Parenting came with a stark revelation for me: little eyes are always watching. My daughter absorbs my behaviors, reactions, and attitudes like a tiny sponge, often reflecting them back when I least expect it.
This has forced me to examine habits I’ve carried for decades, questioning which ones I actually want to pass down. Some patterns I’ve practiced since childhood have shaped me in ways that haven’t always served my well-being. And that’s not something I want for my children.
Changing ingrained behaviors isn’t easy, but knowing they might be replicated in my children provides powerful motivation. The responsibility of raising a confident and emotionally healthy child inspires me to address aspects of myself I might otherwise overlook.
These are the behaviors I’m working to change—not just for her benefit, but for my own well-being too.
1. Using moralistic language around food and weight.
This is something I am so passionate about, having experienced an eating disorder when I was younger. The moralistic language that once dominated my thoughts about eating no longer has a place in our home. I want my children to enjoy food, not be controlled by it.
We don’t use words like “good” or “bad” to describe food choices in our family conversations. Food doesn’t possess morals, it’s just food.
Of course, nutrition information comes up factually when appropriate, but we don’t attach value judgments. We talk about exercise and a varied diet for the purpose of healthy bodies and minds, not for the purpose of weight management.
I’ve stopped talking about my body shape and size, either negatively or positively, and not only does this serve my daughter, but it also helps me. I’ve become less attached to it. It no longer dominates my thoughts like it once did.
Researchers and experts advise that children pick up their parents’ attitudes toward food and body image very early on. By neutralizing my language around eating and removing commentary about body image, I hope to free my daughter from issues that consumed years of my life.
2. Berating myself when things go wrong.
My tendency toward all-or-nothing thinking has a lot to answer for. When you think like this, no middle ground exists between perfect execution and complete disaster. And it’s a hard (some would say, almost impossible) trait to rewire when you’re genetically predisposed to it.
But watching my six-year-old daughter tear up beautiful artwork because one small detail didn’t match her (adult-drawn) reference picture brings it all home. Her distress over imperfections, which again, is likely genetic, shows me just how important it is to model acceptance of my own mistakes.
I deliberately model healthy responses when things go wrong these days. When I spill something, I clean it up matter-of-factly rather than berating myself. When I forget something or make a mistake a work, I’ve learned to narrate my thought process, “I’m feeling frustrated that this didn’t work out how I hoped,” or “I forgot to do XYZ thing,” followed by “That’s okay. Making mistakes is how we learn and improve.”
I point out the revision process in real-world examples, too. We read and talk about famous inventors and their multiple attempts before success. We celebrate the learning that happens through trial and error.
Neither of us will likely be able to completely change our black-and-white thinking, and that’s ok. But breaking the cycle of viewing mistakes as failures gives my daughter (and me) permission to exist in the messy, imperfect middle ground where real growth happens.
3. Saying yes, when I want (or need) to say no.
I spent years automatically prioritizing others’ preferences over my own, which created a deep habit of people-pleasing. But watching my daughter hesitate before expressing her preferences was a wake-up call. Her worry about disappointing others at such a young age reflected my own behavior in worrying ways.
Gradually, I’ve learned to state my needs and preferences directly. I’ve learned to say “No” as a complete sentence, without over-explaining or apologizing. Disagreeing no longer triggers automatic giving in.
When making plans, I check in with myself before agreeing. My daughter sees me respectfully decline invitations that don’t fit our needs or energy levels. This is crucial for me because my daughter finds social situations overwhelming and is often exhausted afterwards. She needs to know that just because she’s available, it doesn’t mean she has to say yes.
These changes take ongoing attention. People-pleasing habits don’t vanish overnight. But watching my daughter grow more confident in expressing herself keeps me motivated.
The message is clear through consistent modeling: your authentic needs matter, even when they differ from others’ expectations.
4. Using language and behaviors that encourage gender bias.
Gender conditioning works so subtly that noticing it requires constant vigilance. Phrases like “be ladylike” or labeling activities as “for boys” or “for girls” slip into conversations despite our best intentions.
Many gendered expectations are transmitted without explicit words. Praising appearance in girls while emphasizing achievement in boys. Reacting differently to the same emotions based on gender. Even tone and body language can send gender-based messages. And don’t even get me started on the “good girl” rhetoric.
Changing this means examining those subtle cues. When my daughter climbs trees or gets muddy, I react the same way I do for my son. I validate her interests equally, whether they involve monster trucks or dolls (and they do often involve monster trucks!).
Media in our home reflects diverse possibilities rather than narrow gender roles. If I see my kids watching something that encourages gender bias, I switch it off or explain it to them. My daughter now looks at me and rolls her eyes when she sees yet another female character dressed in pink, whilst the boy is dressed in blue.
The books we read feature characters with varied interests, appearances, and family structures. Our toys cross categories instead of sticking to rigid gender lines. And it must be working – my son recently chose a pink lunchbox, whereas my daughter shuns pink “princessy” clothes. And that’s more than ok.
Creating space free from arbitrary gender limits takes ongoing awareness and adjustment, especially in a society full of these messages.
