Tag Archive for: Family

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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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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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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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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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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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