Parenting 101: The Questions We Ask—And the Ones We’re Afraid To
On Shabbat afternoon, I was sitting with a friend when our daughters came over and asked if they could go on a walk—just the two of them, without us.
We both paused, and looked at each other. It was one of those small-but-big parenting moments, where we consider a million variables at once. Somehow, we both said yes.
Later that afternoon, once the girls had returned, my friend turned to me and said, “That was a big parenting moment for me.”
I nodded. “Me too.”
She looked surprised. “What? You were so calm about it. I was looking at you to see if it was a good idea!”
I laughed. “I was looking at you!”
Parenting is full of moments like that. Quiet questions we carry in our heads all day long.
Are they ready?
Am I?
Is this safe?
Will they come back different than they left?
Did I do the right thing by saying yes?
Some of these questions we ask out loud. Others stay tucked away inside us, looping in the background while we cook dinner, answer emails, or lie awake at night.
On days like Mother’s Day, when the world turns its gaze toward parenting, we might feel those questions a little louder.
We all want to do right by our kids. We want to raise kind, capable humans, and we want to stay sane while doing it. But in the messiness of everyday life, it’s hard to know what right even looks like.
These are the questions I hear most often—in workshops, in counseling sessions, in quiet conversations with friends. They’re the ones that make us feel unsure. Or alone. Or like we’re the only ones still figuring it out.
You’re not alone. You’re not failing. You’re learning.
Let’s walk through these questions together—with honesty, compassion, and tools you can actually use.
Part I: The Questions Everyone Asks
How do I raise kind kids?
We all want our kids to be kind, and to grow into kind people. Kindness isn’t automatic, it is something they learn, and they learn it from us.
They learn it when we model it, when we talk about it, and when we slow down enough to practice it with them.
You don’t have to force it. Telling kids to be kind doesn’t do much if they don’t see you practice it. You need to live it alongside them, show them, model it for them.
Try saying:
“That looked like it hurt your friend’s feelings. What do you think you could say to help?”
“How can you be a helper today””
“I saw how gently you spoke to your sibling. That was kind and really helpful.”
Try doing:
Use polite language yourself. Say sorry when you mess up. Let them see you care for others.
Praise effort: “It was kind of you to try, even if it didn’t go the way you hoped.”
Talk about how kindness feels, both for them and for others.
Kindness takes repetition. Reflection. Repair. Keep planting the seeds, and marvel at how they grow.
How do I get my child to listen without yelling?
You ask once. Then you ask again. Then you ask again, louder. They’re not listening, not doing what you asked them to, not even noticing. So then, you snap.
You didn’t mean to yell - but you’re so tired. You just want them to listen.
The truth is: most kids don’t listen better when we yell, they listen when they feel safe and connected. It’s hard, because it’s not how many of us were raised. So when you need them to listen, when you want them to hear you and see you:
Try saying:
“Take a breath with me. I need you to hear something important.”
“Pause for a second, what I’m saying to you matters.”
“Look at me, so I know you are really listening.”
Try doing:
Gently touch their shoulder.
Speak lower, not louder.
Walk away for a moment if you feel yourself losing control.
You’re not aiming for perfect, you’re aiming for progress. One calmer moment - at a time where you might have yelled - is still a win.
How do I handle tantrums and outbursts?
Your child is melting down - full face grimace, tears streaming, and yells echoing, and little fists shaking. You’re exhausted. You’re not even sure what triggered it—was it the apples that were cut wrong? the shoe he can’t tie? or something from three hours ago?
Tantrums are hard - those big emotions are overflowing, and hard to control. Some of it is also normal - children learn how to manage their big emotions through each of these moments. Your child isn’t giving you a hard time—they’re having a hard time. Their brain is trying to help them - but it doesn’t quite know what to do.
Your job isn’t to fix it. It’s to be steady through it.
Try saying:
“I see this is really hard. I’m right here.”
“That was a big feeling. We’ll get through it together.”
Try doing:
Stay close, even if they need space.
Offer a drink of water or a soft object.
Wait to talk until they’re calm. Then ask: “What made that feel so big?”
Tantrums don’t mean you or your child are doing something wrong, they do mean your child is learning to get through something that still feels hard for them. You are there to help them.
What’s the right way to discipline?
You want to set limits without making them feel ashamed, and guide them without creating fear. You wonder if you should set boundaries for them, and when they inevitably push against them, how to enforce them.
Discipline isn’t control—it’s guidance. The word comes from the latin disciplina, which means teaching, or learning. At its root, discipline is not about punishment- it is about showing up with love and limits. It is about providing the structure that your children can bump up against, and still grow.
Try saying:
“I can’t let you do that. It’s not safe.”
“It’s okay to be upset. It’s not okay to be unkind.”
“In our family, we do not speak this way.”
“The agreement is that we leave when Mommy says it’s time to go.”
“In our family, we respect each other - even when we are mad.”
Try doing:
Be consistent - follow through is crucial.
Use calm, clear language.
Talk about what happened later: “Next time, what could you try instead?”