5. Avoiding new challenges out of fear.
Comfort zones feel safe but limit growth. This is something I know to be true, but struggle with massively. We have a family history of ADHD, autism, and AuDHD (where autism and ADHD combine). This means that routine and avoidance of change are understandably favoured, but they often come with a side helping of desiring novelty seeking too. This can make for a tricky balance.
I crave novelty but for years tended to avoid activities with uncertain outcomes or risk of embarrassment, sticking to the familiar instead of risking failure. I experience social anxiety, which contributes to this, too.
My daughter’s diagnosis of selective mutism brought this into sharp focus, though. As the Cleveland Clinic tells us, selective mutism is an anxiety disorder where a person is unable to speak in certain social situations. People with selective mutism don’t choose not to speak, they are physically unable to speak in certain situations because of the freeze response happening in the body. Supporting her through this required not just professional help but parental modeling of brave behavior.
We very gradually expanded our comfort zones together. Activities that made me anxious became chances to show healthy risk-taking. But we talk honestly about feelings, too. I acknowledge nervousness but keep moving forward. Courage isn’t the absence of fear; it’s acting despite it.
Her selective mutism responds well to this approach. Seeing me try, struggle, and keep going normalizes the discomfort that comes with growth. Progress happens at her pace, though—no pressure, just steady encouragement and validation.
The message repeats itself: new experiences might feel uncomfortable, but that discomfort is temporary and worth it for the growth and enjoyment they bring.
6. Believing my value is based on my productivity and neglecting my health as a result.
I grew up with a strong work ethic. As a result, I used to think that neglecting my own needs was a virtue—a sign of dedication to work and family. A sign of a valuable, productive, and worthy member of society. That perspective shifted dramatically during my treatment for chronic pain when self-care became necessary, not optional.
My daughter saw me push through exhaustion and ignore physical discomfort as normal adult behavior. She absorbed the unspoken message that caring for yourself comes last, if at all.
Now, I integrate regular self-care. Scheduled rest periods appear on our family calendar. Physical therapy exercises take priority over household chores when needed. Reading a book, doing a puzzle, or simply lying down and doing nothing for 10 minutes are all acceptable ways to spend my time.
Sometimes I say it out loud: “I need to stretch now because taking care of my body matters.” Or “I’m just taking 10 minutes to do this puzzle, just for me.”
It helps her understand why self-care counts.
The message becomes clear through consistent action: maintaining your health isn’t selfish—it’s essential for lasting wellbeing.
7. Spending way too much time on my phone/social media.
Phone use is probably the most obvious behavior kids copy. Despite worrying about my daughter’s screen time, my own phone habits often contradicted the limits I tried to set.
I found myself checking and doom-scrolling during family time, and I was constantly available to notifications. I’ve mentioned the history of ADHD in my family, and I am prone to impulsive, dopamine-seeking behavior. Screen time definitely feeds into this for me. But research shows kids feel less important when they compete with devices for attention.
I started creating healthier boundaries with phone-free times and spaces. I removed my social media apps from my phone so I won’t be so tempted to “just have a quick scroll.” I try to leave my phone in another room as much as possible, because I know if it’s there, I will struggle to resist the impulse to pick it up.
The benefits go beyond modelling, though. Being fully present improves connection and conversations flow more naturally without digital distractions.
At first, disconnecting felt uncomfortable, showing just how addictive constant connectivity can be. But my increased engagement during fully present interactions keeps me motivated, and I’ve started to notice many personal benefits to ditching social media, too.
Managing technology feels like one of the biggest challenges modern parents face in setting examples, and it’s something that, quite frankly, terrifies me when I think about how we will cope with it when our kids are old enough for their own phones. That’s why modelling it now, when they are younger, is so important to me.
8. Not advocating for myself.
Speaking up for my needs, especially at work or in medical settings, once felt nearly impossible. I let questions go unasked in doctors’ offices. I left personal boundaries unstated.
The contrast between how fiercely I advocate for my daughter and how little I stood up for myself became clear. The unintended lesson was: others’ needs deserve defense, but yours don’t.
I started taking small steps toward self-advocacy. I ask for clarification from healthcare providers instead of accepting confusion. I set boundaries with extended family. I make sure my contributions get recognized.
These moments show my daughter a different way to act—respectful but firm. Though uncomfortable at first, each interaction builds my confidence in expressing legitimate needs.
I see the results in how she communicates. She states her preferences clearly. She asks questions when unsure. She expects respect because she’s witnessed it modeled consistently.
Teaching kids to advocate starts with showing them how, even when it feels hard.
Final thoughts…
Examining my behaviors through the lens of what I want my daughter to inherit has sparked changes I might have put off forever. Committing to breaking unhelpful cycles gives me motivation that goes beyond typical self-improvement. Progress isn’t a straight line, though. Old habits tend to creep back when stress or fatigue hits. Still, even imperfect modeling teaches an important life skill: noticing when something isn’t working and making adjustments.
These shifts don’t just help my daughter (and son); they’ve boosted my own wellbeing too. Letting go of perfectionism, standing up for myself more, and building healthier relationships with technology and self-care have made a real difference in my life. Maybe the best lesson kids can get from parents isn’t about always getting it right, but about being willing to grow and change. When we face our patterns and try to improve them, we show that growth doesn’t stop, which is a powerful message for the next generation.
