Now, I’m not talking about parenting stereotypes, like Type A mom versus Type B mom or free-range mom versus helicopter mom. I’m referring to deeper parenting styles that fundamentally change how your child develops.

My former best friend and I met in kindergarten, meaning we had known each other for more than three decades. She jumped into her parenting journey a bit earlier than I did, and initially, she was quite helpful and supportive. When I was struggling with breastfeeding and my baby blues turned into postpartum depression, she encouraged me to do what was best for me—and that was to stop nursing. She was a mom who exclusively breastfed her kids for years, so this was monumental. Her words instantly removed the overwhelming social pressure and judgment I felt.

But as my kids grew, I began to notice something: our parenting styles were quite different.

My friend and her husband are more old school. Their word is law, and their kids are expected to do as they say. They are loving and supportive parents, and their beautiful children are thriving. But in their home, you won’t see her kids boldly expressing their feelings or having big explosions. Our home, on the other hand, is a little messier—figuratively speaking (at least in this case).

Our home is loud. My kids are intense. They bicker and let it all out. My husband and I do our best—though we sometimes fail—not to try to change or suppress our kids’ emotions. Sure, they’re still learning how to regulate these big feelings (as am I), but I believe that if they’re allowed to simply experience them, it will serve them well in the long run. Ultimately, they’ll know how to express their emotions in healthy ways rather than hide them—something my generation was brought up to do.

In that way, parenting changed me and really challenged me to do things differently. Wanting your children to grow into the best version of themselves often requires reflecting on who you are and want to be. Instead of fear and punishment, I now strive for connection over correction, which isn’t always the easiest.

Unfortunately, this responsive parenting style drove a wedge between the two of us. When I expressed vulnerability about how difficult it is to watch my child work through big emotions, she had zero patience. Instead, she replied, “Well, I would have told her to stop,” or “You let her ruin your day,” or worse, “She’s always been dramatic.”

Slowly, our relationship turned into me always needing to explain my choices. She questioned why I chose a certain school for my kids, why we didn’t reprimand them more, how we dealt with the pandemic; the list went on and on.

I began to realize that I didn’t need to explain myself to anyone, especially not someone who was supposed to be a friend. She saw my decisions as moral judgments—that her way of parenting must be wrong. In reality, it was just me choosing what I felt was best for my family.

After a while, I had to step away. And if one of your friends is criticizing how you parent, gaslighting you, or simply not supporting your choices at all, perhaps it’s time for you to step away, too. It’s just not healthy. You know what’s best for your child—period. No one needs to have an opinion about that. Reconsider whether your relationship is one that fills your bucket or takes from it. In my case, I already knew the answer.

That didn’t make parting ways any easier. I kept clinging to the past; we had so much history, after all. But because things grew toxic, I knew it was time. If we want to teach our children how to set and maintain boundaries, we must learn to create them for ourselves, too.

And at the end of the day, it’s vital to surround yourself with those who love and accept you for you—parenting style and all.

Getting my kids out the door in the morning feels like choreographing a Broadway dance number—one in which the dancers are klutzy and trip over one another. Maybe we’re just not morning people, but it can feel insurmountable to coordinate four people’s early a.m. routines. No matter how organized my partner and I try to be as stage managers, I feel like a failure when I hear my older daughter say, “Where are my shoes?” just as the school bus rounds the corner. Even worse are the mornings when shoes, backpack, and lunch all go missing at once.

With my younger child starting preschool this fall, all of us will need to leave the house at the same time. So I’m determined to understand why we’re having trouble and strategize some solutions. As a librarian, I know that all learning requires self-reflection and rehearsal. That’s why we’ve been practicing our routine this summer during those mornings when we have timed zoo tickets or playdates. It’s easier to adapt our habits when the stakes are lower and we don’t risk being late to work and school.

In a professional training I attended with learning specialist Craig Selinger, the C.E.O. of Brooklyn Letters and Themba Tutoring, I learned that leaving the house actually requires well-developed executive functioning skills—something we probably don’t assume when watching our kids aimlessly ping-pong around. When you’re tired, it can be even more challenging to accomplish a step-by-step task while filtering out distractions and managing your emotions. You must also use working memory, drawing from past experiences to analyze what is needed in the present (Did your sneakers feel too tight yesterday? Today you need to wear the other shoes!)

RELATED: Here’s Why I Don’t Tell My Kid to Have a Good Day—and What I Say Instead

According to Harvard University’s Center for the Developing Child, executive function is like “…an air traffic control system at a busy airport” managing “dozens of planes on multiple runways.” (This sounds exactly like the mental overload I experience almost every morning.)

