Thoughts from a Helicopter Mum

Photo by Xavier Mouton Photographie on Unsplash

I never knew that caring too much about my children could be a problem.  Recently, I was helping my 8-year-old daughter with her homework.

Something I never enjoyed with my parents as they were more hands off in their homework approach.  All of a sudden, she started getting more and more frustrated with me, acting like a pouty teen, telling me to stop lecturing her and let her figure something out on her own.  I had to stop and leave the room, and let her flop around on her own struggling to understand her maths. I stood in the hallway thinking to myself, “Was I being too invasive, and pressuring her to think my way too much? I wanted her to see an easier way of doing things.  Did I make her do more than she could handle? I wanted her to be on top of things to avoid embarrassment at school.  Why couldn’t she concentrate? Why wouldn’t she listen to me? Could I be the one causing her so much anxiety that she couldn’t complete simple maths?”  

Eventually my daughter made it known that at that instant, she wanted to figure it out on her own instead of having Mum do her work for her. Was I?

 I can feel myself nagging a lot of the time, and overly concerned about my children running into uncomfortable situations, and not the obvious, “you’re going to get hurt” situations. But, small things of comfort such as putting on one’s shirt backwards, eating syrupy pancakes without a fork, or leaving a wet towel on the floor to dry improperly. There are many little things that I appear to fret about to keep law and order in my house, and then there are many fears that I tend to impose unnecessarily on my children.  I started to realize I might have some traits of being a “Helicopter Mum.”

I had read about this “Helicopter Mum” before. She was someone who was overbearing and controlling, over protective of her children. She was constantly telling them they were doing it wrong, never approving, too available, intrusive, distrusting of their child’s abilities, and constantly interfering in any self-led learning.  Could this be me? It was at this point I thought I should take the Helicopter Mum test.  I read one article, and was hooked on figuring out how I could help and not hinder my children’s learning.

Think of the mum who wants to hang around the birthday party of her daughter’s 8 year old friend, while all the other parents dropped off and left, because she wants to be there in case her daughter needs her. Or the mum who wants to fight her daughter’s fight with a bully, or decided who her daughter can befriend at school, or what her favourite colour should be.  That WAS me!  I had to step back and realise I was actually doing my daughter’s homework. She needed to figure it out on her own. She needed to have the pleasure of solving a difficult task, and taking pride in accomplishing something without mum’s insight.  She was much better off without my constant interjections. I needed to make sure my hovering was not smothering!

M.D., founder of AskDoctorG.com, Deborah Gilboa, said, "many of the consequences [parents] are trying to prevent—unhappiness, struggle, not excelling, working hard, no guaranteed results—are great teachers for kids and not actually life-threatening. It just feels that way."

This reinforced the idea I had leaned towards.  I was not going to be a cheerleader mum, or rewarding nonachievements, but that it was okay to let my children feel consequences. In turn, they might also feel success. They needed suffering and discomfort at times as a natural deterrent and learning mechanism. Risk was a tool, and necessary stress to gain maturity, to overcome fears. Fail and fail again only to succeed in the end!  I was not being lazy or letting them down by not warning my children at every perceived pinch. I have to constantly check myself, that I’m not trying to live my child’s life for them, or in this case, do my daughter’s homework for her. I had to be honest with myself. I was worried about her failing at maths, about her being embarrassed if she fell behind her peers. My own childhood traumas of embarrassment influenced how I responded to her situation. But her situation was not my own.

Recently I heard a podcast on parenting, which suggested that we shouldn’t try to control our children. Instead we should walk with them modeling our values and personal acceptance.  To paraphrase, the speaker mentioned we should allow more free play, assign chores, don’t over praise, model resilience & good conflict resolution, support and guide but don’t take over. Remind our children that we’ll love them no matter what, despite their faults, and shortcomings, that we’ll still accept them for them.  Remind them they have purpose and value and are special. When we do this, then it’s safe to change.  

Don’t insist, rather invite.  Embarrassing the student results in a closed ear to the teacher.  Nagging doesn’t usually work.  Persuasion needs to be with kind sentiment, to stand in another’s shoes.

Is nagging ok? Nagging is such a negative word. It goes against the idea of gentleness and empathy, and avoids real teaching. I admit, there are times I’m a broken record, “hang up your coat, eat with your fork, finish your school work first, don’t hit your brother.”

Reinforcing positive behaviours is helpful, but the trouble is finding time to identify those good behaviours, and consistently promoting them.  Telling someone to change is different from showing that change, and different again from trying to change them.  I’d like to think nagging could have a place, especially with little children.  However, when they start to reason, (which in my experience is age 2), I need to add a purpose to the nag.   In fact, I need someone to give me a nag, like my daughter did by telling me to let her figure it out on her own. I now see the purpose of that nag. 

When we see our behaviour is hurting someone, or ourselves, we need to be able to stop.  Let’s hope I can be humbled more often, before I cause any hurt.  I’ll continue to need little sufferings to grow into the person I hope to become. That someone is a person more trusting, and trusted, less anxious, and more content, someone my children won’t resent but love and respect. That someone they know loves and respects them, despite their ability to learn maths!