The millennial parent trap
This generation is desperate to raise their children differently. Why?
The Gentle Parenting Puzzle: Balancing Empathy and Boundaries
In the dim glow of a nightlight, my five-year-old’s voice pierced the quiet from her cabin bed. “My life, my choice,” she declared, echoing lessons from her reception class on the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child. “Why have a child if you don’t want to look after me?” she pressed, her words sharp for an hour-and-forty-minute bedtime battle. Each night, she climbed out of bed, chanting quirky phrases like “Rest your body!” with escalating fervor, while I tucked her back in, exhausted.
Desperate, I typed “five-year-old sleep regression” into my phone—a term modern parents use for the disrupted sleep patterns that punctuate childhood development. The internet confirmed a sleep regression at five, just as there had been at nine months, 18 months, and three years. If I called my 1980s parents about this, they’d scoff, “Sleep regression? Never heard of it!” They’d claim I slept fine, leaving me to mutter under my breath, “That explains a lot—did you just lock me in a room?” But I’d never say it aloud. Those 1980s parents still loom large.
In my daughter’s room, I resolved to parent differently. “Don’t worry, baby, I hear you! You’re just awake because you want to be with me,” I soothed, embracing the ethos of gentle parenting. This approach, a hallmark of millennial parenting, has sparked heated debate. A June 2024 Mumsnet thread with 237 comments wrestled with defining gentle parenting. Some hailed it for raising empathetic children; others, struggling, were told, “You’re not doing it right.” Critics in the press warn it breeds entitled kids who crumble at “no,” predicting societal decline.
The shift from our parents’ era is stark. In the 1980s, I was plopped in a supermarket trolley, thighs chafing on metal bars, promised a sweet if I behaved. Today, at Lidl or Budgens, kids push mini-trolleys with flags, praised for choosing family groceries—though sweets are off-limits, as gentle parents draw hard lines on sugar. Gentle parenting centers the child’s emotions, a concept rooted in the last 25 years, inspired by documents like the UN Convention. At its best, it validates a child’s tantrums, teaching emotional regulation without threats or rewards. At its worst, it drains parents, who sacrifice their own needs to empathize endlessly, leaving them as hollow as museum mummies.
Sarah Ockwell-Smith, from Saffron Walden, Essex, coined the term “gentle parenting.” Her books, translated into 30 languages, made her a reluctant guru. “I wish I’d defined it strictly,” she sighs, frustrated by TikTok influencers peddling permissive versions. A Gen X mother, Ockwell-Smith had her first child in 2003 after losing both parents. A traumatic birth and Gina Ford’s rigid parenting manuals left her depressed. “Gentle parenting is self-therapy,” she explains. “It’s raising kids the way you wish you’d been raised—listening to instincts, with empathy, respect, and boundaries.” Boundaries, she stresses, include saying “no” or stopping sibling fights, but without punitive consequences.
Yet gentle parenting remains niche. “Twenty percent of UK parents still smack their kids,” Ockwell-Smith notes. “Go to any high street—parents are shouting, bribing, punishing.” She contrasts her approach with Supernanny Jo Frost’s, whose naughty step and strict methods still garner 17.7 million TikTok likes. Frost, now a private family consultant, sent me a 1,240-word manifesto defending her methods: “Jo Frost wasn’t squashing spirits; she was strengthening them!” She warns that gentle parenting’s focus on feelings fosters emotional fragility, entitlement, and anxiety. Parents, she says, struggle to set limits without guilt, oversharing adult concerns with kids who worry more and play less.
Ockwell-Smith counters that the naughty step assumes children choose to misbehave, ignoring their emotional drivers. A 2024 Lurie Children’s Foundation survey found 73% of millennials believe they’re parenting better than their parents. But our obsession with “what our parents did” defines us. My own parents’ reaction last Christmas, when my daughter rejected bitter antibiotics, revealed their discomfort with her emotions. “You’re letting her run rings around you!” my father roared, unable to suggest an alternative. Were boomer parents truly so authoritarian?
Sue Gerhardt, whose 2004 book Why Love Matters shaped modern parenting, chuckles at the idea. A boomer mother herself, she recalls the 1970s women’s movement and parenting guru Penelope Leach’s advice to listen to your child’s feelings—sound familiar? Gerhardt’s work popularized neuroscience, showing that a child’s first 1,000 days shape their emotional regulation through caregiver interactions. Our parents, raised without this knowledge, often struggled with their own emotions, resorting to shouting or smacking. My northern parents, on a teacher’s salary in 1970s London, made us their world but still disciplined us with fear. I recall being “bad” if naughty, with no apologies.