Knowing all of this, I try to think of myself as an educator in the mornings, not a cranky mom. It’s worth being intentional and patient as I help my daughter build her executive functioning skills. (I’ll try to remember that the next time I lose my cool!) Here’s what my family has tried:

Assign Morning Roles

Are the adults doing all of the heavy lifting? Can the older kids do jobs that help the whole family, not just themselves? My 10-year-old fills all the family water bottles. The 3-year-old can turn off the lights or press the elevator buttons. When a kid knows the family is depending on her, she might actually pull herself together more efficiently.

Give Kids “Cues” with Certain Signal Phrases

When I ask my toddler, “Do you have your puppy?” she knows that I’m really serious about leaving the house. The way an actor will listen for a cue, a kid who doesn’t have a great sense of time or urgency will understand that certain lines or actions signal departure. I also turn off lights when my toddler has trouble grasping that it’s really time to go.

Post “Obvious” Reminders on the Door

I’m a fan of large self-stick Post-its, which I often put on the door with our daily routines and reminders. When we go to the beach, the list reads: “Towels, sand toys, sunscreen.” When school starts, it will be “backpack, lunch, water, shoes.” Younger children aren’t always systematic thinkers, especially first thing in the morning. Their executive functioning skills need constant support. I get exhausted issuing the same reminders, so I’m going to use my lists more this fall.

Prioritize/Catastrophize

This summer, on nights before a trip, I’ve asked my older daughter to identify the item she would be most disappointed to leave behind. Can she imagine herself getting to the beach and not having sunscreen or swimwear? Water can be easily purchased, but a bathing suit can’t.

We are not, in fact, very good at packing entire bags the night before when our nighttime routine feels cumbersome already. But now we prioritize the essential items and hang them from a bag on the doorknob, or even block the doorway with the bag so it can’t be ignored.

Clocks, Timers

The other day I realized that my partner and I get grumpy about our kid’s time management skills, but we’ve never given her a clock. Everyone uses clocks on their phones now, so we’re thinking of a digital wristwatch (rather than a distracting Apple watch) for the fall. We will also set timers on our phones to indicate that we’re 20, 10, and 5 minutes away from departure.

With any luck, these rehearsals will prepare us for a smash hit in September.

Jess deCourcy Hinds (jessdecourcyhinds.com) is a writer and librarian. Sign up for her free quarterly newsletter, I’m an Open Book: On Love, Libraries and Life-building.

From day one, I couldn’t stop snapping pics: that milk-drunk smile, a close-up of those genetically blessed lashes, a nap in the tightest swaddle I could muster. While I didn’t post every single one of my 50-something dailies, I kept up a steady pace that let everyone see what we were up to and where we were strolling. Before long, it was on to the toddler stage—capturing sneaky smiles, playground treks, food-covered faces, and occasional (sure… let’s stick with that) meltdowns.

I lived to give little updates on our adventures. Here we are grabbing ice cream! And in the car ride home after a day at the beach! Was it a mistake to attempt a restaurant? Look at this chaos and you tell me (in the comments)! I became obsessed with posting just enough and exactly the right mix of shots and videos to chronicle our perfectly imperfect life.

During every event or outing, there was a part of me that was thinking ahead to later that evening, when I could batch together the best snapshots so the people could see what we were up to. The compulsion to put our family on display was so strong and such a common practice that I never stopped to think, Maybe just don’t share for a change?

So as a challenge, that’s exactly what I did. What difference could it really make, I wondered. I quickly realized it was huge.

I haven’t gotten into an argument with a kid over an outfit and have stopped caring how they look.

We are not—and have never been—a matchy-matchy, perfectly ironed and color-coordinated family. That’s just a fashionable bridge too far. But there have been several times when my daughter demanded to wear a ratty old rainbow shirt that had seen (much) better days, and I cajoled her into wearing something “nicer.”

Did it really matter? Not at all! But for some reason, I didn’t want the ‘Gram to see her in that tired top for the third time in a row and assume I never did laundry. Now that I’m done posting, she can wear whatever she wants, whenever she wants, and I don’t give it a second thought.

I haven’t gotten bummed about how many likes I’ve gotten.

More likes = more love, right? Obviously not. But there’s an undeniable dopamine burst when you see those hearts and comments popping up after you’ve posted the sweetest/silliest/most hilarious pic or reel. You’ve nailed it! The people love it—and you! And your family!

