“Look, I can’t always be the bad guy,” my partner Mark said, frustration evident in his voice as he once again raised his voice at our four-year-old son, Leo, and guided him to his bedroom for a timeout. The outburst had stemmed from a seemingly trivial issue, but to Leo, it was a monumental trigger. When asked to pick up his toys, he had resisted, leading to a chaotic meltdown.
Just moments later, Leo emerged before me, cheeks flushed and eyes glistening with unshed tears, flashing his signature grin. “Mommy, I love you so much!” he beamed, and I instinctively enveloped him in a warm hug, unable to resist his charm.
“See, he always comes to you after he gets in trouble,” Mark sighed. “I need you to support me on this.”
“Alright, I’ll try to be more consistent,” I agreed, fully aware of the need for a united front on discipline. Our pandemic-induced close quarters intensified this challenge. The truth is, I struggled to find the right balance between nurturing and setting boundaries.
My upbringing left me hesitant to assert authority. Raised in a strict household by my immigrant father, the concept of “tiger parenting” was taken to extremes. Obedience was paramount, and expressing emotions—particularly negative ones—felt forbidden and selfish.
When Leo was born, I vowed to provide him with all the love and support I lacked as a child. I wanted him to experience a carefree childhood, learn to advocate for himself, and grow into a well-rounded adult. “I want his childhood to be the complete opposite of mine,” I explained to Mark.
I found great joy in nurturing Leo, showering him with affection and allowing him to make choices about his daily activities, from selecting playgrounds to choosing meals. I embraced my role as his “first mate” in our imaginative pirate adventures and his “student” during basketball games. I was determined to foster his self-esteem—a concept my father dismissed as trivial.
Despite my Ivy League education and MBA, I struggled with my self-worth, which hindered my career progress. It took years of effort to cultivate confidence before I finally secured a senior leadership position. Yet, when it came to Leo, I found it incredibly difficult to assert myself, even during his most challenging moments. The shock and hurt on his face when I raised my voice shattered my heart, triggering painful memories of my own childhood.
I recognized my tendencies towards indulgent parenting, but contemporary parenting trends seemed to validate my approach. Preschool teachers focused on “redirecting” misbehavior rather than punishing it, and I read that time-outs could be traumatic for children.
Generally, Leo behaved well for his age, but when he did throw a tantrum, it was intense. There were moments when he lashed out with surprising force, sending toys and even furniture flying. After one particularly explosive episode, we opened his bedroom door to find a chaotic scene and Leo glaring at us from his bed.
Concerned, I worried about how he would fare in kindergarten. I didn’t want him to fall victim to the “only child syndrome.” More importantly, I wanted him to be prepared for a world filled with challenges, disappointments, and opportunities.
Fortunately, we’ve made strides as a family over the past few months. While we aim to avoid yelling, we no longer beat ourselves up when voices rise. We strive to remain calm and firm during interventions, explaining the consequences of Leo’s actions and encouraging him to reflect and share his feelings once he has settled down.
Interestingly, Leo himself influenced our approach. After a particularly difficult tantrum, I noticed he was still unsettled hours later. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?” I gently asked. “You seem sad.”
“It made me really sad when Daddy yelled so loud,” he replied sincerely. In that instance, I had retreated, letting Mark take the lead on discipline.
“What would you like us to do instead when you’re upset?” I asked.
“Just tell me to breathe and calm down and remind me how I emptied your bucket,” he suggested, referencing a popular children’s book about sharing happiness. I was impressed by his maturity, realizing that while young children struggle with emotions, they also have a remarkable capacity for reasoning.
We are developing a discipline strategy that works for our family—one that is democratic and emotionally intelligent while still providing guidance and healthy boundaries. Mark and I are finally approaching discipline as a cohesive team.
Now, the thought of discipline no longer fills me with anxiety. Perhaps my rigid upbringing has helped me become more mindful of various parenting styles and their effects. Mark is relieved to be seen as the “hero” in Leo’s eyes rather than the villain.
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In summary, navigating the complexities of parenting with a background steeped in authoritarian discipline has been challenging. By fostering open communication and a supportive environment, my partner and I are learning to assert boundaries while nurturing our son’s emotional growth.
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