What Doesn’t Work—Shedding the Stories That Harm Us

There’s a persistent narrative in our culture that good parenting means being in control at all times. This story is rooted in fear, and it leads many of us to believe that if we loosen our grip, if we choose to voluntarily share power with our children, chaos will erupt. The idea that power is a zero-sum game—where if our children gain power, we must lose it—keeps so many parents stuck.

This belief is reinforced by an older trauma story many of us carry. As children, we experienced the might of adult power. We were told when to eat, what to wear, how to behave, and what to feel. If we strayed from those expectations, we were often met with punishment, shame, or rejection. Our inner child, still wounded by those experiences, reacts to the vulnerability of parenting by trying to reverse the narrative: Now, I get to be the one in charge.

The Fear of Permissiveness

I know how painful it is to be called permissive because, in our world right now, this is pretty much the worst thing a parent can be labeled. I’ve seen it in people’s eyes as they watch the way I interact with my children. I know what they’re thinking. I know they’re watching me and concluding that I’m a permissive parent—and that, by extension, I’m a bad parent.

It’s kind of remarkable to reflect on how much power that fear of being judged used to hold over me. I used to be terrified of being seen as bad, of not measuring up, of people observing me and walking away thinking, She’s not doing it right. There was nothing worse I could imagine than being judged as inadequate or unworthy.

But over time, I faced that fear. I walked straight into it, and I learned to stand tall on the other side. Now, I can say: you can call me whatever you want. I know in my gut, in my bones, that trusting connection with my children is what’s right—for me, and for them. I don’t need anyone else’s approval. In fact, I’m willing to step into disapproval. I’m willing to make choices that I know will invite judgment, side-eyes, and even public shaming. Because alignment has taught me that my power comes from my integrity—not from meeting anyone else’s expectations.

At the same time, it’s important to name the broader forces at play here. Social shame and disapproval are real and painful, but they are only part of the story. The dominant culture, which insists that parents must control children at all times to be deemed “good,” doesn’t just rely on social pressure. It also employs systems of power to enforce these rules, and those systems can be actively violent.

Parents who step out of alignment with cultural expectations—particularly if they are already marginalized by white supremacy, capitalism, ableism, or other oppressive systems—face real, measurable harm. Black, Indigenous, and other parents of color, queer parents, disabled parents, poor parents, and neurodivergent parents are far more likely to experience state violence, child protective services interventions, or other forms of subordination when they refuse to conform.

It’s critical to honor the bravery it takes to make aligned choices, especially for those whose lives and families are already vulnerable to systemic harm. And it’s a reminder that the work of alignment is not just personal—it’s collective. When we choose connection over control, when we trust our children and resist the narrative of power-over parenting, we are challenging the systems that harm us all.

Reclaiming Trust

One of the most radical shifts I experienced as a parent was learning to trust my children. This didn’t mean abandoning boundaries or ignoring my role as a guide. It meant listening deeply, believing what they told me about their experiences, and respecting their autonomy.

I began to notice how often adults dismiss children’s words and feelings. A child says, I don’t like school, and we tell them, Yes, you do—you’re just tired. A child says, He’s being mean to me, and we say, You’re blowing it out of proportion. This dismissal of children’s truth is pervasive, and it harms not only children but also adults.

When we don’t trust our children, we lose the chance to learn from them. Parenting becomes a one-sided performance, rather than a relationship of mutual growth. And when we stay stuck in the belief that control equals safety, we create a rigid, brittle version of ourselves that can’t handle the inevitable messiness of real life.

Letting Go of Control

Deciding to homeschool all three of my kids was a turning point for me. For years, we struggled to make the school system work for our family, even when it was clear that each of my children was struggling in their own way. I was afraid to listen fully to their needs because I worried about what would unravel if we left the path.

School represented so many things for me: stability, structure, the promise of success. And, honestly, it represented the story of a “good childhood” and “good parenthood.” Good parents make their kids go to school.

Choosing to homeschool—and later unschool—wasn’t just a logistical decision. It was a deliberate dismantling of the stories I had been told about what children are supposed to do and be. It was an invitation to expand my understanding of what learning and living could look like.

But it wasn’t easy. Every time we were in public and one of my kids expressed themselves loudly or confidently in a way that most adults would interpret as rude or defiant, I had to wrestle with the judgmental gaze of others. I had to face the internalized belief that I was being “permissive” and that permissiveness was bad.

What Really Matters

Ultimately, what I learned is that control is not the foundation of good parenting. Connection is. The focus on power and control robs us of the chance to create nuanced, meaningful relationships with our children. It prevents us from learning, growing, and making mistakes alongside them.

When we shift from control to connection, we open ourselves to the messy, beautiful work of true attunement. We learn to listen, to pivot, to repair. And in doing so, we model for our children what it means to be fully human.

Letting go of the stories that harm us isn’t just about parenting—it’s about reclaiming our own alignment. It’s about stepping out of fear and into trust, out of power struggles and into respect. It’s about finding the courage to rewrite the rules, for ourselves and for our kids.