Except when it feels like they don’t. Was my caption not clever enough? Did I come off as unlikeable or out of touch? The truth is, you’ll never know. It may even just be what the algorithm felt like serving up today. But not constantly checking in and reacting to the “success” of a post is even more freeing than you can imagine.

I haven’t felt like a failure after not getting the “perfect shot.”

No family is perfect. We’ve all internalized that message by now, yes? Social is simply a highlight reel, we are all just putting on performances, and so on and so forth. But it’s one thing to logically know it and another to see story after story of kids that seem to be just a bit happier and funnier and more well-traveled and sun-kissed than your own.

Related: My Insta “Friends” Are Mostly Strangers Now—and As a Mom, It’s Weirding Me Out

There used to be days when I drove myself crazy because one of my kids refused to open their eyes in what would otherwise be a perfect sunset shot. Or because we had a day when everyone genuinely got along (!), but I didn’t get any proof of the sibling sweetness on film. In relinquishing my role as documentarian, I finally learned to stop caring—and comparing. As it turns out, my kids are actual human beings with their own emotions and facial expressions, who can squint and be unphotogenic goofballs whenever they please.

I haven’t stress-eaten ice cream after doomscrolling about predators. (I’ve stress-eaten ice cream for other reasons, like sleep regressions and unrelenting potty talk.)

To be honest, creepers weren’t always at the top of my list of concerns. But the more I read, the more disturbed I was to discover stories of stolen identities and scams tied to unsuspecting families. The idea that someone could just pluck images from your life to build lies around and do with as they please is beyond unnerving—and something we should all think about a bit more. Not to mention that plenty of the acquaintances you “friended” over the years are kind of… strangers now. And not necessarily people I want to see my day-to-day whereabouts.

I’ve stopped worrying about where my photos will end up.

Confession: I have never taken the time to read through the dozens and dozens of pages of terms and conditions for the various platforms and apps I use before agreeing to them. (I’m going to guess you’re in the same boat.) So concerns about who owns my images, where my photos and videos might ultimately land, and what future searches might surface them are all valid. It’s murky territory, and it’s terrifying. Taking the step to remove myself and my family’s likenesses from public-facing platforms (as much as is possible)—and instead opting for private photo-sharing on Tinybeans—is something that helps me sleep better at night. And it’s a decision I’ll never regret making.

It can be easy to let the days slide by without being intentional in our communication with our kids. But when you have a moment to slow down and focus, here are eight different ways you can tell your daughter how amazing she is, instill a measure of self-confidence, and cheer her on to become the best possible version of herself.

1. Catch her doing something good.

As parents, it’s natural to spend a lot of time correcting our kids or pointing out mistakes. Flip the switch and look for something positive.

“I really appreciate that you put the dishes in the dishwasher after school, and not just the sink.”

“Thanks for helping your brother with that math problem.”

“You only slept in five minutes past your alarm! Great job.”

Positive affirmation is contagious; she may start doing the same with you!

2. Point out something positive in a negative situation.

Failure is part of life, especially for people like pioneers or entrepreneurs who are stepping out on limbs, taking risks, and forging new paths. If you want a daughter who’s not afraid to fail, begin to assuage that fear by helping her see the upside of something that was less than successful.

“Well, we didn’t sell much lemonade, but your idea to sell those chewy brownies was brilliant. The one customer we did have needed two more cups of lemonade to wash it down!”

When children feel good about themselves and know that you’re okay with trying and failing (and encourage it, versus not trying new things at all), they’re more willing to persevere and take new risks.

3. “What are your roses, thorns, and buds today?”

At dinnertime or before bed, ask your daughter about one of her day’s successes (a rose), one problem or mistake (a thorn), and one thing she is looking forward to tomorrow (bud). You can share yours, too. It’ll help her see that there are peaks and valleys throughout life, and success isn’t about avoiding the downturns; it’s about how you handle them, bounce back, and move forward.

4. Show her the big picture.

If she wonders why she needs to take math even though she wants to write children’s books someday, or she complains about gym class and says she’s not a “natural athlete,” talk about why math skills and fitness are important in life, no matter what career path she chooses.

Sometimes kids can be a little myopic in their view of the world, but you can help encourage your daughter to see the bigger picture. Sometimes the answer to “Why do I have to take this class?!” is simply, “To learn how to learn. Learning new things is something you’ll do for the rest of your life, and every single class you take can help you become a better learner.”

5. “What’s your plan?”

Ask her about how she plans on solving problems on her own. (The problems she’s capable of handling independently, anyway.)

