Am I Wrong For Not Forcing My Kid To Hug Relatives? A Parent’s Perspective On Early Boundaries
The sweet potato casserole was still bubbling on the counter when my 6-year-old daughter Lila ducked behind my leg when my husband’s grandma stepped forward for a hug. It was our first extended family Thanksgiving in three years, and everyone was crowding the entryway, coats slung over the banister, wine glasses already half full.
Grandma paused, smiled a little awkwardly, and stepped back. “Oh, she’s still shy, huh,” she said, more statement than question. Ten minutes later, my sister-in-law pulled me aside by the chip bowl, voice low so no one else could hear. “You really should make her say hello properly, right? We don’t want her growing up rude.” By the time I was washing dessert dishes an hour later, even my mom had dropped an offhand comment: “When you were little, you gave the best hugs. Is she going to be comfortable around new people if she never practices?”
That’s when the question started bouncing around my head, the same one I get every time this happens: Am I wrong for thinking this way?
Lila has always been cautious with touch. She’ll climb into my lap for a story 10 times a day, and runs to hug her best friend after school every Friday, but the impromptu greeting hug from someone she hasn’t seen in a few months? That’s always a hard no. When she was 3, I pushed it all the time. I’d laugh and say “Just one quick hug, it makes Grandma happy” and gently pull her forward, and she’d cry into my shoulder after, and I’d leave the interaction feeling worse than she did. A preschool teacher friend mentioned offhand one day that forcing kids to give physical affection when they don’t want it sends a really confusing message, and that line stuck with me, even when I’m the one getting the side-eye from family.
After Thanksgiving, I sat down on Lila’s floor while she put her sticker collection away and asked her why she doesn’t like hugging people she doesn’t see every day. She shrugged and said “It feels squishy wrong in my tummy. I want to show them my rocks first.” That’s exactly what she did that day, by the way: 15 minutes after we arrived, she carried her rock box over to Grandma, sat on the far end of the couch, and walked her through every pink rock she’d found on our last beach trip. Grandma used to collect rose quartz when she was a kid, and they talked for 20 minutes straight, no touching required. It was a nicer interaction than any forced awkward hug would have been, if I’m being honest.
I know the pushback comes from a good place. Everyone wants kids to be polite and comfortable in social situations. But what I’ve learned over the last couple years, that I wish more people talked about, is that honoring a kid’s choice around touch doesn’t equal teaching rudeness. There are small, low-fuss changes you can make that honor your kid’s comfort and keep everyone from feeling awkward. I always offer Lila three concrete options when someone new or extended family greets us, instead of pushing a hug: “Would you like a hug, a high five, or a wave?” That takes the pressure off her, because she doesn’t have to come up with an answer out of nowhere, and it signals to the other person what to expect. If she still says no, I don’t shame her or apologize 10 times. I just smile and say “She likes to warm up slow” and move the conversation along. No big fight about boundaries at the dinner table, no awkward scene, just a quick line that backs my kid up.
The big thing no one talks about is what message we send when we force the hug. If I tell Lila she has to let a relative touch her even when it makes her uncomfortable, just to be polite, what does that teach her for later? It teaches her that her uncomfortable feelings don’t matter as much as other people’s feelings. It teaches her that if someone she knows and trusts makes her uneasy, she has to go along with it. A couple months ago, Lila was at a birthday party and a little boy kept trying to pick her up and carry her around, even when she kept stepping back. She came right over to me, pulled my hand, and said “Mom, I don’t want him to pick me up.” I was so glad she felt comfortable doing that. If I’d spent her whole life telling her to ignore that “squishy wrong” feeling to be nice, I don’t know if she would have come to me.
I still have bad days, though. Last month, we went to a coworker’s house for a barbecue, and Lila hid behind me the whole 10 minutes of introductions, wouldn’t even wave. I saw my coworker’s face fall a little, and I stood there wondering if I was wrong, if I was letting her avoid social skills she actually needs. But an hour later, she was chasing my coworker’s daughter around the backyard, and they were hugging and rolling in the grass, so it’s not that she never touches anyone. She just gets to choose when.
I still get side-eye at family gatherings. I still lay awake some nights wondering if I’m messing this up. Last Christmas, my uncle joked that Lila was going to grow up to be a hermit, and I laughed along but it stuck with me for days. What if I’m prioritizing boundaries over social connection that matters? But then last week, she told her swimming coach that she didn’t want the coach to adjust her goggles by touching her face, that she could do it herself. The coach smiled and said that was totally fine, and Lila left the pool beaming that she’d asked for what she wanted. That’s not rude. That’s a kid who trusts her own feelings.
I don’t have it all figured out, and I’m sure I’ll adjust as she gets older. Some relatives still leave feeling a little hurt, and that’s hard. I get why people think it’s odd to let a kid say no to a hug from someone who loves them. But right now, this works for us. I don’t know if I’m 100% right, but I know that teaching her to stand up for her body right now matters more than any quick greeting hug.
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