One of my favorite places to practice is in the garden. It gets us outside with our hands in the dirt and connected to the world of plants. There is something in the act of tending and cultivating our plants that brings us to a teachable moment (aka a meltdown or power struggle).

This spring was my second attempt at growing vegetables. The biggest difference in my garden this year is sharing the experience with my 2-year-old.

We planted herbs, snap peas, green beans, tomatoes, radishes, lettuce, and peppers. I let her help me dig the holes, spread the seeds, and water the garden. She’s taken it upon herself to frequently rearrange the plant tags, tomatoes now labeled as peppers, an old cauliflower tag next to my lettuce.

As everything has started to grow, I’ve shown her how to harvest lettuce for salad. I’ve let her smell and taste fresh rosemary, cilantro, lemon balm, basil, and sage. She gets so excited to do it, she enthusiastically yanked a whole rosemary plant straight out of the ground, its new roots not yet strong enough to keep it anchored. We practice gentle hands. We practice rubbing the herbs to get the smell on our fingers instead of pulling the leaves.

As of the last few weeks, our radishes were ready for harvest. You can see the round magenta bulb bursting through the topsoil. My daughter has been part of every step along the way so it felt natural to let her participate in the harvest. I go in and gather the green tops and hand her the bunch so she can do the satisfying yank right out of the ground.

In a surprise to no one, she was not very discriminating about which radish tops she wanted to pull. We had a few premature, not fully ripe radishes meet their maker.

I could have scolded her or banished her from the garden, taking away her privileges to join me in the harvest. A black and white limit, “no,” would have only made her want to do it more. She’s like me, telling me no is sometimes the quickest way to get me to push harder.

There was a lesson here for both of us. To get her to slow down, I had to slow down too. We don’t teach our kids by telling them what to do, we teach them by slowing down long enough to let them figure it out with us.

If I rush in, especially when there’s no immediate safety issue, I’m matching her urgency instead of helping her regulate it.

I got down on her level and gently held her hands. “Not all of our radishes are ready yet. Let’s look together and see what we notice.”

I was able to show her the difference between a ripe radish that was full and round, and the immature seedling, just a scraggly thin root. By slowing down and letting her see why we only pull them when they are ripe, she understood the reason. When we pull unripe radishes, we can’t eat them, and they don’t get the chance to grow into something we can use.

As soon as she started reaching for the next seedling, I showed her the last one she pulled. “Remember, this is what it looks like when it’s not ready yet.” She paused and pulled her hand back from the garden bed.

What came next surprised me. Something clicked for her. She turned away from the raised bed and called over her father. “Dada! Look Dada! It’s not ready yet!” She started beaming with a sense of pride, holding up the scraggly immature tap root. I could feel her energy bubbling. She was so eager to tell me “Look look. Too small. Not ready yet.” She understood. She got it. She took ownership and responsibility for preserving the unripe seedlings. We weren’t in a power struggle of her wanting to yank everything out of the ground and me telling her no.

By leaning in and meeting her excitement while giving her a sense of purpose and responsibility, something shifted. The more I tried to control the moment, the more resistance I would have gotten. Slowing down made space for her to understand, and once she understood, she didn’t need me to control her.

I’m not trying to raise someone who blindly follows all the rules. I want my daughter to be able to ask herself, “Is this important to me? Is this important to others? Is this respectful? Is this how I get the results I’m looking for?” Slowing down creates the space for those questions. It teaches her how to think, not just what to do.

She refused to go whenever we asked her to try at transition times, which is what all the books and training resources tell you to do. “Take them to the bathroom when they wake up, before leaving the house, before nap time,” etc. Not my child! If I tried to have her sit on the potty when she didn’t feel like she had to go, she would stiffen like a board or melt onto the floor, screaming “NOOOOOOO PEE PEE.” Ooof.

I notice an uneasiness arise in me. A fear that if I do not force her to go at the aforementioned transition times, we’ll be in for a world of schedule disruptions, chronic lateness, and accidents that could have been prevented if she would just pee before leaving the house. I also know there is no such thing as forcing my child to do anything. She refuses to acknowledge the premise of a bribe and makes her “no” known.

At this point, it isn’t a matter of skill. She knows the potty feeling. She can push down and pull up her own pants. She can get her pee in the potty. The issue is control.

As I’m trying to wrangle my internal unease so as not to project anxiety onto her or get into a battle of the wills, she has to poop.

Every parent who has potty-trained before me has a story of how much more complicated it is to try to teach a child how to poop compared to pee.

You’ll hear common refrains like “they think they are losing a body part and freak out!” or “they’ll run into hiding and poop without even telling me they have to go” or a fave, “they’ll save their poop until they have on a diaper or pull up for sleep and then wake themselves up with poop.”

I feel prepared by the war stories of potty-training veterans. We’ve got this.

And then I lived it: toddler poop anxiety. Suddenly, my brilliant, independent, autonomous daughter becomes a clingy, crying, fearful mess. She has the feeling. She knows it. She’s telling me to “clean it” even though there’s nothing to clean. She continues to refuse to sit on the potty on command and is pacing the house like a wild animal, clearly in distress.