“Mom, my soccer jersey is dirty, and I have a game tomorrow!” Instead of rifling through her hamper yourself, maybe answer, “That seems like something you’ll need to take care of in the next 12 to 24 hours then. What’s your plan?” Or, let’s say she’s promised the neighbors she’ll babysit for them on Saturday, but now she wants to back out because she got invited to a birthday party. “Hmm. How do you think it would be best to handle that?”

Problem-solving is an important and valuable skill for anyone.

6. Help her identify her passions.

She might not know yet what it is that gets her pumped up or makes her heart beat fast (which is normal, of course), so helping her identify those things could be very helpful and supportive. “Hey, I noticed that you got a little choked up when we watched that video about the rescue dog. What would you think about volunteering at the Humane Society once a month?” Or, “I love that you like to help me with dinner! Maybe we should take a cooking class together?”

7. “I’m proud of you.”

It’s one thing to praise or celebrate her accomplishments, but what about her character?

“You’re such a loyal friend, I’m so proud of how supportive and encouraging you are.”

“When you hugged your sister after her bad day at school yesterday, I was so proud of you. You have a big, compassionate heart.”

Most of us—kids especially—indulge in too much negative self-talk. When you tell your kids what’s great about them, you interrupt that internal negative loop and help build their self-confidence.

8. “I believe in you.”

Think about it for a second: Who was the last person who said that to you? A parent, your spouse, maybe a mentor? Those are four powerful words that probably aren’t spoken enough. And if you’ve ever heard them, they likely lifted your spirits, ignited a fire, re-fueled a waning determination, or simply gave you the chutzpah you needed to tackle a project or face an intimidating challenge.

Whether your daughter is risk-averse or a little daredevil, whether she’s innovative or prefers the status quo, whether she’s ready to take on the world or needs a nudge out of her comfort zone—she needs to hear this from you.

This post originally appeared on The Startup Squad.

Last night was hard for you. I asked you to watch the baby so I could go to bed early. The baby was crying. Wailing, really. I could hear him from upstairs, and my stomach knotted from the sound, wondering if I should come down there and relieve you or just shut the door so I could get some desperately needed sleep. I chose the latter.

You came into the room 20 minutes later, with the baby still frantically crying. You placed the baby in the bassinet and gently pushed it just a few inches closer to my side of the bed, a clear gesture that you were done watching him.

I wanted to scream at you. I wanted to launch an epic fight that very moment. I had been watching the baby and the toddler all damn day. I was going to be waking up with the baby to feed him all damn night. The least you can do is hold him for a couple of hours in the evening so I can attempt to sleep.

Just a few hours of precious sleep. Is that too much to ask?

I know we both watched our parents fulfill the typical mother-father roles growing up. Both our mothers were the primary caretakers and our fathers were relatively hands-off. They were excellent dads, but they weren’t expected to spend a significant amount of time changing diapers, feeding, caring, and tending to the kids. Our mothers were the superwomen who maintained the family dynamics. Cooking, cleaning, and raising the children. Any help from dad was welcome but unexpected.

I see us falling into these family dynamics more and more each day. My responsibility to feed the family, keep the house clean, and take care of the kids is assumed, even as I return to work. I blame myself for most of it, too. I have set the precedent that I can do it. And in truth, I want to. No offense, but I’m not sure I want to know what a week’s worth of dinner would look like with you in charge.

I also see my friends and other moms doing it all, and doing it well. I know you see it, too. If they can manage it, and if our mothers did it so well for us, why can’t I?

I don’t know.

Maybe our friends are playing the part in public and secretly struggling. Maybe our moms suffered in silence for years and now, 30 years later, they simply don’t remember how hard it really was. Or maybe, and this is something I berate myself over every single day, I’m just not as qualified for the job as everyone else. And as much as I cringe just thinking it, I’m going to say it: I need more help.

Part of me feels like a failure for even asking. I mean, you do help. You are an amazing father, and you do a great job with the kids. And besides, this should come easy to me, right? Motherly instincts, no?

But I’m human and running on five hours of sleep and tired as hell. I need you.

In the morning, I need you to get our toddler ready so I can care for the baby and make everyone’s lunches and drink a cup of coffee. And no, getting the toddler ready does not mean plopping him in front of the TV. It means making sure he goes potty, giving him some breakfast, seeing if he wants water, and packing his bag for school.

At night, I need an hour to decompress in bed, knowing our toddler is asleep in his room and the baby is in your care. I know it’s hard to listen to the baby cry. Believe me, I know. But if I can watch and pacify the baby for the majority of the day, you can do it for an hour or two at night. Please. I need you.

