Keeping Mum
Don't Praise Your Child, Whatever You Do!
by Deborah Peraya
I am Zen. After seven
years of agonizing over every parenting decision I’ve
made, I’ve have finally achieved peace.
Why?
Because no matter what I do, it’s going to be wrong.
When I was a kid, my parents had no hesitation about pointing out every criticism. No displeasure or disappointment was too small to dump on my head, leaving me a neurotic mess.
So of course, when I became a parent I was determined to praise my child.
Not too much of course because I didn’t want her to end up with the royal sense of entitlement that the previous generation of kids had ended up with. I’d heard all about it. That “everyone’s a winner” philosophy leading to mommy calling little Jimmy’s boss to task over job performance reviews. Losers! I was not going to be that mom.
Just a little criticism – positively couched and only used as a medium of learning. Absolutely tempered with a large dose of praise. Coupled with me checking that my own personal issues were not clogging up the open lines of communication with my child. Voice not raised in anger to scare but calm. My girl would always know she could talk to me. I had done it. I was the model parent.
And then I discovered that I was abusing my child – not with blows, not with hurtful words but with my praise. Yes, the very words I had so lovingly said to my child were now considered a vile form of emotional abuse.
According to Alfie Kohn's book "Unconditional Parenting; Moving from Rewards and Punishment to Love and Reason," I was apparently responsible for creating a damaging cycle whereby she was only achieving to receive my praise. An external rather than internal desire of achievement that would lead to stress disorders, lack of performance and probably homeless drunkenness.
But it wasn’t too late. As long as I only praised her effort, I could still produce a functioning member of society. I tried. God knows I tried. But everytime I opened my mouth, I found myself double and triple checking every word to make sure that I wasn’t doing any more damage. My hesitations grew longer until finally I opened my mouth and nothing came out.
And oddly enough… I was free.
These days I just don’t say anything. I smile. I’m sure a study will be released soon showing how bad smiling is, but fuck it. I’m happy. The gin helps too.
Why?
Because no matter what I do, it’s going to be wrong.
When I was a kid, my parents had no hesitation about pointing out every criticism. No displeasure or disappointment was too small to dump on my head, leaving me a neurotic mess.
So of course, when I became a parent I was determined to praise my child.
Not too much of course because I didn’t want her to end up with the royal sense of entitlement that the previous generation of kids had ended up with. I’d heard all about it. That “everyone’s a winner” philosophy leading to mommy calling little Jimmy’s boss to task over job performance reviews. Losers! I was not going to be that mom.
Just a little criticism – positively couched and only used as a medium of learning. Absolutely tempered with a large dose of praise. Coupled with me checking that my own personal issues were not clogging up the open lines of communication with my child. Voice not raised in anger to scare but calm. My girl would always know she could talk to me. I had done it. I was the model parent.
And then I discovered that I was abusing my child – not with blows, not with hurtful words but with my praise. Yes, the very words I had so lovingly said to my child were now considered a vile form of emotional abuse.
According to Alfie Kohn's book "Unconditional Parenting; Moving from Rewards and Punishment to Love and Reason," I was apparently responsible for creating a damaging cycle whereby she was only achieving to receive my praise. An external rather than internal desire of achievement that would lead to stress disorders, lack of performance and probably homeless drunkenness.
But it wasn’t too late. As long as I only praised her effort, I could still produce a functioning member of society. I tried. God knows I tried. But everytime I opened my mouth, I found myself double and triple checking every word to make sure that I wasn’t doing any more damage. My hesitations grew longer until finally I opened my mouth and nothing came out.
And oddly enough… I was free.
These days I just don’t say anything. I smile. I’m sure a study will be released soon showing how bad smiling is, but fuck it. I’m happy. The gin helps too.