Two Days of Gentle Parenting Nearly Broke Me

Like most parents, I want to be patient and empathetic with my kids (ages 8 and 10). Also like most parents, I regularly lose it—because there’s only so many times you can sweetly ask someone to brush their teeth before your voice gets...less sweet.

Enter the world of gentle parenting—a millennial-favorite approach popularized by experts like Dr. Becky and @biglittlefeelings that’s all about empathy, validation and connection. Sounds great in theory, but is it actually doable when you’re trying to wrangle two distracted kids out the door before 8 a.m.?

I decided to find out. Here’s what happened when I tried gentle parenting for 48 hours straight.

Gentle parenting—aka peaceful parenting—is all about respect, communication and empathy. No yelling. No threats. Just calm vibes and mutual understanding. For many of us millennial parents, it feels like a direct rebuttal to the “because I said so” style we grew up with (hi, boomers).

The approach has gained serious traction on social media, with parenting influencers touting its benefits for everything from toddler tantrums to tween backtalk. But it’s not without controversy—critics argue that it can come off as permissive, unrealistic or even exhausting to maintain in real life.

So naturally, I had to try it. I gave myself 48 hours to fully commit to the gentle parenting life with my two kids (ages 8 and 10). I was skeptical, sure—but also curious. Here’s how it went down.

Day 1: Creepy Calm Bedtime

After a chill afternoon (thank you, movie night), bedtime arrived—and that’s usually when things unravel. Most nights, I find myself speed-whisper-screaming things like “No more questions until tomorrow” right before softly singing a lullaby. (Do you think Simon & Garfunkel envisioned “The Sound of Silence” following a meltdown about toothpaste?) But this time, I stuck to the script. No yelling. No bribes. No threats. Just...gentle redirection.

I was breaking into a cold sweat at this point, utterly desperate for her to stop talking and sleep, so I could enjoy a couple hours of peace and quiet. But I stuck to the plan and stayed patient and never raised my voice. Again, my daughter asked if there was something seriously wrong with me and told me I was acting weird.

“I know you have so many things to talk about and I want to hear it all, but it has to wait until the morning, my loves,” I said in a soothing voice that made my 10-year-old recoil in horror. “Mom, you’re being creepy,” she said, then launched into a monologue about a friendship necklace she wanted from Amazon.

I was breaking into a cold sweat at this point, utterly desperate for her to stop talking and sleep, so I could enjoy a couple hours of peace and quiet. But I stuck to the plan and stayed patient and never raised my voice. Again, my daughter asked if there was something seriously wrong with me and told me I was acting weird. Finally, she said, Oh my God, can I just get my mom back?!

Eventually, I cracked and told them they were part of a “family experiment.” They were horrified. “Can you maybe just yell a little less but still be normal?” one suggested. Honestly? Fair feedback.

Bedtime dragged on an extra hour, but I tucked them in and went to bed feeling mildly victorious...and ready to reboot for Day 2.

Day 2: My Tween Turns Feral

The next day was rough. My tween woke up in a very foul mood—characterized by mood swings, back talk, hissy fits and general rudeness. Normally I’d match her energy (and maybe threaten to confiscate her MP3 player), but I took the high road. I stayed calm. I validated feelings. I didn’t punish her for being rude.

My attentive, peaceful and oh-so caring approach with my tween took up so much of my time that I barely paid any attention to my other kid, her younger brother!

Still, by bedtime her insufferable, hormone-fueled behavior had not relented. In fact, she simply got away with treating me like a doormat all day. Not only that, but my attentive, peaceful and oh-so caring approach with my tween took up so much of my time that I barely paid any attention to my other kid, her younger brother! Ultimately, I went to bed wondering if my typical response to this sort of thing (usually along the lines of, You’re acting awful, go to your room until you feel better…and if you talk to me like that one more time I’m taking away your mp3 player) isn’t perhaps more effective. The weekend wasn’t over yet though. I still had one more day to see how this gentle parenting thing plays out in practice.

Day 3: Boardwalk Meltdown

Saturday had been so exhausting and downright miserable for everyone involved that we all woke up Sunday morning determined to have a better day. I rallied the troops in the afternoon, and we decided to go to Coney Island to enjoy the beautiful weather on the boardwalk.

I’m an anxious and high-strung person, so little things like trying to navigate pedestrian traffic on a way too narrow sidewalk with two clueless kids can make me feel pretty irritable. As such, I sensed that gentle parenting was going to be particularly challenging almost as soon as we left the house. Still, I held it together for the rather hectic commute and once I had the breeze in my hair (and a beer in my hand), I felt A-OK. At least until the great soda debacle.

We were sitting at a table on the boardwalk enjoying some Nathan’s hot dogs and my kids were sipping the small Cokes I got them. These sodas did not have lids or straws, so naturally my son started doing all manner of things to his beverage besides drinking it. He was blowing bubbles into it, lapping it up with his tongue like a dog and—the only part that really required intervention—squeezing the plastic cup so that the liquid splashed up. I was fairly certain that within minutes the entire soda would either be in his lap or in my husband’s, so I gently and calmly asked him a few times to please stop. He did not, so I had to take the soda away. A raging tantrum ensued (a denim jacket was thrashed about with no regard for passersby) and my totally peaceful, loving approach did not have a calming effect whatsoever. We packed up our bags and headed home.

Gentle parenting did absolutely nothing to diffuse a temper tantrum, nor did it make an angsty tween more tolerable, but the opposite response would almost certainly have escalated both situations.

Gentle parenting didn’t magically fix my kids' behavior. It didn’t prevent meltdowns or inspire angelic cooperation. But here’s what it did do: It helped me recover faster.

When I yell, I carry that anger around all night. I stew. I snap again. But when I stay calm, even when my kid is losing it, I bounce back quicker. That matters.

I’m not sold that gentle parenting works in every scenario (some days still call for a “go to your room and rethink your life” vibe). But on the whole? It’s probably better for me. And when I feel more regulated, everyone wins.

So no, I’m not throwing away my boundaries or banning all consequences. But I am yelling a little less...and saving “creepy calm” mom for the moments that really count.