On weekends, I need more breaks. Times when I can get out of the house by myself and feel like an individual. Even if it’s just a walk around the block or a trip to the grocery store. And some days when I’ve scheduled swim class and play dates, and it seems like I’ve got it all under control, I need you to offer to lend me a hand. Or suggest I go lie down during the kids’ naptime. Or start putting away the dishes without me suggesting it. I need you.

Lastly, I need to hear you’re grateful for all I do. I want to know that you notice the laundry is done and a nice dinner has been prepared. I want to know you appreciate that I breastfeed at all hours and pump when I’m at work when it would be easier for me to formula feed. I hope you notice that I never ask you to stay home from your networking events and sports activities. As the mom, it’s assumed I’ll be home all the time and always available to care for the kids while you’re out and I feed that assumption by, well, being home all the time.

I know it’s not how our parents did it, and I hate even asking. I wish I could do it all and make it look effortless. And I wish I didn’t need kudos for doing things most people expect from a mom. But I’m waving a white flag and admitting I’m only human. I’m telling you how much I need you, and if I keep going at the pace I’ve been on, I will break. And that would hurt you, the kids, and our family.

Because, let’s face it: You need me, too.

This post originally appeared on And What a Mom!

During my time as a single mom, I’d always been cautious about what I posted online, but like many parents, I loved documenting my son’s milestones and our journey together. Those images—his first steps, birthday celebrations, and other moments that captured the essence of our bond—represented our story.

I never imagined that our memories would be used to commit a crime.

The scammer had crafted an entire false identity around my life. Using my photos, “she” presented herself as a struggling single mother who had fallen on hard times and couldn’t afford basic necessities for her son. The parallels to my actual life were chilling—this person had studied my posts carefully enough to mirror my real circumstances, making their story believable to unsuspecting victims.

But the theft went beyond just stealing my images. This person claimed to possess psychic powers and offered readings to her followers in exchange for electronic payments. She was monetizing my child’s face, my motherhood, and our most intimate moments to fund her fraudulent business, making thousands of dollars a month.

The horror of seeing my son’s face used to manipulate vulnerable people was overwhelming. Every photo they had stolen represented a moment of pure joy in our lives, now corrupted and commodified for profit. The violation felt personal. It was personal, and I lost so much sleep over it.

My immediate response was to lock everything down. I frantically set posts involving my son to private or archived them entirely, effectively erasing years of documented memories from public view. The sadness was immense because these weren’t just photos; they were cherished memories and pivotal moments in my son’s development that I had proudly shared, thinking only loved ones would see. Now they felt tainted, dangerous.

Seeking justice was a whole other source of frustration. I contacted the FBI’s cybercrime department, hoping their resources could help. Rather, they explained that they couldn’t take on such a relatively minor case.

Fortunately, a family friend who works in law enforcement with a specialty in cybercrimes stepped in where federal authorities couldn’t. Through his expertise and determination, we were able to trace the IP address to a location in the Midwest. The investigation revealed the scammer’s digital footprint, and finally, we were able to shut down the operation. Who knows how long the scam would’ve continued without his help?

The experience fundamentally changed how I approach sharing my child’s life online. What had once felt like innocent memory-sharing now carries the weight of potential exploitation. Every photo I consider posting is filtered through the lens of “How could this be misused?” The spontaneous joy of capturing and sharing moments has been replaced by calculated caution.

Now, years later, as a content creator who works with clients of all sizes, I’m always quick to make sure they understand that my child’s face won’t be part of the deal. It’s a non-negotiable for me, and luckily, no brand has ever taken issue with it. This gives me so much hope for the future of parenting creators who choose to digitally protect their children while making a living on social media.

Sharing intimate family moments may still feel natural and even expected, but there’s a growing trend among parents to protect their children’s privacy. We have to keep in mind that predators come in all different forms, and once you post publicly, you have no control over where your photos end up. The internet never forgets, and neither can we. Our kids’ digital footprints are too precious to risk.

If you’re looking for a safer way to share family updates with your inner circle, Tinybeans has your back! The app is a totally private and secure space used by millions of parents looking to protect their kids’ digital footprints. It’s a digital baby journal, time capsule, and photo-sharing app all wrapped in one!

There is nothing more frustrating than preparing meals for your little person and then they refuse to eat any of it!

