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I’ve never been great at setting limits with others — clients, cousins, friends. Whenever I feel I have to hold a line or get firm, my voice changes. It gets strained and scolding but ineffective. I call it my authoritarian teacher voice. And when it comes out, I feel exactly like the teacher I’m channeling: that overwhelmed, slightly sweaty substitute standing in front of a room of unruly 13-year-olds, trying to sound strict enough to get control of the class.

Sometimes, I’m the toddler. I’m on edge and then something doesn’t go as planned. Or I hit my toe. Or my daughter just. won’t. do ANYTHING I ask her to do. And I melt down. I’m short of throwing myself on the floor and flailing my arms around. OK, I might be exaggerating. But in those moments I do stomp around. I curse. I slam doors shut. And I know I could do better. Here’s the thing nobody warns you

We had a mentor program in Med School. My mentor was a stout gynecologist in her 50s with short blonde hair. She was fierce, warm, and present. She had an aura of warm authority and clarity. She knew what she wanted and how to get there. Or at least she would find out. She had been one of the first female gynecologists in the male-dominated university hospital department and fought for recognition in the bro-system. During our mentoring sessions, which

If the same fight keeps finding you every week, this might be the most boring and most effective fix you’ve never considered. I felt resentful. I stumbled out of the bedroom after lying with my toddler until they fell asleep. I walked into our living area and saw my partner blissfully chilling on the sofa, enjoying the next episode of „The Rings of Power”. There were crumbs and sticky spots on the kitchen table and toys scattered on the play

„Shit!” I exclaimed as I almost slipped on the mushy, slick surface the pavement had turned into after today’s rain fell on yesterday’s snow. I had a crappy morning. I hardly slept the night before because my daughter had coughing fits at night. We had one power struggle after another trying to get out of the house. I was walking her to daycare through heavy rain, trying to hold the umbrella up against the wind with one hand, pushing the

Why a little upfront effort makes daily life with little kids so much easier It’s 5:30 p.m. My daughter is hungry, I’m hungry, and the kitchen looks like it already hosted a family holiday meal and a craft project. I open the fridge, standing there longer than I need to, half-hoping dinner would assemble itself if I stared at the shelves long enough. It never does. I’m staring at ingredients – half a zucchini, eggs, something in a glass container

When Everything Feels Like Too Much She cried while I brushed her teeth. She cried while I asked her to go potty. She cried while I put on her socks. She cried. Despite my throbbing headache and sore throat, I had tried the strategies in my parenting toolbox to get us out the door peacefully: giving choices, collaborative problem-solving, gentle communication…nada. None of it worked. It took a long hug (during which we both cried) and finding her “bear” to

“Only 2 hours 50 minutes,” I told myself, closing my eyes and letting out a deep sigh. “Only 2 hours 50 minutes until I can hand her over to Chris.” I opened my eyes and looked down at my red-faced, teary-eyed daughter having a meltdown in the bakery aisle because she wanted the pink doughnut with white stripes — not the wholegrain bread roll I was willing to buy. This was our — I don’t know, maybe eighth? — tantrum