angered you (basically, replaying the offense) made people more angry and more aggressive.

Instead, try this two-step move: Pause + Cool.

Pause (out loud). Say: “I’m getting heated, and I don’t want to say this in a way I regret. I want to talk about it. Can we take 20 minutes and come back?” The “come back” part matters. It protects connection.

Cool (on purpose). Do something that lowers your intensity. Breathing is not “woo.” It’s wiring. A meta-analysis of randomized controlled trials in Scientific Reports found breathwork interventions lowered self-reported stress compared to controls. Lower stress doesn’t magically solve the issue, but it helps you show up with steadier hands on the wheel.

While you cool down, here’s the key: don’t rehearse your argument like you’re prepping for court. Rumination keeps anger hot.

Next: get your brain back online without stuffing your feelings.

A lot of us were taught that “being calm” means acting like we’re not upset. But hiding emotion has a cost. James Gross and Oliver John found that people who use cognitive reappraisal (changing how you interpret a situation) tend to have better well-being and relationship functioning than those who rely more on expressive suppression (pushing emotion down and masking it).

And in a peer-reviewed study in the journal Emotion, Emily Butler and colleagues found that when someone suppresses emotion during a conversation, it can disrupt connection and increase stress in the interaction. Suppression may look polite on the outside, but it can make understanding harder on the inside.

So what do you do instead? Try distance without disowning.

Ethan Kross and Özlem Ayduk have shown that taking a more “self-distanced” perspective while reflecting on upsetting events can reduce distress and help people make meaning rather than getting stuck. In real life, that can sound like:

What am I needing right now? Respect, help, reassurance, fairness? What story am I telling myself about what this means? If I were advising a friend, what would I tell them to do next?

Now you’re ready for the part that matters: saying your piece clearly without breaking the relationship.

Here’s a simple structure that keeps you in your lane (control yourself) while still being honest:

Observation (facts, not a verdict): “When you came home and didn’t tell me you’d be late…”
Impact (emotion + meaning): “…I felt anxious and unimportant.”
Need (what matters): “I need reliability and teamwork.”
Request (specific next step): “Can you text me when you’re running late—even if it’s just two words?”

Requests invite influence; demands invite defense. And if they say no? You still haven’t lost your power. Power was never “making them.” Power is choosing what you do with the information.

Sometimes anger is less about the topic and more about the fear underneath: “Will I matter here? Will I be alone in this?” Your job is to communicate your boundaries without trying to run their nervous system for them.

A boundary sounds like: “I’m willing to talk about this when we’re both respectful. If yelling starts, I’m going to pause the conversation and come back in an hour.” That’s not punishment. That’s stewardship.

One last research-backed reminder: delay is a superpower. In research on self-regulation in intimate conflict, Eli Finkel and colleagues found that even brief delays can change what people verbalize during provocation (and self-regulation helps override harmful impulses). Most of us don’t need the perfect response. We need ten seconds of wisdom.

So if anger has been running your relationships lately, don’t start by asking, “How do I win this conversation?” Start by asking: “How do I show up like the kind of person I want to be even when I’m mad?”

That’s connection over control. And it’s a skill. Not a personality trait.

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

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Loving Your Spouse Through the Unknown

Right now, our house feels a bit like a circus act where someone is trying to keep 14 plates spinning at once.

My husband is in a job transition. It is not that he lacks connections or promising leads; it is that we do not have a clear known. Is the next step a new full-time job, launching his own business, or piecing together contract work? At the same time, my schedule has been bananas with early mornings, late nights, and travel sprinkled in, while we have put our house on the market and the kids have been trading the same bug for weeks.

In the middle of it, I have found myself asking a simple but complicated question: How do I love him well right now? How do I show up for his stress when mine is screaming for attention too?

If you are walking through a hard season with your spouse or partner, whether it is a job loss or transition, health issues, caring for aging parents, burnout, or financial uncertainty, you are not alone.

Researchers have found that one of the most important things in stressful seasons is “partner responsiveness,” the sense that your partner understands you, cares about you, and is genuinely there for you. People who feel that way about their partner tend to report less distress and more relationship satisfaction, even when life is hard.