I finally decided to find someone who could help me. My friend, the expert (also a daycare and preschool teacher for over 30 years), thankfully taught me a genius hack that completely changed what my toddler would try in a matter of days. Not only that, but this simple yet oh-so-smart game somehow made my picky kiddo think that trying new foods was so much fun.

How Do You Play?

Introduce the game at a family meal, like dinnertime, and be sure to have everyone play it. This way, your kid will be eager to partake by the time their turn rolls around.

Let’s say the new food is to try a piece of cucumber. Give everyone (parents included) a bite-sized piece. By making it the size of one toddler bite, you increase your chances of them actually eating it (and not spitting it back out).

Now, before starting to eat dinner, say, “Now we get to play the taste game.” The key is for you and any other adults to act very excited. Explain that everyone is going to try the same new food. “We are all going to try cucumber and decide what it tastes like.” Have a parent go first. Eat the food, make some funny faces, and describe the taste (cold, kind of crunchy, sour, sweet, etc.).

Related: 4 Things NOT to Say to a Picky Eater

Remember: fun and silly. Kids love to make silly faces and watch you do the same, so use this to your advantage. Ask questions about taste and texture. Is it sour? Is it crunchy? Also, ask silly questions like, “Does the beet taste pinkalicious or purple-y?”

Then, ask who is next. Your toddler might decide they want to go next. Another tactic that you can use is when you ask, “Who wants to go next?” and have the other parent get overly enthusiastic about going next. Then tell the parent they have to wait because it’s (toddler’s name) turn. This will make your toddler feel very special. Additionally, this game gives them positive attention from their parents. You all watch and wait to see what the child decides it tastes like.

Lastly, don’t force it. You might have to play the game a few times to get your toddler to want to partake. Start with foods they will sometimes eat for you, and then once they’re really into the game, go for harder ones. If need be, call in the reinforcements. Have the grandparents over and have them play the game with you. If your toddler idolizes an older kid or a friend, then have them come play the game, too. It’s amazing what a little peer pressure can do.

Before you know it, they’ll be eating and trying all kinds of foods. They might even remind you to play the game. My toddler now asks at dinner, “What new food are we trying?”

Why Does It Work?

It might seem like just a game, but what you’re actually doing is something that you probably do in other aspects of your parenting. With toddlers and little kids, a big part of parenting is helping them understand new experiences and the emotions that come along with them.

This game is the same thing. By playing it with them, you show them that everyone tries new foods. You react in all types of ways by making funny faces. When kids try a new food and aren’t too sure of the taste or texture, you want them to know that a range of responses is okay. Instead of only two outcomes—you either like the food or you don’t—you’re teaching them that the right response is whatever they feel.

So simple but ingenious because when the goal changes from getting them to like a new food to instead describing it, then it’s okay for it to be anything. Even gross.

But becoming “too cool” for you is more than an eye-roll at your attempt to hold their hand. Somewhere around nine or ten, parental approval becomes less important. Kids care more about their peers’ opinions—not necessarily more than they care about yours, but more than they cared before. It can be a tightrope walk for both of you. They’re worried about fitting in; you’re worried about being left behind.

But you shouldn’t worry. With more complex emotions and social concerns, they don’t need you in the same way they did as truly little kids. But that natural shift doesn’t mean they’ll immediately melt into a puddle of embarrassment whenever you’re nearby.

That’s because you can “cool-proof” your kids. This starts with accepting that an initial pull-away is basically unavoidable—and can even happen as early as eight years old. If one little jerk is teasing them about mom hugs, and they seek that jerk’s approval (as is age-appropriate), they’re bound to squirm away or shrug you off. This will probably happen more than once, but give it time. Eventually, you want them to roll their eyes at that little jerk, not you. Nurture their self-esteem. Accept them for who they are and help them be the best version of themselves. Don’t force them to fit your wants or expectations. (I wish my oldest hadn’t given up diving, but he would rather rock climb—his call!) If they’re confident in who they are, it won’t keep happening.

But this is a two-way street. Part of “cool-proofing” involves being cool yourself. Are you hugging your kid in public? Good job. Are you haranguing him about his dirty underwear in front of his friends? No bueno. Imagine your child as an adult (I know, it sucks, but they’ll grow up one day). I’d sprint away from someone who shouted, “Make sure you change that shirt! You’ve been wearing it for three days!” in front of my besties. Similarly, you’d hug your spouse in front of his friends, but you wouldn’t harass him for leaving the toilet seat up. Don’t do it to your kid. They can live with you singing along to the radio, as long as you don’t go full operatic. They can’t live with you reprimanding them in front of their friends.

