Parenting the Pendulum

It didn't happen in a lecture hall or at grand rounds. It happened on an ordinary Tuesday, after years of sitting with families in my office and a few sleepless nights with my own kids at home. That afternoon, I'd seen three versions of the same story: a parent who tried "gentle parenting" until the house felt like a reality-TV episode of survivor, another who went hard on consequences and now felt like a seasoned drill sergeant everytime their kids got "out of line;" and a third who banned every screen on a Monday and by Friday was negotiating peas for iPad time. Different families, different zip codes, same whiplash. The common theme was that everyone loved their kids, and everyone was exhausted, and no one had a clue as to why the fixes wouldn't hold. These are common consultation questions I get asked: Why isn't what I'm doing working?

That night, I watched myself slipping into the same patterns I often saw in the families I work with. One week, I was using the TV as a babysitter while taking a work call, which turned into several episodes of Paw Patrol; I enjoyed the quiet it provided. The very next week, I was fully committed to the no-screens movement. I could feel the arc in my own body: push… overcorrect… snap back. My kids looked confused, and to be fair, so did I.

Two days later, at my local playground, I pushed my son on the swing and sent him flying into the air. He screamed, asking me to slow down. I then pushed him again, but this time he barely moved. He looked at me like I had two heads, which I interpreted as the toddler version of "come on, Dad…" As I prepared to push him for the third time, with just the right amount of force, I was finally able to name what I'd been seeing for years: we weren't failing for lack of love or technique, we were just stuck in pendulum swings. The families I work with, and I, were following trends and pulling harder each time they didn't "work," then getting flung in the opposite direction. The whiplash wasn't personal; it was simply a matter of physics.

Once I saw the swing, I couldn't unsee it. I began to see it everywhere. In parenting, in politics, in the markets, and in popular culture (yes, I am talking about bell-bottoms and tie-dye t-shirts being “in” now). For example, political mood behaves like a thermostat, nudging back toward the center when things overheat. Markets pulse through cycles of leveraging and deleveraging. Technology oscillates between centralized and decentralized systems, and back again. Our homes do the same. At the dinner table, we vacillate from permissive to punitive, from "validating everything" to "because I said so." The swings are a normal response, so the swinging isn't the issue; it's how wide we swing, so the amplitude, that's where the problem lies.

Culture continually presents us with parables about this through various lenses. Star Wars treats the Force like family health: not a permanent choice of light or dark, but a balance that needs constant tending. In the comics, we see this too: the hero and villain, two opposing forces on the same pendulum swing. In The Dark Knight, we hear "You either die a hero or live long enough to become the villain." In our homes, we see this with strict parents. The more stringent the parent, the better at lying the kid. Moana illustrates the perils of both the reef (over-safety) and the open ocean (recklessness); the solution lies in wayfinding, skills, and structure that make exploration safe. Inside Out 2 personifies Anxiety's good intentions gone rogue; when one emotion dominates the console, the whole system wobbles. And for my theater fans, Hamilton reminds us that winning the moment isn't governing. Cadence beats one-off heroics, precisely the mindset households need.

Some of these things are clear, but why does it feel sharper in parenting? That's because there is yet another pendulum at play, inside our children. The childhood that once centered on embodied play and neighborhood adventures now competes with a phone-based performance culture, just as adults have grown more risk-averse about the very free play that builds grit. Even if we debate the causes, most of us recognize the pattern: fewer places to practice independence, more time being evaluated online, more comparisons, and more parental panic about all three. The solution isn't purity (no phones ever) or surrender (anything goes); it's design, guardrails that make digital life gradual, social, and bounded. The same principle should apply to our children’s use of AI.

The Pendulum

The best way to understand this is through physics. Don't worry, for my sake and yours, I'm going to skip the equations, but let's look at how a pendulum works. A pendulum is a weight on a string hanging from a fixed point, or fulcrum, that gravity pulls towards the middle, so it swings back and forth with a rhythm set by its length, not its weight. A swing needs a push and room to arc. Remove all freedom, and the system stalls; shove constantly, and the system destabilizes. At home, if we helicopter every homework problem, kids outsource effort; if we "free-range" without guardrails, they hit hazards not scaled to their age or size. The goal also isn't stillness (another extreme). The goal is a strong center with an elastic range, enough structure to prevent wild swings, and enough freedom to learn from the small ones.

Over the years, I've watched families ban every device and enjoy two weeks of monastery calm, only to have black-market tablets appear at Grandma's, resulting in an arms race of surveillance and lost confidence, which never turns out well. In those situations, the fix wasn't a harder yank; it was a gradual shift toward healthy tech use: devices off overnight and at meals, social apps behind friction (no notifications and manual log-ins – this alone decreases use tremendously), the swing didn't stop; it narrowed. I've also seen caregivers ping-pong between “laid-back and chill” and "my house, my rules” until the whole week felt like a mood board. The first step is simply being intentional and observing your patterns for a week. This practice reveals what is taking center stage, usually uncovering the missing piece: a fulcrum. Not a new parenting identity, but a few non-negotiables that quietly anchor the thousand micro-decisions parents make every day.

And because kids track with us, caregiver mental health is the infrastructure, or foundation. When we, as parents, maintain steady sleep, movement, and connection, and, when needed, seek screening and treatment, the household's amplitude shrinks. That's not blame; it's physics. A regulated parent is the most underrated dampener in the system. So what can we do about it? Here are some action steps we can start taking to audit our systems and establish our fulcrums:

The Center-Course (clip-and-save)

1. Name your fulcrum. One sentence that orients decisions when trends whip around you: "We protect sleep." "We speak respectfully." "We tell the truth."

2. Bound, don't blanket. Replace total bans and bottomless permission with clear edges you'll actually enforce: devices off overnight and at meals; helmets always. You set the what, they choose the how.

3. Structured vulnerability. Kids don't need a stone wall or a flood. Try a 15-minute weekly check-in: highs, lows, repair, appreciation. Keep heavier adult content for partners, therapy, or trusted peers.

4. Rhythm beats intensity. Two tech-free evenings every week will outperform one perfect "screen-free Sunday" that falls apart by Tuesday. One protected deep-work block most days > all-nighters. Cadence builds trust.

5. Nudge, don't yank if you've drifted into micromanaging, back off 10%, not 180°. If you've checked out, add one intentional check-in, not a boot camp. Micro-corrections stick; dramatic swings snap back.

6. Audit your information diet. Online parenting discourse runs on novelty and outrage. Before adopting the next "must," ask: Is it durable, doable, and aligned with our fulcrum?

   
   
   
   

In the end. Keep your cool.

At the end of the day, the world will keep swinging. Politics will overreach and correct. Markets will overheat and cool. Tech will centralize and scatter. Our win isn't to freeze the motion; it's to design our own systems, to keep a steady center and an elastic range. On the playground, it looks like learning your child's rhythm and offering the lightest touch at the right time. At home, it's about presence over grand gestures, cadence over radical transformations, and the humility to remember that every extreme invites its opposite.

Now I see the swing, catch the chain, then let go again - on my terms - and I hope you do too.

If you or someone you know wants to build a life of presence and clarity, at home and at work.

Let's chat!