I am the type of person who operates on a worst-case-scenario basis. My brain naturally jumps to the possible disaster in any situation and works backwards from there. As a parent, this is exhausting. At the same time, I’m also the type of parent who genuinely doesn’t care how other people parent. That sounds harsh but honestly, I’m too tired and too consumed trying to figure out my own children to spend energy analysing anyone else’s choices.
One thing I learned very quickly about parenthood is that everyone has an opinion. You’re too soft. Too strict. Too anxious. Too relaxed. You talk too much. You don’t talk enough. Every single parenting choice seems to come with a panel discussion attached to it.
One thing I’ve definitely been questioned on over the years is how much I talk to my kids. The whole “gentle parenting” thing, encouraging conversations, making space for feelings, explaining things instead of just demanding obedience, it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. And to be fair, sometimes even I question it. Because not every moment needs to become a lesson. Sometimes your child just needs to put their shoes on and get into the car before mama loses the will to live.
But this week, I found myself thinking, thank f&*k I talk to my kids.
After Montessori, my five-year-old and I were having the usual chat about his day while he sat on my lap asking for TV, half telling me a story and half picking his nose. In the middle of it all, he mentioned that his teacher had asked him to take his top off. Now, logically, I knew there was probably an innocent explanation. But there was something cautious in his tone, so I asked another question. Then another.
Turns out the class had been trying on graduation gowns.
The thing that stayed with me wasn’t the graduation gowns. It was the fact that he paused at the request at all. That somewhere in his little five-year-old brain, there was enough awareness to check in with himself and enough comfort to bring it to me afterwards.
Over the years we’ve had lots of conversations. Some serious, some silly, some awkward, some rushed while trying to get him to put his shoes on. Conversations about boundaries, safety, and the rules we have in our family to help keep us safe. Not perfectly. Not in some polished parenting-expert way. Just little conversations scattered throughout our days. And sitting there listening to him ramble through his afternoon, I felt genuinely grateful for every single one of them.
Not because I think my way is the right way. Not because I think every parent needs to communicate exactly like this. But because in that moment, my child knew he could question something, trust his instinct and come to me with it afterwards.
The truth is, none of us really know what we’re doing. Some parents talk about everything. Some like to keep things simple. Some children need constant conversation while others don’t. Most of us are just trying to figure out what works for the tiny humans in front of us while drowning in everyone else’s opinions about how we should be doing it.
For my family, talking works. Not rehearsed, not always prepared, and certainly not in some Instagram-perfect emotionally regulated way. But enough that my kids know they can bring me things that don’t sit right with them. It may not always be the case for them, but for now, that feels like enough.
So I’ll keep talking “too much.”
Jo