I am helpless. Despite my calm voice, attempts at reassurance, and normalizing the experience of bowel movements for all living creatures, I cannot make her do it. I have no control.

By day 3 of this, I was feeling very defeated. What initially seemed like a quick path to success (she pees in the potty!), was becoming a potty prison. Whoever said this could be done and dusted in 3 days is a false prophet.

I thought maybe if we leave the house, it’ll start to click for her, and she’ll communicate her potty feelings better. On our first big outing, she went through 3 pairs of pants and soaked 2 pairs of shoes in pee. She’s anxiously crying and refusing to poop.

I started to wonder when we keep pushing and when we call it quits.

While being trapped in the chokehold of potty prison, desperately wanting to force an outcome, it hit me. The message I needed to hear was the same thing I wanted her to do.

Let go.

Let it go.

The hard truth to accept: I can have control over the set and setting of my child’s life. I can set the tone, and I can create an environment. I do not have control over her body or how she manages toileting.

Our bodies are a deep well of information, and sensation is the messenger. She is learning to attune to her senses and how to answer the question, “What is my body telling me?”

The ultimate outcome is for her to sense her cues and think, “I know what that means and I know what to do about it. I can trust myself.”

I read two different potty training books and the opinions of a thousand parents on reddit. No one described potty training as learning to trust yourself.

But if we aren’t teaching our kids to trust themselves, then who are they to trust? Who becomes the authority of their being if they don’t learn to trust what their bodies tell them?

Potty training is the beginning practice of developing autonomy and agency over herself.

I feel my mindset shifting from it being about the potty to a deeper question of “Who gets final authority over a body?”

While I simultaneously didn’t want my daughter to inappropriately lose control of her bladder and bowels, I also learned she needed to feel safe to let go.

In order to trust herself, she wants to feel trusted by others, not bossed around, forced, or coerced. I had to face my fear and anxiety around the loss of control. Fear grips and tightens. Trust is spacious and can breathe. She wasn’t being defiant; she was asking for more power, which is something a 2-year-old doesn’t have much of in their daily life.

As I have become more willing to trust the process, I am leaning in to a deeper understanding that allowing her autonomy is not permissiveness. The way I respond to what I cannot control, specifically my child’s body, reveals so much about power dynamics. I choose to empower, which may mean we leave the house a little bit later tomorrow when she tells me she has to pee as soon as we’ve buckled in to the carseat.

It made me realize how often I move through the world not fully embodied—cut off from the neck up. Distracted. Disconnected. I know I’m not the only one.

We live in a world full of distractions. There’s always something pulling at our attention: a to-do list, a text message, an email, our kids’ needs, our partner’s needs, our pets’ needs. And that’s before we even get to the constant tug of social media and the 24-hour news cycle. Information can be a gift, but the flood can be overwhelming.

When it comes to parenting, the noise is deafening. For every question you ask, there’s advice insisting one way is right—and just as much insisting it’s wrong. How are we supposed to know? How can any parent find their way through the fog of too much information?

Here’s my take: all good parenting distills down to the quality of the parent–child relationship. Yes, there are endless decisions along the way, but it’s the daily points of contact with our kids—and the qualities of those moments—that matter most.

A healthy parent–child relationship can be distilled down to four key qualities:

A regulated nervous system

A secure attachment

Clear boundaries

The ability to navigate ruptures with repair

Regulated Nervous System

When I say “a regulated nervous system,” I mean: how close are you to blowing your lid? Dysregulation is when the volcano has erupted—and the temperature is hot. You can probably feel it just thinking about it: your jaw tightens, your heart races, your thinking narrows, and there’s this pressure, this urgency.

Parenting from dysregulation usually leads to those moments we don’t want anyone to know about (and trust me, we’ve all been there). The pattern is common: your kid loses their cool over something small, you try to convince them to move on, but it escalates. Their emotions get bigger, their reactions sharper, and before you know it—you’re raising your voice and making threats. Now you’re dysregulated too.

Here’s the truth: if you aren’t regulated, your kid won’t be either. Nervous system regulation is contagious. Your systems will sync. But you get a choice.

You get to bring your brilliant, fully developed prefrontal cortex online and ground yourself. Every parent needs to know how to take a minute to find their calm—whether that’s a deep breath, closing your eyes, repeating a mantra, or simply reminding yourself: I’m the adult, they’re the child. Once you’ve tapped into your calm, you’ll be able to lead your child there more quickly than you think.

I promise—anything you do from a grounded, regulated place will be far more effective than trying to parent from a state of dysregulation.

Secure Attachment

Attachment is the emotional bond that shapes how children experience safety and trust. It’s not something built in a single moment—it forms over time, through countless small interactions.

Each time your child makes a bid for connection (whether it’s a request, a meltdown, or losing their sh*t), your response teaches them what’s safe—or unsafe—in relationships. This becomes their internal patterning: When I do X, they respond with Y.

They learn safety and security when we respond in a regulated, attuned, present way—when they feel safe, seen, soothed, and secure. They learn anxiety when our responses are inconsistent or unpredictable. They learn avoidance when we fail to attune to their bids for connection.