Give your own language for repair: “When X happened, I felt [feeling]. Next time, I’ll try to [action].”
Repair Matters.
Parent to child:
“When I raised my voice, I felt overwhelmed. That wasn’t fair. Next time, I’ll take a breath before I speak.”
Child to child:
“When you took the toy, I felt left out. Next time, I’ll ask for a turn.”
You’re not raising a robot. You’re raising someone who knows how to love, own their mistakes, and try again.
How do I handle screen time?
There is always a question behind the screen time question. It isn’t just about screens. It’s about how they play a role in our lives. Are we using them constructively? In a way that creates community? Or are we using them in a way that numbs, quiets, and distracts? Are we setting proper limits, and monitoring their use?
Sometimes screens feel like the only break you get—and that’s real too.
The goal isn’t to ban screens, it is to figure out how they fit into our lives in a way that also fosters connection.
Try saying:
“I know the iPad is fun, but we need a break now.”
“Let’s do something together for a while.”
“Let’s watch a movie together”
Try doing:
Set time limits - and hold by them. Use a timer if kids need an external reminder.
Make meals and bedtime screen-free.
Create clear expectations around screens and screen time.
Use parental controls.
Suggest options: a game, a walk, a chat, a craft.
It doesn’t take hours, but a few thoughtful moments of real presence - along with clear limits - help kids build a balanced relationship with screens.
What do I do about sibling rivalry
“Mooommyyyy, he won’t stop touching my toys!”
”No! She’s not letting me play!”
They fight, and you intervene. Then they fight again, and you intervene again. It feels like an endless loop of bickering. In the time it takes you to walk up the stairs, they’ve moved on - or figured it out - and they’re playing nicely again. You go downstairs - and then it starts all over again.
It’s normal. Sibling relationships are the cornerstones of relationship building for many children. It is where they learn important skills that they will use again and again in their lives: negotiation, conflict resolution, compromise, assertiveness, and limit setting. Through all of that - they’re still learning how to share space and feelings.
When you intervene try saying:
“I hear you both. Let’s figure this out without hurting each other.”
“Let’s figure out how we move through this in a way that helps both of you.”
“You can be mad, but we still speak kindly, and we still respect each other”
Try doing:
Stay neutral.
Separate them briefly if needed.
Offer language to help them figure out their feelings.
When calm, help them repair: “What can you do to make it right?”
Managing sibling squabbles means teaching them to be attentive, responsive, and present in the challenge. That’s what you’re modeling.
How do I know if I’m doing a good job?
When I was a newish parent, I asked a more seasoned friend this very question. She said to me, “if you’re asking the question - then you already know that you are.” You probably won’t feel it when the cereal spills and you lose your cool, when you’re rushing your kids out the door to catch the bus, or when you’re distractedly checking email when they’re trying to tell you a story.
Here’s the real sign that you’re doing a good job: you care. You’re here. You’re trying.
Try saying (to yourself):
“I didn’t do it all right—but I stayed in it.”
“I’m learning, too. That counts.”
“I am here, I am okay, and I learn from each day.”
Try doing:
At night, name one thing you said or did that landed well.
Remind yourself: the long game matters most.
The fact that you’re asking? That means everything.
Part II: The Questions We’re Afraid to Ask
These are the quiet questions—the ones that linger in the back of your mind. The ones you might not say out loud, even to close friends. These are the questions that keep us up at night, that hit us at our lowest moments. They’re the questions that we’re afraid to have show up on our search history.
They’re the questions that carry fear, or guilt, or deep tenderness. Asking them doesn’t make you a bad parent - It makes you real. It makes you human.
It takes courage to name what hurts, and it’s in that naming that we begin to heal.
What if I don’t always like my child?
You love them—there’s no question about it. Some days - you feel really annoyed at them. Their behavior is draining. The care you have to provide in this specific developmental moment is really hard. You feel lost, hopeless, disconnected.
Some kids push harder at the limits we set, and we feel very frustrated. Some kids cling so tight that you feel like you’re peeling them off your legs on a daily basis. Some kids simply trigger things in us that we haven’t fully worked through.
It doesn’t mean something is wrong with you, it means you’re a human with feelings.
Try saying (to yourself):
“This is really hard - and it’s okay.”
“It’s okay to need space.”
“This is only a hard moment, not a hard child.”
Try doing:
Step away for a few minutes if you need to reset.
Notice what’s triggering you—it might go deeper than this moment.
Focus on returning after the rupture. Repair counts more than perfection.
You don’t have to love every moment - just keep coming back, trying again.
What if I’m repeating the patterns I swore I’d break?
You hear your own parent’s voice come out of your mouth—and you flinch. You’re using the warnings you swore you’d never use. Maybe you’re yelling, or threatening, or sending kids to their rooms without much reasoning.
It stings - but you don’t know what to do differently. Still, that moment of awareness? That’s the beginning of something different.
Try saying:
“I didn’t like how that came out. Let me try again.”
“That didn’t sound like me. Let me choose something else.”
Try doing:
Take a pause before you respond. Just two seconds can change everything.
