When Your Kid Says “What Would You Do If You Were Me?”: How To Respond That Cuts Down On Defiance
It was 6:15 on a Tuesday, I was folding soccer socks next to a pan of granola bars I’d burned the edges of that morning, at the kitchen table. My 10-year-old son was slouched over his 4th grade math homework, scrolling his iPad instead of working, for what felt like the 20th straight minute. I glanced at the clock, reminded him we had to be at the pre-game hangout in 45 minutes, and asked if he could wrap up the first section before we left. That’s when he slammed his pencil down hard enough to make my coffee mug rattle, crossed his arms, and said it: “What would you do if you were me? This is stupid. I’ll never use fractions anyway, why do I have to do all of it?”
The dog pulled the sock he’d been chewing out from under the table and ran off with it, my phone buzzed with a coach’s text saying the game time got moved up 20 minutes, and for half a second I felt that familiar rise of irritation. A year ago, I would’ve snapped back: “I’d do it because it’s assigned, stop complaining and get to work.” That would’ve led to him storming to his room, me yelling after him, us missing the hangout entirely, and him going to the game hungry and grumpy. But that week I’d been thinking about this exact question, how he’d been saying it more and more lately, so I paused, set the socks down, and pulled out the chair across from him. I said, “Wait, tell me. What’s the part that would bug me the most if I was sitting in your spot right now?”
He blinked, like he wasn’t expecting me to ask that. Then he launched in: the teacher assigned 20 identical fraction problems, he’d gotten the first five right in five minutes, it was just busy work to fill the packet. His best friend already finished and was playing Roblox waiting for the hangout, and if he took an hour to do all 20, he’d miss the whole first half of hanging out before the game. “If you were me, you wouldn’t want to waste an hour just to prove you already know something, right?” he said.
That’s when it clicked. I’d always thought this question was just backtalk, a cheap shot to challenge my authority or get out of something he didn’t want to do. But it’s not. It’s what kids this age say when they don’t have the words to tell you they feel powerless, that their side of the story isn’t being heard. They can’t just say “I think this rule is unfair and I want to talk about it” yet, so they frame it as a question that forces you to step into their shoes.
What I’ve learned after a few months of testing this out is that the worst thing you can do is actually answer the question right away. If you say “I’d do what I’m told,” you just proved them right—you don’t get it, and there’s no point in talking more. If you say “I’d skip it, too,” you’re just undermining the teacher or the rule that’s already in place, which leaves everyone in a worse spot. Instead, that one line I used—“What’s the part that would bug me if I was you?”—works almost every time. It turns the question back to them, lets them vent the actual frustration, and gives you 30 seconds to stop feeling defensive and figure out what’s really going on.
Nine times out of ten, once they tell you the actual problem, there’s a small compromise you can make that doesn’t require throwing out the original rule. In that math homework case, I flipped through his packet, saw he’d aced the first five problems, and offered a deal: he’d do three more to prove he had it down, I’d write a quick note to his teacher explaining he didn’t need to do the other 12, and we’d get out the door 20 minutes early. He jumped up, finished the three problems in three minutes flat, and we made it to the hangout with time to spare.
It doesn’t always work that neatly, of course. Two weeks ago, he asked the same question when I told him he had to clean his room before we could go to the park. I asked what would bug me, and he told me the worst part was having to take apart his Lego castle that he’d spent three days building, just to put it in a bin where it would get broken. I didn’t need the whole room spotless, just the floor picked up for our guests coming the next day. So we compromised: we pushed the castle to the back of his desk, covered it with an old sheet to keep it safe, and he only had to pick up everything else. That cut the job from an hour to 15 minutes, and the castle is still standing a month later.
If you really can’t compromise, you can still use the same approach. When he asked “What would you do if you were me” about the $200 pro skateboard he wanted for his birthday, I acknowledged his side first: “If I was you, I’d be really bummed that the cool new board I want is too expensive, that sucks.” Then I stuck to my limit: “Our budget for your birthday gift is $100, but we can check the local skate shop’s used board section this weekend, see if we can find a good one in our price range.” He still was disappointed, but we didn’t end up in a two-hour fight about it.
It’s not a magic fix. Last week I was tired after work, he asked the question about having to turn off his game to come to dinner, and I snapped the old answer anyway. We still had a 20 minute fight. But most of the time, it makes things easier. I don’t feel like I’m constantly battling for control, and he’s started telling me what’s bothering him before he gets really upset, instead of just shutting down.
I still don’t always have the right answer. But I’m starting to think that’s not the point of the question anyway. He’s not asking what I would do. He’s asking me to see what he has to deal with, first. That’s all most of us ever want, anyway.
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