Chapter 2

2. Illusions: Framed for Failure

Kate desperately wants to be a good mother. When she was growing up, she was a competitive runner. She had learned to be disciplined and believed in the importance of self-talk. Positive or negative, this inner monologue kept her in line. Letting herself off the hook was a sign of weakness. The more she put in, the more she was rewarded. She controlled any variable that could interfere with her performance: her diet, her exercise, her recovery rituals, and her sleep. Very little was left to chance.

She applied similar strategies to her studies and training to become a lawyer. She studied hard and put in long hours. She revised intently and intensely. From her unpaid internship to an underpaid entry-level job, she could outwork anyone. The intrinsic hits of doing well and becoming more skilled were more than enough to build her feelings of self-worth.

Her boyfriend at the time, and now-husband, found her intensity and intellect attractive. After they married, they felt the pull to take ‘the next step’ and start family planning. The well-organised person that she was, Kate ensured that their finances were lined up, read the baby books, and planned for a reasonable date of when they wanted to get pregnant. She took into consideration the busy periods at the firm, financial and investment targets, and the age of her prospective child when starting school.

Kate felt good at life. She could organise it, change variables to manipulate it, and ensure security and success. At least, so she thought. Fast forward to her life as a mother of a five-year-old, eight-year-old, and eleven-year-old. Her previous tactics were not quite working for her. The more she pushed, the more she struggled.

Having learned to control her sense of worthiness through achievement, her finances through investment, and her social relationships through maintaining a delightfully ‘together’ facade, Kate’s life experiences reinforced her deep-seated need for, and the illusion of, control.

Kate’s illusion of control over her children did not take the traditional form of policing their every move. She did not tell them what to wear; she allowed them to express themselves. She did not punish them for bad behaviour. Instead, she expressed disappointment and reminded them of positive behaviour to remember for next time. They valued emotional literacy and implemented the language of social skill programs within the home. She was warm but firm, at least in front of other parents. She ensured that they did their homework, followed the family schedule, completed their daily chores, partook in extracurricular activities including sports, scheduled regular play dates, and read with them every night.

Kate mapped out the facets of their life. She ticked the boxes one by one, preparing her children for the competitive world. She was driven by a well-intended desire for them to have a happy and successful life. She loved them so deeply and wanted to equip them with everything she could to reduce their chances of suffering by increasing their resilience, in the best way that she knew how. When her family was happy, she was happy enough. The invisible illusion of control that Kate experienced was parenting perfectionism. If she performed as a parent to a certain level, she would not have to face the discomfort of the shame or guilt of being an imperfect parent.

They had everything they ever needed and wanted. They lived in a nice home, were financially stable, and had a full social life. Yet she buried a lingering sense that everything she had was still not enough; something was missing. Would she ever be happy with this constant yearning for more? More children, more money, more investments, more nice clothes, more books, more educational toys, and more activities. Ironically, more coincided with feelings of not-enoughness—internal emptiness.

Kate had spent most of her life and parenthood reaching and grasping for joy, contentment, and fulfilment, yet she was seemingly unable to fully achieve it. Falling short of her unrealistic standards, she experienced low self-esteem and features of major depressive disorder. Although she was able to hide it well, behind her nice clothes, red lipstick, and confident demeanour, at times, she experienced suicide ideation. She did not want to end her life. In fact, she was embarrassed about such fleeting thoughts. But the inability to live up to her expectations left her feeling inadequate and snowballed into all areas of her life. The external façade of her life was the epitome of ‘perfection’, while internally, she was falling apart. And yet, she was too stubborn to accept the help that she needed.

The Wisdom of Children

Many of us are shaped to believe that there is a bulletproof checklist that we can use to ensure our children’s future success. We give them the best education. We make sure they develop numerous abilities and skills from the earliest age. We overfill their schedules so that they are always learning and being productive in the name of ‘opportunity’ and ‘resilience’. True resilience is paramount. However, it has become another buzzword for a benchmark that we try to achieve. More often than not, the concept of building resilience in children is mistaken for dismissing a child’s emotions, with a nudge towards toughening up. This counts as an emotional connection miss, which is counterproductive to the development of their inner emotional resources.

A striving approach to parenting is similar to the way in which we strive in our own lives: if I do this now, I will guarantee that later. Or similarly, if I achieve this now, I can avoid that later. Of course, there are many practical situations where this approach can work. If we save and invest money now, we are likely to have more later. However, this assumption of cause and effect is not guaranteed. Many people live their entire lives believing that if they prioritize their achievements now, they will find happiness later. But later never seems to come.

We unconsciously fall into the same trap with parenting. If we tell them the lessons of life now, they will know them later. If we teach children about resilience, they will be able to handle whatever comes their way in the future. If we insist that they take responsibility for their behaviour, they will become functioning citizens. But the idea that we can discipline children now, so they develop resilience later, can still function under our illusion of control. Using the law of cause and effect to parent a child can reinforce cycles of disconnection. The only way we can help children develop genuine resilience is by relating to them in the present moment.

As humans, we are a time-travelling, future-oriented species. Most of us live our days as parents, and ultimately, our lives anywhere but in the present. We parent infants so they become capable toddlers, then shape toddlers to be capable children, then prepare children to be capable adolescents, so then they can become happy adults. Preparing for the next developmental stage is a natural part of human development. But the more intelligent we become as a collective species, the more we strive for preparedness. We plan, analyse, strategise, manipulate variables, read the books, and do the courses in a state of striving for constant personal and professional improvement.

When I take on a new parent–child client duo, I meet with the parent first. At the end of the session, I ask them the miracle question, ‘If you could snap your fingers to help your child, what exactly would you like to see changed?’ Regardless of the reason for their referral, education level, or socioeconomic status, the answers almost always hover around the exact same themes: resilience, self-regulation, and of course, happiness. The answers usually sound something like this: ‘I want them to develop resilience so they are more resilient in the future and can cope in the world. I want them to be able to manage their anxiety and emotional outbursts better, and really deep in my heart, I just want them to be happy, so they have a happy life.’

Prior to attending in person, the same parents have usually completed an intake form where they write down the perceived issues they need help with. These issues are usually some combination of childhood anxiety, sleeping issues, possible depression, low self-esteem, extreme emotional outbursts, disrespectful behaviour, impulsivity, defiance, authority issues, and behaviour problems.

I spend the second session with the child. From the way the parents have described them, I might imagine meeting a child with a myriad of psychological symptoms and difficulties. But the child who walks into the room seems very, well, normal. Sharing these insights highlight an interesting observation that presents itself again and again.

As it’s natural to feel nervous with a new person, especially a new adult in a new place, the main focus of...