Another big idea is that stress is best handled as a shared burden, not an individual one. Experts call this “dyadic coping” and use it to describe how couples manage stress together instead of separately. When partners talk openly about what they are facing, support each other, and make decisions as a team, they are more likely to stay connected and resilient.

So what does all of that look like on an ordinary Tuesday night when the kids are coughing, the emails will not stop, and your partner is wondering if they will ever feel settled again?

Here are a few practices I am trying, very imperfectly, in our own house.

Lead with empathy, not solutions.

Most of us are quick to jump into fixing mode: “Have you tried…?” “What if you just…?” I am trying instead to start with simple, grounded empathy: “This limbo is exhausting. Of course you are worn out.” That kind of validation says, I see you, and I get why this is hard. Feeling understood often does more good than the perfect pep talk.

Ask what kind of support they want.

One day your spouse may want to brainstorm résumés and business ideas. The next day, they may need quiet and a mindless show. Instead of guessing, try: “Do you want ideas right now, or do you just want me to listen?” Support works best when it matches what the person actually wants at the moment.

Be a soft place to land and a mirror of their strength.

During a job transition, it is easy for someone’s sense of worth to get tangled up with productivity and paychecks. Yes, your spouse needs comfort and a reminder that you are okay today. But they also need you to reflect on the parts of them that are bigger than this season: “You are wise and capable. That does not disappear just because things feel uncertain.” That is the “safe haven” and “source of strength” idea in real life.

Create tiny rituals of connection.

In seasons like ours, uninterrupted date nights can feel fictional. But small, consistent check-ins matter more than grand gestures. It might look like a ten-minute “how is your heart?” chat after bedtime, a quick midday text, or putting your phone down when they start talking. Couples who respond to each other’s little “bids” for attention most of the time are the ones who tend to stay happily together.

And when (not if) you get it wrong, repair. There will be nights when you snap, offer the wrong kind of support, or completely miss how overwhelmed your spouse is. The goal is not perfection; it is the willingness to circle back: “I am sorry I jumped into problem-solving. Can we try that again?” Those “repair attempts” are powerful because they send the message, Our relationship matters more than this moment.

I wish I could tell you I have mastered all of this. I have not. Some nights I get it right; some nights I crawl into bed and think, Well, that was not my best work as a wife, mom, or human.

But I am learning this: supporting your spouse in a difficult season is less about one heroic conversation and more about a hundred small choices to stay emotionally present, to say, “I see you,” “I am with you,” and “We will figure this out together,” even when the path forward is still foggy.

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

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Honoring Where You’re From While Building What Comes Next

The first time you pack a home to start a new one, you realize you’re not just moving furniture, you’re moving a culture.

I found that out the year my husband and I wrapped and packed our new dishes next to his large trunk of travel souvenirs and my grandmother’s floral music box. On paper, that box held a smorgasbord of fragile things. In practice, it carried a thousand little “we always…” and “we never…” statements that would follow us wherever we went.

Starting a family has a way of bringing those scripts to the surface. Holidays arrive, and suddenly there are three ideas of when and where to celebrate, as well as four opinions about what type of food should be on the table. Bedtime comes with a debate: two stories and a song? A quick goodbye or a slow cuddle? We inherit so much: our values, stories, jokes, grudges, and the choreography of everyday life.

The trick isn’t to erase what came before; it’s to honor it while shaping a culture that fits the people we are becoming.

Research gives us permission to take that work seriously. Decades of studies point to something deceptively simple: families who build steady routines and meaningful rituals tend to function better. Kids are more secure, parents report lower stress, and couples feel more satisfied, not because life gets easier, but because those small, repeated touchpoints stitch everyone together. The Gottmans would say these rituals are part of how couples “create shared meaning,” the sturdy beams of the Sound Relationship House. It’s not just the big traditions; it’s the goofy goodbye at the door, the nightly five-minute check-in, the Sunday call to Nana. Tiny things, done on purpose, turn into the grammar of “us.”

Still, none of us starts with a blank page. The way we handle conflict, money, faith, chores, and affection often echoes our family of origin. Attachment researchers have shown that early relational “templates” have a way of hitching a ride into adulthood. That can be a gift. Maybe warmth around the dinner table comes naturally. It can also be a challenge. Maybe we flinch when voices rise because that never ended well in our childhood home.