More than remaining chill, you also need to respect them. They will develop their own taste in music and clothing. Yes, it was super fun to dress them. But it’s not your job anymore. You might hate their preferences: I would burn every pair of athletic shorts and Crocs in my house if I could, and with three boys, that would make quite a conflagration. But they see their friends wearing both, and they cling to the fact that those elastic-waist shorts are more comfortable than jeans (regardless of the weather).

At nine, 11, and 13, they get to choose, not me. I don’t complain about their outfits, I don’t roll my eyes when they ask for Hamilton again or demand Led Zeppelin instead of Bowie, and I don’t ridicule Pokémon or Minecraft walk-throughs (why would you watch a video telling you how to play a game? I don’t get it).

Just remember: if you respect your kid and encourage them to become an independent thinker, they won’t pull away for long. They’ll set boundaries. You’ll set boundaries. But they won’t disconnect completely. Treat them with dignity and accept their choices. Don’t roll your eyes. They’ll come back.

“Hey Lana! I’m not sure if you’re aware of this but this just popped up in my Facebook? And I recognized your face? I can’t send the photo but someone is using your photos under a different name?”

The message was from a young mum who follows me. She seemed genuine, and within one reply, I knew she was. Her next message included screenshots of a woman’s profile. Her name was Georgia Mitchell. She had 111 followers, people who legitimately engaged with her content—commenting, liking, and sharing.

The profile picture wasn’t me, but the cover was a photo of me lying down with my shirtless two-year-old. A wholesome moment captured on vacation one month earlier. I’d shared it on my Instagram in a carousel of happy holiday snaps, believing anyone who followed me had good intentions and would enjoy them for what they were.

As I scrolled through the profile, my heart sank deeper and deeper.

The photo I’d shared of me and my son on Mother’s Day was there with a caption I didn’t write: “<3 <3 Seeing you makes me so happy”.

Below that, a photo of Bowie at the football. I’d just posted that the week before.

Then, an image of me, my husband, and my newborn on the day we came home from the hospital. My house in the background, we’re smooching our three-day-old child under another caption I didn’t write: “U + 1 = baby”. (What does that even mean?!)

Finally, I discovered that the first image published to her profile was a photo taken minutes after Bowie was born. It’s the one I used to announce his birth, my husband and I proudly smiling with our firstborn on my chest. She wrote: “Our joy <3 Thank you for making me a mother <3.”

What. A. Liar.

What an invasion of privacy.

Who was this person? What was she trying to achieve? How long had she been following me and pretending to be me? Pretending to be Bowie’s mum? These photos had been collected and strategically posted over a two-year period. A stranger was mining my life to build a false picture of their own. It wasn’t the fact that she’d taken my images that really bothered me; it was the theft of photos of my son. Personal moments. Private moments. And the worst part was that I served them up on a silver platter.

I’m a 32-year-old woman who works in media and grew up being schooled on the dangers of the internet. The discussion around children’s privacy and digital footprints has been happening for years. I should have known better.

I also have a relatively public profile as a television journalist who delivers news into people’s living rooms every night. I chase bad guys down the street and expose criminals to a national audience, so I’m used to copping backlash as a result. I used to fiercely protect my privacy, fearing that one of those criminals would try to find me. But when I had my baby, I dropped my guard. I think I put rose-colored glasses on. I was seeing the world through a different lens—one that was innocent and pure, just like my baby. I felt safe sharing his gorgeous smile and first steps with the internet. It was a way for me to inject more positivity into the world after working in a realm of heaviness for so long.

I had continuously chosen to be ignorant. “Bad things” are what happen to “other people.”

What I find scary is that the second I decided to call this out online, the profile was deleted. I filmed a video identifying the page and captioned it, “I see you, Georgia Mitchell.” Within minutes, supportive followers were trying to find the profile to report it, but it was gone. That tells me the person behind the fake page was following me, and probably had notifications set for when I posted. Is that how frequently they were watching me? Was every photo I’d ever posted of my boy screenshotted and saved in a folder on their phone?

The sad part is that this is probably the best-case scenario. This person may have been building a fake profile for their own satisfaction, or perhaps it was part of a ploy to scam people. I don’t know and I don’t care. But if that’s the worst of it, I consider myself lucky. We all know how much darker it can get. Yet the pull to share wholesome, happy moments of my life and my boy’s life with the people I love overpowered that.

I still believe 95 percent of people have good intentions, and I hate that we’re forced to alter our behavior for the five percent of evil that lives amongst us. It’s why I’m wrestling now with how I approach sharing our lives online in the future.

