July Review: Applying the Let Them Theory to my Parenting
Where can I be empowering my kids rather than simply saying "no"?
This month, I was able to read Mel Robbins’ latest book, The Let Them Theory, in all its bright green glory. The book elaborates on that phrase I keep seeing on her Instagram reels: Let them.
Could the book probably have been slimmed down to half its size? Sure. But it’s a quick read with many interesting anecdotes and examples. I don’t regret reading it, and I’ve already put the “let them” mentality into practice several times.
Robbins’ premise is that we would all be happier and more true to ourselves if we approached life with a “Let Them, Let Me” mindset, consciously identifying things we cannot control and instead focusing on our responses: Let them cut me off in traffic; let me remind myself to be safe and keep my distance. Let them feel angry about my life choices; let me do what I know is best for me and my truth. Let them eat a pickle and mayonnaise sandwich; let me stay away from that shit so I don’t vom.
Robbins emphasizes multiple times throughout the book that this theory is designed for our relationships with fellow adults and should not be applied to parenting choices. Why? Because, as she rightly points out, we’re responsible for our children’s physical, emotional, and mental well-being. That variable complicates a purely “let them” mindset. Plus, as she says, let’s be real: we wouldn’t want to let our kids do everything they want all the time. They’re still developing executive functioning skills to think through consequences of impulsive choices.
That’s fair. I agree that I can’t approach my five-year-old with the same “let them” understanding as I would an adult. But, this “let them” approach does make me think about opportunities I have in my daily parenting to let my kids take healthy risks. To let my kids make a mistake. To let my kids ask tough questions (and get thoughtful answers). To let my kids learn through experience.
They want to sit on the couch and pout because I won’t let them use the iPad? Let them.
They want to wear their Batman t-shirt with patterned jack-o-lantern pajama pants to school? Let them.
They want to eat chicken nuggets for the third night in a row? Let them.
Sometimes, as a mom, I feel like the word “no” sits perched and ready just inside my mouth, ready to go at any moment. There are times, when I’m stressed or overstimulated or reeling from a headline I just saw, that I want some space in my life that is fully within my control. “No,” I’ll say, as they hang backwards over the side of the couch. “No,” I’ll say, as they start fighting with each other for the umpteenth time. “No,” I’ll say, as they start giggle-wrestling when they’re supposed to be putting on their shoes.
Of course, there’s a time and a place for “no.” I’ve read parenting theories that argue “no” is a bad word for parents to use with their kids, but I think sometimes, it’s the most immediate and effective tool we have to keep our kids safe and set boundaries. For instance, when my five-year-old tries building both his settlements in Settlers of Catan before I’ve even built one of mine?! No thank you, friend.
But that other kind of “no” that creeps in, the one that’s really more about me than them, and after reading Robbins’ book, I wonder how often I’m saying “no” when I really could unclench my hold on the situation and “let them.”
I’ve written before about trying to find the right balance between doing everything and nothing, and I’m sure I’ll write more in the future about the deep fear we parents have of not being able to find that balance. I think this idea of finding opportunities to let your kids fall, cry, pause, or argue also necessitates a certain dance that parents can only master with experience. Where can I relax and shift the “no” into a “let them”? And where does the “let them” need to turn into a “no”?
That dial between a “let them” and a “no” shifts in each different environment, each different situation, and each different child, yet another one of those exasperating parts of the parenting journey.
Robbins talks a lot in her book about who holds the “power.” She reminds us that, when it comes to your life, “YOU hold the power. And YOU are the one who has been giving it away.” Now, I think her phrasing oversimplifies the ways in which some social structures and institutions play an insurmountable role in shaping lives, but when I think about her claim in regards to my parenting, I think about the power dynamic between me and my children. How often do I hold my power over them and eliminate their agency? Reframing her words a bit, I hold the power as the parent–in what ways have I been refusing to give any of it away to my kids?
I have no answers, as always. But this book has spurred lots of helpful questions for me about where I can turn a “no” into a “let them.”
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