Naming those patterns doesn’t dishonor our parents or grandparents; it gives us the agency to decide what we’ll carry forward and what we’ll set down.

Marriage researcher Scott Stanley has a phrase I love: “decide, don’t slide.” He uses it for big transitions, but it fits family culture, too. It’s easy to slide into what’s familiar: we host because we always have, we drive six hours because that’s what’s expected, we serve the dish no one eats because it’s “tradition.” Deciding looks different. It sounds like, “We’re grateful for that, and here’s how we’ll do it now.” Intentional choices beat inertia every time.

Of course, our families of origin don’t stop being our families just because we start a new one. Therapist Esther Perel talks often about boundaries, not as walls to keep people out, but as guardrails that keep relationships safe. In practice, that might mean you send the holiday schedule to both sets of parents at the same time so no one is surprised. It might mean you ask that certain couple of conversations remain just that—between the two of you. It might mean expanding the table some years and narrowing it others. Boundaries make room for generosity because they reduce resentment.

I saw all of this come to life on the holiday we tried to please absolutely everyone. We committed to two Christmas meals, the long drive between them, and the “quick stop” at a third house that turned into a three-hour detour. By dessert, we were smiling for photos and privately exhausted with each other. The next year, we did it differently. We sat at the kitchen table with coffee and made four little lists, not as a manifesto but as a conversation.

First, we asked what we wanted to keep exactly as it was. Then we looked at what to tweak so it fit our season: the marathon holiday drive became a huge no. We decided one year we’d host, one year we’d travel, and one year we’d keep it small and invite anyone who wants to join us. We chose one thing to start that felt like us: a quick “rose, bud, thorn” check-in at dinner where each person shares a highlight, a hope, and a hard thing. And finally, we retired one tradition that had quietly stopped serving our family. We didn’t bury it; we gave it a grateful goodbye.

None of that made our family perfect. But it did make us more deliberate. We tied our choices to values we wanted to grow: gratitude, hospitality, playfulness, faith. Our rituals weren’t just busywork; they were habits of the heart. We put the small things on the calendar, because meaningful traditions rarely survive on good intentions. And we gave ourselves permission to laugh when the beautiful plan met the very real toddlers.

If you’re wondering whether any of this matters beyond feeling cozy, the answer is yes. Scholars like Brad Wilcox and others have shown that, on average, children do better (academically, emotionally, and financially) when they grow up in stable, committed two-parent homes. There are wonderful exceptions, and every family constellation can be loving and strong.

But it’s fair to say that investing in the culture of your home is not just sentimental, it’s one of the most practical ways to give kids a secure base. Rituals and routines are how love puts on work clothes.

So maybe this is your season to sift the heirlooms. Keep what is unmistakably good. Sand and refinish what needs adapting. And be brave enough to build a few pieces of your own. It might be Friday night pizza on the floor, a monthly family service project, a standing date night, or a once-a-week FaceTime with the cousins. It might be the boundary that says, “We’ll join you Saturday morning, but we’ll sleep in our own beds Friday night.” It might simply be the quiet promise that your partner gets the benefit of the doubt, even when the day goes off the rails.

Years from now, your children may not remember what you served or whether the napkins matched. They’ll remember the feeling around the table. They’ll remember that in your home, people showed up, stories were told, forgiveness was normal, and love was practiced on purpose. That’s what it means to honor where you’re from while building what comes next.

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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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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Key Adult Milestones Are Not Being Reached: What That Means for Everyone

Here’s the truth about “adulting” in 2025: it’s a moving target.

As a 35-year-old CEO of a family nonprofit—and a mom to a fearless two-year-old and a six-year-old who just discovered the magic of school lunch pizza—I think a lot about what our kids are growing up into. The U.S. Census Bureau’s latest look at milestones of adulthood gives us a clear signal: the path most young adults take today is different from the one many of us expected.

For decades, four milestones often stood in for “made it”: move out, get a job, marry, have kids. In 1975, nearly half of 25- to 34-year-olds had checked all four boxes. New Census data reveals that in 2024, less than one-quarter did. The most common pattern now? Young adults living on their own and in the labor force—but not necessarily married or parenting (about 28%). In short: economic steps are outpacing family steps. 

