Breaking the Cycle While Holding the Line

I am not sure how it is in different cultures, but I’ve had conversations with parents from very different parts of the world — Asia, Africa, Europe, South America, North America. Different households. Different backgrounds.

And you would think… it can’t be the same. It can’t be so similar.

But surprisingly, it is.

My generation has a very small foundation when it comes to handling children “correctly.” Not because our parents didn’t love us — but because they didn’t always have the tools or knowledge we talk about today. They didn’t always understand how important emotional regulation or attachment really is.

My husband once told me his parents said they would only kiss their children while they were asleep.

They didn’t know that pushing boundaries is a normal developmental stage. They didn’t know how much children need connection alongside structure. And often, they didn’t know how to regulate their own anger.

I remember one winter day. I was around six or seven. Mum was working at the market and I was walking home with my dad. I was cold, tired, bored. I just wanted to go home. I had what we would now call a tantrum.

My dad pushed my face into the snow to “calm me down.”

And I did calm down.

I remember crying. And I remember how proud he looked that he made me stop.

Things like this were normal back then. They happened in many households. It doesn’t mean there wasn’t love. It means there wasn’t awareness.

And now I am the parent.

I love my child deeply. And still — I lose my temper sometimes. I have raised my voice. Once, I reacted in a way I deeply regret. The guilt was overwhelming.

That moment taught me something I carry every day: I am the grown-up. I have to regulate my emotions.

I say stop. I sometimes raise my voice. I cannot let her do whatever she wants — that is not realistic. Children need boundaries. They need someone steady at the wheel. Without that, they can feel unsafe or unsure.

I am learning. I am adjusting. And I can also say this: I have a happy, secure child. She feels confident at school, with grandparents, at friends’ houses. She is comfortable being away from us. That tells me she feels safe in her attachment.

I let her express anger. I let her say she hates me in the heat of the moment. I let her tell me I am “too strict.” We disagree. Sometimes loudly. And sometimes unexpectedly.

Let me give you an example.

It’s 7:30 pm. Dinner time. It’s half term, so she is allowed a bit of TV during the week (normally it’s weekends only, and limited). She finishes quickly because she wants cartoons. We have a deal: 30 minutes. When the alarm goes off, we stop.

Deal is deal.

The alarm goes off.

Suddenly, she says she is hungry.

I say no.

Not because I want to deny her food — but because she had the opportunity to eat earlier, and I know her well enough to see when something is about stretching bedtime rather than hunger.

She has a full tantrum. Red face. Screaming in the middle of the living room.

I feel myself getting overwhelmed. I say out loud, “I am starting to lose my temper.” I don’t want to scare her. I want her to understand what is happening inside me.

We go upstairs. She is still screaming. I am still triggered.

She says she needs me to calm her down.

And I say I need a minute first. I need to calm myself so I can show up properly.

That might not sound perfect. It isn’t.

But I cannot switch from angry to calm in one second. And I don’t want to pretend that I can.

What I never do is reject her emotionally. I don’t send her away as punishment. I don’t withdraw connection. I know how painful that feels for a child.

After a few minutes, I say, “I think I’m calm now. Let’s talk.”

We start with a long hug.

I apologise for raising my voice. I explain why I didn’t let her eat right before bed. I also admit that letting her watch TV so late probably wasn’t my best decision. Screens tend to overstimulate her. We’ve seen it before. This year she had access to a tablet for the first time, and we noticed more dysregulation.

So we are learning. Adjusting.

For me, rules matter — not because I want control, but because consistency builds security. I grew up in a home where rules sometimes shifted depending on mood. As a child, I learned that if I pushed hard enough, things would bend.

That didn’t make me feel safe. It made things unpredictable.

I don’t want unpredictability for her. I want clarity. I want structure that she can trust.

Different families choose different approaches. And that’s okay. We all work with the tools we have, the histories we carry, and the children in front of us.

For me, it’s about finding the balance between connection and boundaries. Between softness and structure.

I am far from a perfect parent. But I try to be conscious.

And maybe that is what matters most — that we are aware, that we reflect, that we apologise when needed, and that we keep trying.

Maybe we are the first generation trying to break cycles we didn’t create.

And maybe that alone is already something worth acknowledging.