I Have a Strong-Willed Child: Practical Parenting Tips That Actually Work
It’s 7:12 a.m., the school bus is 18 minutes away, and my 7-year-old Lila is face-down on the kitchen floor, screaming because I cut her peanut butter toast into squares instead of triangles. Three years ago, I would have matched her energy: I’d snap that squares taste the same, that we don’t have time for this, that she’s being ridiculous. We’d both end up crying, we’d miss the bus, and I’d spend my whole work day replaying the fight, wondering what I did wrong to raise a kid who won’t just do what she’s told.
Three months ago, at Lila’s second grade parent-teacher conference, her teacher Mrs. Henderson leaned across the kid-sized table and said what no one had said to me before. She pointed out Lila’s artwork on the wall, the petition Lila had organized to get more recess time that half the class had signed, and said, “She’s not difficult. She’s strong-willed. I raised one. I spent almost a decade fighting that will, and I wish I’d figured this out sooner.” Then she gave me three small, concrete things that have changed our daily life more than any parenting book I’ve ever read.
The first one was to always offer two choices that work for you, instead of an ultimatum or an open-ended request. Lila’s default answer to “We need to leave the park now” is no, full stop. It’s not that she doesn’t want to leave, it’s that no one asked her what she wanted, so she digs in to keep control. Now, instead of that, I say, “Do you want to go down the slide one more time, or swing one more time before we go?” Last week, we had to leave the house mid-LEGO build to get groceries. I used to just say “Put that away, we have to go” and we’d have a 20-minute standoff. That day, I said, “Do you want to put your set on the top shelf where your little cousin can’t knock it over, or leave it right here on your chair?” She thought for 10 seconds, picked the top shelf, and walked out the door with me without a single fuss. It sounds too small to work, but it gives her the control she craves without messing up my plans.
The second thing was to walk away from small power struggles if no one is getting hurt. I used to think that if I gave in once, I’d be setting a precedent that she could get whatever she wanted whenever she threw a fit. Turns out, the opposite is true. The morning of the toast incident I opened with? That was after I learned this trick. Instead of arguing, I just picked up my triangle-cut toast, swapped it with hers, and ate the square while she calmed down. We made the bus on time, no crying, no lingering bad mood. When she refused to wear her puffy coat on a 32-degree day last month, I didn’t argue. I just folded it up and put it in my bag. Ten minutes later, when we were walking into the grocery store, she was shivering and asked for it. I handed it over without a single “I told you so.” She hasn’t refused to bring her coat since. If it doesn’t matter in a week, it’s not worth ruining the whole day over.
The third thing was to name what she’s feeling instead of labeling her. I used to call her stubborn all the time, under my breath and out loud. That just made her angrier, like I’d already decided she was being bad, so she might as well act bad. Now, I use a specific line: “I see you really care about getting this done your way right now.” Last month, she was building a block tower for her stuffed unicorn, and her dad tried to help steady the base after she knocked it over for the third time. She picked up a block and threw it at his foot. Instead of stepping in and calling her stubborn, I knelt down and said that line, then added, “We don’t throw things, but it’s okay to want to do it by yourself. Do you want us to leave you to it, or do you want a little help?” She nodded that she wanted to do it alone, and we sat on the couch and let her work. She finished it 15 minutes later and came running over to show us, proud as anything.
Last weekend, we went to the state park for a picnic. Lila insisted we take the steep, rocky trail that overlooks the lake instead of the flat easy loop we usually do. My husband wanted to say no—we only had a couple of hours, and it was almost lunch time. But I reminded him of what Mrs. Henderson said, and we agreed. She climbed the whole thing by herself, never asked to be carried, and when we got to the top she yelled “I told you I could do it!” so loud the people at the next overlook turned and smiled. It took 12 extra minutes, but we still had plenty of time for lunch, and she’s been bringing it up to every guest we’ve had over since.
It doesn’t work every time. Last Tuesday, she refused to get out of bed for school because she wanted to finish drawing a dragon for her art class. I offered her two choices—get up now and bring the drawing with you, or finish after school. She said no to both. I ended up carrying her out to the car in her pajamas, dragon crumpled in her fist, and we were 10 minutes late. I still have nights where I scroll parenting forums after she’s asleep, wondering if I’m too soft, or too strict, or if I’ll ever get this right. But these days, most mornings go by without a fight on the kitchen floor. Most outings end without someone storming off to the car. I’m starting to see that her strong will isn’t a flaw I need to fix. It’s just how she’s made. Some days I still get it wrong. But these small things work more often than not, and that’s enough for me right now.
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