Say sorry when you need to: “I lost my temper. I’m working on it.”
Keep practicing. Every time you show up with awareness, you’re rewriting the story.
You don’t have to be perfect to change a pattern. You just have to be present.
What if my child is struggling—and I didn’t notice soon enough?
Maybe you missed a sign. Maybe you’re just seeing it now. Maybe the school has been telling you for months - or years - that something isn’t working, and you’re only starting to listen now. Maybe you just didn’t want to believe it was true. Seeing our children’s struggles clearly - without our emotion getting in the way - is one of the hardest tasks for us as parents.
It hurts, and you feel guilty. It’s okay - you’re seeing it now.
Try saying:
“I didn’t know before. I’m so sorry. I’m paying attention now.”
“What matters is what I do from here.”
“I will get you the help you need.”
Try doing:
Start gently: “What feels so hard about this?”
Listen more than you talk.
Reach out for help—teacher, therapist, someone you trust.
Parenting the child we have, not the one we wished we had, is our mandate. Noticing late is still noticing. You’re here now. That matters.
What if I don’t know how to help my child?
Sometimes your child is hurting—and you don’t know what to do. Sometimes the tearful nights, the reluctance to go to school, and the meltdowns at homework time are constant - and you’re at a loss. You stay up late at night searching for answers, you ask your friends, your pediatrician, and the school psychologist - and you still come up short.
That’s not failure. That’s parenting.
Try saying (to them or yourself):
“I may not have the answer yet, but I’m here.”
“I see you’re struggling. I want to understand so I can help.”
“I know it is hard right now. It won’t be hard forever. I love you, and I’m here to help.”
Try doing:
Ask open questions: “What’s feeling hard right now?”
Normalize outside support. You’re not meant to do this alone.
Stay close. Sometimes your calm presence is the help.
You don’t have to have all the answers, you just have to keep showing up.
What if my child grows up and resents me?
We all worry that we’re the thing our kids will bring to therapy. We try to joke about it with our partners and friends to mask the fear that we are making unforgivable mistakes. We fear that we will be the reason they hurt, and that looking back they’ll point to us and say we were why they suffered.
Good parenting doesn’t mean never making mistakes. It means being the kind of parent who can say, “I was wrong. I care. I’m still here.”
Try saying:
“I know I’ve made mistakes. I want to understand how they’ve affected you.”
“You can always tell me the truth. Even the hard stuff.”
“I am here. Tell me.”
Try doing:
Own it when you mess up.
Stay open—even when it’s uncomfortable.
Let them know: your relationship is built to weather hard things.
It’s not too late -connection can always be repaired. Relationships can be rebuilt.
What if I’m too broken to parent well?
This fear doesn’t shout. It whispers:
You’re too messed up. Too anxious. Too much. Not enough.
When your own struggles creep into your parenting reality, the fear that we will hurt our children simply by existing can be paralyzing. When we hold those itty bitty babies, who gaze at us with trusting innocent eyes - and the fear whispers that we will break them, we have to remember:
It’s not true.
Your pain doesn’t make you unworthy, it makes you real. It might even make you more compassionate, more present, and more attuned.
Try saying:
“I’m still healing, and I can love with all my heart.”
“My struggles don’t cancel out my care.”
“I don’t want them to hurt like I do”
Try doing:
Notice what you are doing: comforting, feeding, trying again. That counts.
Get support for you - in whatever way that looks. That’s a crucial part of taking care of them.
Let them see that struggle and love can coexist.
You don’t need to be fully healed to be a good parent. You just need to keep going, and keep growing.
What if I die before they’re ready?
This is a scary question, but I don’t know any parent who doesn’t think about this often. It is a question carries sacred weight, one that makes our hearts tremble.
You want to be here for all of it. But what if you can’t?
You can’t guarantee time. But you can leave presence. Ritual. Memory.
Try saying (to yourself):
“The love I give now becomes part of who they are.”
“They may outgrow my arms, but not my impact.”
"I love them, and I make the moments with them count”
Try doing:
Tell stories. Sing songs. Write notes. Take videos.
Build rituals they’ll remember—small ones that feel like you.
Say “I love you” often.
You may not always be there, but your love can be.
Am I allowed to want something for myself?
Yes. You are.
Wanting something for you doesn’t make you selfish. It makes you human.
You don’t disappear just because you became someone’s parent.
Try saying:
“I matter, too.”
“This is something I need—and that’s okay.”
“I also have dreams”
Try doing:
Take ten minutes - or more! for something that fills you up.
Say no to one thing so you can say yes to yourself.
Let your child see you rest. Set boundaries. Chase something meaningful.
Your kids are watching. Show them what self-respect looks like, and show them that love includes you, too.
If you’ve asked any of these questions—silently or aloud—you’re not alone. There are many, many more - and just as many experts trying to tell you that you’re doing it wrong.
You’re not failing. You’re showing up. You’re asking. You’re loving.
That matters more than you know.
If something here sparked a new question—or just made you feel seen—reach out. Message. Email. Comment. Share.
Parenting isn’t supposed to be done alone.