Secure attachment builds a foundation of trust: our kids can predict how we’ll respond and anticipate that we’ll meet their needs. That trust helps them tune into their own inner world with confidence.

Clear Boundaries

Attachment and boundaries are deeply intertwined. Boundaries are the roadmap for what is and isn’t welcome in the relationship—and the culture of your home. Without them, there’s no structure, no scaffolding for your values, and no guidance for how to move through the world.

Children need boundaries to feel safe and secure. Without them, they have too much freedom and power, which can be overwhelming and scary.

A securely attached parent can set a boundary, feel confident in that decision, and hold space for their child’s emotional response.

Avoidantly attached parents, on the other hand, may struggle to set boundaries at all—often missing cues that their child needs structure. Behavioral struggles can sometimes be a child’s way of asking for it.

Anxiously attached parents may also have trouble setting boundaries, but for a different reason: fear of their child’s anger or rejection.

Navigating Rupture and Repair

The art of repair is where it all comes together. When we lose our cool, miss a bid for connection, or fumble a boundary, we always have the chance to repair.

To a child, there’s nothing more powerful than hearing an adult say, “I’m sorry.” To a parent, there’s nothing more humbling. But it’s the truth of our humanity—we’re flawed and we make mistakes.

Repair is the magic. It’s where we rebuild trust and closeness, where relationships deepen, and where both parent and child learn that love can hold imperfection.

Embodied parenting is, at its core, about presence. It’s the practice of returning to yourself so you can truly meet your child. When you regulate your nervous system, nurture secure attachment, hold clear boundaries, and repair when things rupture, you teach your child that love can hold imperfection. These small, repeated moments of connection are what build the deep sense of safety and belonging that every child—and every parent—needs.

👉 If you’d like more no-BS parent coaching advice, hit subscribe and follow along. I help parents cut through the noise of endless information so they can find their center—a grounded place to parent in alignment with their values and in joy with their child.

Oppositional behavior is when a child pushes back against a request—either by doing the opposite or by refusing and arguing. If you’ve ever asked your child to put on their shoes and instead watched them run barefoot outside, you’ve seen oppositionality in action.

What Causes Oppositionality?

There isn’t one single cause of oppositional behavior in children. Some common reasons include:

• Feeling over-controlled by adults

• Being interrupted during a preferred activity

• Needing connection but experiencing the request as separation

• Anxiety about the task that they don’t know how to express

• Not knowing how to complete the request

There are many possible reasons! Children with ADHD or autism often have a higher tendency toward oppositionality, especially when they feel misunderstood or overwhelmed.

Can I Make My Child Less Oppositional?

The short answer: no. You can’t “make” your child stop being oppositional (…have you tried? I thought so, and that’s probably why you are here). But you can shift your parenting approach in ways that reduce power struggles and create more cooperation.

Rethinking Oppositional Behavior

When we view oppositionality through the lens of “I’m the adult, you’re the child, you should listen,” we fall into a power-over parenting style. This approach often backfires because children are sovereign beings with their own desires and dreams. If they don’t feel respected, resistance usually increases.

A Workplace Example

Scenario 1: You’re focused at work. Your boss barges in, barks orders, and leaves.

Scenario 2: Your boss knocks, checks if you’re available, asks how you’re doing, then explains the tasks she needs help with—offering solutions and support.

Which boss would you be more motivated to work for? Most people feel resentful in Scenario 1—and resentment often fuels the urge to do the opposite of what we’re told.

Now Think About Your Child

If you walk into your child’s room without knocking, see them coloring (their “job” of play), and demand that they set the table immediately, you’re acting like Boss #1. They resist, you escalate, and conflict spirals.

But if you pause, connect, and make the request respectfully, your child is more likely to cooperate—just like you would with Boss #2.

Parenting Strategies for Oppositional Children

• Slow down. Connection before correction makes cooperation more likely.

• Use gentle reminders. Kids often know what’s expected; repeated commands or harsh tones usually backfire.

• Foster belonging. Children inherently lack autonomy, and they feel it. Helping them see themselves as valued members of the family community builds purpose and agency.

• Invite collaboration. Children are brilliant problem solvers and often come up with wonderful solutions all on their own. Try identifying the problem, e.g. the laundry needs to be completed so they have clean clothes, and ask how they would like to solve the problem.

These shifts can be especially powerful when parenting an oppositional child with ADHD or autistic children who may struggle more with transitions, demands, or feeling misunderstood.

When Nothing Seems to Work

If you’re thinking, “My kid will still fight me on everything,” it might be helpful to reflect inward.

Ask yourself:

• What do I believe it means about me as a parent when my child doesn’t listen?

• Do these beliefs fuel my frustration and escalate conflict?

Parenting an oppositional child is not about control—it’s about connection, respect, and collaboration. Small shifts in your parenting style can reduce battles and strengthen your relationship over time.

👉 As a parent coach, I help families understand oppositional behavior and develop practical tools that actually work—especially for kids with ADHD, autism, or intense personalities. If you’d like support, reach out to learn more about parent coaching and how it can bring more peace into your home.