Census researchers also updated how they measure adulthood by adding a fifth marker—finishing education—and examined 2005 to 2023. In 2005, about 26% of young adults had reached all five milestones; by 2023, that share fell to about 17%. At the same time, labor-force participation remained the most common single marker (about 86% in 2023), and living independently dipped slightly (84% in 2005 to 81% in 2023).

We also see shifts inside the family story. Fewer young adults are married than three decades ago. In 2023, just 29% of 25- to 29-year-olds were married (down from 50% in 1993), and 51% of 30- to 34-year-olds (down from 63%). Among 18- to 24-year-olds, only 7% were married in 2023, according to the Pew Research Center.

Where young adults live has shifted, too. A majority of 18- to 24-year-olds (57%) currently live in a parent’s home, up from 53% in 1993. Housing costs, longer schooling, and a desire for financial stability are all part of the story. 

Remember, milestones aren’t just boxes on a list. They shape identity, purpose, and well-being.

The 2024 Census story notes that young adults are prioritizing economic security before starting families—understandable when housing, food, and gas take bigger bites of the budget. But when family formation lags, it can ripple into community life: fewer volunteers at schools and parks, later grandparent support, and smaller social safety nets built through extended family ties. 

At the same time, it’s worth remembering: Americans are increasingly comfortable saying there isn’t one “right” age to hit life goals. Many still see the ideal window for marriage, first child, and buying a home as 25-34, but a Pew Research Center survey reveals a large share now say there’s no best age at all. That cultural shift matters; expectations can either weigh young adults down or give them room to grow. 

For parents and families worried about whether or not their children will be a prime “failure to launch” situation, here are practical, research-backed ways to help young adults reach those milestones, on a timeline that fits real life.

1) Build the relationship before the résumé.

Strong, steady connections with caring adults protect mental health and help young people handle transitions such as college, first jobs, and new housing. Make regular check-ins a habit (text, coffee, a Sunday call). Ask good questions and listen more than you advise. Connectedness is protective.

2) Coach for independence, not control.

Think “scaffolding”: offer structure and encouragement while they practice making decisions around budgeting, reading a lease, setting up auto-pay, and making a doctor’s appointment. These are executive-function skills (planning, focus, self-control). They don’t magically appear at 18; they’re built with practice and feedback. 

3) Normalize starter steps.

Milestones are often reached in stages: roommates before solo rent, certificate before degree, internship before career. Praise the step, not just the finish line. This mindset reduces shame and keeps momentum going. (It also matches how today’s young adults are actually sequencing adulthood.) 

4) Open doors (your network counts).

Who you know still matters. New Census information shows young people who start at a parent’s employer earn 24% more at their first job and are still ahead three years later. You don’t need to be a CEO to help; introductions to managers, union halls, faith-community leaders, or small-business owners can be rocket fuel.

5) Talk about money early and often.

Help your young adult build a basic budget, check their credit report, and compare rent-to-income ratios. If you can’t contribute cash, contribute wisdom: how to avoid junk fees, negotiate a phone plan, or read a pay stub. Small money wins build the confidence that precedes bigger steps like moving out or buying. (Again, the data shows economic milestones are leading the pack.)

6) Respect different timelines and keep hope high.

Lower marriage rates in the early and late 20s don’t mean “never.” Many catch up later, and plenty thrive on these flexible timelines. Your belief in their future matters, whether they’re 19 or 29. 

7) Watch well-being.

Transitions are stressful. Notice changes in sleep, mood, or motivation. Offer help finding a counselor, campus support, or community group. Solid mental health makes the rest of adulthood more reachable. 

The bottom line is today’s young adults aren’t failing at adulthood; they’re re-sequencing it. The new Census data shows fewer are doing everything at once, and more are securing work and housing first. Our job as parents, mentors, and neighbors is to help them build skills, find opportunities, and keep connections strong so the other milestones—marriage, parenting, homeownership if they choose them—are within reach.

My two-year-old thinks adulthood means getting to pick her own snack. My six-year-old thinks it means staying up past bedtime. Honestly? Some days that still tracks.

But with our steady support, our young adults can do more than “adult.” They can thrive.

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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