Millennials, steeped in therapy, parent to heal their own “inner child.” The term “parenting” itself, popularized in the 1970s, reflects a shift to viewing it as a job requiring skill, says Andrew Bomback. Unlike our parents, who trusted instinct, we’re buried in advice. Psychotherapist Philippa Perry, author of The Book You Wish Your Parents Had Read, avoids “parenting” as a term. “It’s relating to people,” she says. She sees parents overextending themselves, carrying scooters and pushchairs while placating kids, afraid to say “no.” She questions why we avoid it, noting it’s healthy to set limits.
Some, like homeschooling mom Kara Carrero, argue “no” can confuse kids. She suggests alternatives to prepare them for life’s rejections. But “mumfluencers” like Olivia Owen, who films her eight kids for millions of views, blur education and entertainment, sparking backlash for practices like putting toddlers on naughty steps. Social media also amplifies parenting’s mental health. Posts on pages like Ambas Life reveal raw trauma: “Our moms were our first bullies.” Heather Hurt writes, “Some of us parent with trauma in our bones.” Ausome Life’s emotive posts guilt parents for sleep training.
Three in four millennials seek parenting advice online, often at 3 a.m., feeling inadequate. Economic pressures—dual-income households, little support—clash with neuroscience-driven ideals, leaving us overanalyzing every move. Becky Kennedy’s Good Inside brand insists tantrums stem from hurt, not defiance. She advocates “repair” after parental anger, teaching kids big feelings are okay. But telling a child they’re “good” mid-tantrum can backfire, as my friend found when her son screamed, “No, I’m not!” Kennedy also suggests praising kids’ self-pride over parental pride to avoid co-dependency, though this strains parents acting as both therapist and caregiver.
Teachers on Mumsnet lament gentle parenting’s impact: kids negotiate endlessly, unprepared for authority. Yet Ockwell-Smith sees hope. “It’s about raising decent adults, not obedient kids,” she says. “Girls today know what they want, unlike us, raised to doubt.” At my daughter’s school, I see this in action. During story time, a classmate plays “therapist,” checking on peers’ emotions: “Do you need the calm corner? You’re feeling green?” When my daughter stormed off during a playdate, her friend calmly checked on her. They discussed lollies, unashamed of their feelings.
Watching them, I can’t believe we’re parenting wrong. A Mumsnet user nailed it: “At the supermarket, it’s not the kids losing it—it’s the adults.” Gentle parenting, for all its challenges, is teaching kids to navigate emotions, not suppress them. Maybe that’s the legacy we’re building—one tantrum at a time.
In the dim glow of a nightlight, my five-year-old’s voice pierced the quiet from her cabin bed. “My life, my choice,” she declared, echoing lessons from her reception class on the United Nations Convention on the Rights of the Child. “Why have a child if you don’t want to look after me?” she pressed, her words sharp for an hour-and-forty-minute bedtime battle. Each night, she climbed out of bed, chanting quirky phrases like “Rest your body!” with escalating fervor, while I tucked her back in, exhausted.
Desperate, I typed “five-year-old sleep regression” into my phone—a term modern parents use for the disrupted sleep patterns that punctuate childhood development. The internet confirmed a sleep regression at five, just as there had been at nine months, 18 months, and three years. If I called my 1980s parents about this, they’d scoff, “Sleep regression? Never heard of it!” They’d claim I slept fine, leaving me to mutter under my breath, “That explains a lot—did you just lock me in a room?” But I’d never say it aloud. Those 1980s parents still loom large.
In my daughter’s room, I resolved to parent differently. “Don’t worry, baby, I hear you! You’re just awake because you want to be with me,” I soothed, embracing the ethos of gentle parenting. This approach, a hallmark of millennial parenting, has sparked heated debate. A June 2024 Mumsnet thread with 237 comments wrestled with defining gentle parenting. Some hailed it for raising empathetic children; others, struggling, were told, “You’re not doing it right.” Critics in the press warn it breeds entitled kids who crumble at “no,” predicting societal decline.
The shift from our parents’ era is stark. In the 1980s, I was plopped in a supermarket trolley, thighs chafing on metal bars, promised a sweet if I behaved. Today, at Lidl or Budgens, kids push mini-trolleys with flags, praised for choosing family groceries—though sweets are off-limits, as gentle parents draw hard lines on sugar. Gentle parenting centers the child’s emotions, a concept rooted in the last 25 years, inspired by documents like the UN Convention. At its best, it validates a child’s tantrums, teaching emotional regulation without threats or rewards. At its worst, it drains parents, who sacrifice their own needs to empathize endlessly, leaving them as hollow as museum mummies.
