When they were little, closeness was easy — maybe even too easy. They were in our hair, under our legs, following us into the bathroom. We were their bedtime companions, the safest space, and the best playmate. Back then, we longed for quiet play in their room so we could cook dinner. Now, friends are just a phone call away, and video games only need one player.
What wouldn’t we give for one more chance to dress up Barbie dolls or do a messy art project, just to feel connected?
Parenting older kids is a new dance; learning new steps, but also learning how to move together. I’m still figuring it out, but I suspect finding a good rhythm in the tween years will pave a smoother path for the teen years, when things get even stickier. These days, I’m learning when and how to lean in, when to speak, and when to just listen.
I’ve always practiced gentle parenting and aimed for open, positive conversations with my daughter. When she came to me with news about her day or a problem she was facing, I’d respond with kind, constructive advice…or so I thought. Then one day she said, “I don’t want a lecture,” and clammed up on me. I didn’t think I was lecturing! To me, a lecture was laced with derision and orders. But to her, my “gentle discussions” still felt like me telling her what to do and why.
That’s when I realized I was talking too much and listening too little.
I still don’t always get it right, but I haven’t heard “I don’t want a lecture” in a while. My pivot was simple: I started asking more open-ended questions to understand the situation before offering advice. Questions like “How does that make you feel?” and “What do you think you’ll do?” gave her space to process and share, helping me decide if advice was even needed.
The most valuable shift, with her and in other close relationships, has been asking, “Do you want me to just listen or do you want advice?” At first, she mostly wanted me to listen. But over time, she began asking for advice more often. I think it’s because she learned my words were an option, not a directive. She had autonomy in her own situations, without being told exactly what to think or do.
This doesn’t mean I avoid hard conversations or skip discipline when needed. It means I start with curiosity, letting her voice lead us into the harder parts.
Listening sounds simple, but it’s not. I still almost never get a solid answer to “How was your day?” Even rephrasing to ask about her favorite part rarely lands. So now, I follow her lead with whatever she offers. If she says, “Today was a good day,” I might reply, “I’m glad! I had a good day too! I got to see my friend. Which friends did you hang out with today?” Giving her something specific to respond to makes it easier than asking her to recall the whole day in one go.
Sometimes we’re so desperate for connection that we treat each conversation like an interview. But it’s not an interview, we’re hopeful for it to be a dialogue. We wouldn’t fire five rapid questions at our neighbor and expect intimacy, and our kids, with their still-developing prefrontal cortexes, are no different.