Sarah Ockwell-Smith, from Saffron Walden, Essex, coined the term “gentle parenting.” Her books, translated into 30 languages, made her a reluctant guru. “I wish I’d defined it strictly,” she sighs, frustrated by TikTok influencers peddling permissive versions. A Gen X mother, Ockwell-Smith had her first child in 2003 after losing both parents. A traumatic birth and Gina Ford’s rigid parenting manuals left her depressed. “Gentle parenting is self-therapy,” she explains. “It’s raising kids the way you wish you’d been raised—listening to instincts, with empathy, respect, and boundaries.” Boundaries, she stresses, include saying “no” or stopping sibling fights, but without punitive consequences.
Yet gentle parenting remains niche. “Twenty percent of UK parents still smack their kids,” Ockwell-Smith notes. “Go to any high street—parents are shouting, bribing, punishing.” She contrasts her approach with Supernanny Jo Frost’s, whose naughty step and strict methods still garner 17.7 million TikTok likes. Frost, now a private family consultant, sent me a 1,240-word manifesto defending her methods: “Jo Frost wasn’t squashing spirits; she was strengthening them!” She warns that gentle parenting’s focus on feelings fosters emotional fragility, entitlement, and anxiety. Parents, she says, struggle to set limits without guilt, oversharing adult concerns with kids who worry more and play less.
Ockwell-Smith counters that the naughty step assumes children choose to misbehave, ignoring their emotional drivers. A 2024 Lurie Children’s Foundation survey found 73% of millennials believe they’re parenting better than their parents. But our obsession with “what our parents did” defines us. My own parents’ reaction last Christmas, when my daughter rejected bitter antibiotics, revealed their discomfort with her emotions. “You’re letting her run rings around you!” my father roared, unable to suggest an alternative. Were boomer parents truly so authoritarian?
Sue Gerhardt, whose 2004 book Why Love Matters shaped modern parenting, chuckles at the idea. A boomer mother herself, she recalls the 1970s women’s movement and parenting guru Penelope Leach’s advice to listen to your child’s feelings—sound familiar? Gerhardt’s work popularized neuroscience, showing that a child’s first 1,000 days shape their emotional regulation through caregiver interactions. Our parents, raised without this knowledge, often struggled with their own emotions, resorting to shouting or smacking. My northern parents, on a teacher’s salary in 1970s London, made us their world but still disciplined us with fear. I recall being “bad” if naughty, with no apologies.
Millennials, steeped in therapy, parent to heal their own “inner child.” The term “parenting” itself, popularized in the 1970s, reflects a shift to viewing it as a job requiring skill, says Andrew Bomback. Unlike our parents, who trusted instinct, we’re buried in advice. Psychotherapist Philippa Perry, author of The Book You Wish Your Parents Had Read, avoids “parenting” as a term. “It’s relating to people,” she says. She sees parents overextending themselves, carrying scooters and pushchairs while placating kids, afraid to say “no.” She questions why we avoid it, noting it’s healthy to set limits.
Some, like homeschooling mom Kara Carrero, argue “no” can confuse kids. She suggests alternatives to prepare them for life’s rejections. But “mumfluencers” like Olivia Owen, who films her eight kids for millions of views, blur education and entertainment, sparking backlash for practices like putting toddlers on naughty steps. Social media also amplifies parenting’s mental health. Posts on pages like Ambas Life reveal raw trauma: “Our moms were our first bullies.” Heather Hurt writes, “Some of us parent with trauma in our bones.” Ausome Life’s emotive posts guilt parents for sleep training.
Three in four millennials seek parenting advice online, often at 3 a.m., feeling inadequate. Economic pressures—dual-income households, little support—clash with neuroscience-driven ideals, leaving us overanalyzing every move. Becky Kennedy’s Good Inside brand insists tantrums stem from hurt, not defiance. She advocates “repair” after parental anger, teaching kids big feelings are okay. But telling a child they’re “good” mid-tantrum can backfire, as my friend found when her son screamed, “No, I’m not!” Kennedy also suggests praising kids’ self-pride over parental pride to avoid co-dependency, though this strains parents acting as both therapist and caregiver.
Teachers on Mumsnet lament gentle parenting’s impact: kids negotiate endlessly, unprepared for authority. Yet Ockwell-Smith sees hope. “It’s about raising decent adults, not obedient kids,” she says. “Girls today know what they want, unlike us, raised to doubt.” At my daughter’s school, I see this in action. During story time, a classmate plays “therapist,” checking on peers’ emotions: “Do you need the calm corner? You’re feeling green?” When my daughter stormed off during a playdate, her friend calmly checked on her. They discussed lollies, unashamed of their feelings.
Watching them, I can’t believe we’re parenting wrong. A Mumsnet user nailed it: “At the supermarket, it’s not the kids losing it—it’s the adults.” Gentle parenting, for all its challenges, is teaching kids to navigate emotions, not suppress them. Maybe that’s the legacy we’re building—one tantrum at a time.