Part of me wants to keep on keeping on, sharing Bowie’s gorgeous personality and our special life moments because the world deserves more joy, and who doesn’t want to see a cute kid do something silly? But I’ve realized that it’s not worth it. I think this is my wake-up call, a sign to quit while I’m ahead.

At this point in time, I’ve decided to leave what I’ve already posted about Bowie on my page. I figure even if I did delete the pictures, a Google images search would probably bring them all back up anyway. Once it’s published, it lives on the internet forever, or so we’re told.

Moving forward, I think I’ll stick to non-identifiable images. It truly feels like such a shame to have to hide part of our lives, but hiding him is protecting him, and that’s my job. We also have another little boy on the way, and I can guarantee there’ll be no grand birth announcement with his precious face on show for the world. Those pictures will be for our inner circle only. Not for Georgia Mitchell.

I can’t help but go in circles wondering, who is she? Or he? Is it a robot in a dungeon in a faraway land? Is it a person I know? Someone I’d call a friend? Whoever they are, they’ve had a front row seat to my child’s life. Now, I’m not just kicking them out of the auditorium; I’m canceling the show.

If you’re looking for a safer way to share family updates with your inner circle, Tinybeans has your back! The app is a totally private and secure space used by millions of parents looking to protect their kids’ digital footprints. It’s a digital baby journal, time capsule, and photo-sharing app all wrapped in one!

People are going to tell you terrible things. You will never shower again! You will never poop alone! Sleep will become a distant memory in the hazy caffeine tides of your life! However, they have an ironclad solution to all this nonsense. You will listen as they share it with all the fervency of a newly minted cult member. This makes being a new mom even harder. Suddenly, there are rules. You must obey the rules—or you will break the baby.

Take a deep breath; you will not break the baby. At this moment of doubt and panic, you don’t need more parenting advice. You’ve sifted through a Google’s worth of parenting advice. What you need is to take it easy on yourself and to remember that you are allowed to…

1. Feel scared, sad, and angry.

Sappy cards will call your child a “bundle of joy.” Newsflash: Your baby is a small human, not a gift bag of premium coffee. People will say they never knew love before seeing their newborn. But some moms feel apathy instead. Some become overwhelmed by their sudden and irreversible life change. Some doubt they made the right decision about this whole parenting thing. Some feel all these things. None mean you love your baby less. You can love them desperately, want them desperately, and still wish you could run away. These are not mutually exclusive, and you are not a bad person. Give yourself permission to feel whatever you’re feeling—without the guilt trip. You don’t deserve that.

2. Ignore parenting gurus.

The world demands you pick a parenting philosophy as if you were writing a corporate mission statement instead of keeping a human happy. These philosophies come with rules. Did you sign up for a new religion? No? Then play cafeteria: Pick what seems good and leave the rest. Dr. Sears does not know your baby. I used to run a babywearing group, and some babies hated to be worn. Dr. Ferber also does not know your baby; my kids would’ve lost their minds if I left them to cry. Take what works. Ditch the rest.

3. Ignore absolutes.

One bottle will not give your baby nipple confusion. Crying for two minutes will not lead to attachment issues. Wearing your baby will not spoil them. Ignore the all-or-nothing stuff. Take a deep breath. Does it sound extreme? It probably is.

4. Trust your instincts.

You know your baby best. If something feels wrong, it’s probably wrong; if something feels right, it’s likely right. You have common sense. Listen to it and your gut. Does your baby kick and scream when they’re swaddled? Maybe you shouldn’t swaddle them, even if conventional wisdom says you should. Does your baby vomit and scream after every meal? Maybe you’re right about that infant reflux thing. Always pay attention to your intuition.

5. Go full mama bear.

If a stranger touches your baby, you don’t have to smile. You can say, “Don’t touch my child.” If your pediatrician won’t believe that your baby’s ill, you can say, “We need to reevaluate this.” If your mother insists on using a bottle and you prefer breast, you can say, “No, this is what works for us, thanks.” Having a baby gives you permission, more than ever before, to stand up for yourself—and it’s easier because you’re standing up for a person you love. Be rude if you need to. Your baby is more important than someone else’s feelings.

6. Do “nothing.”

Who decided we should bring home a squally, inscrutable human being without language capabilities… and then clean the house in our “downtime”? Were they male? Severe amnesiacs? Sadists? Mom, park yourself on the couch and do nothing. Watch those TV shows you’re ashamed of. Drink tea. Wear a fancy robe. Your job is momming: You do not clean the house.

You may find this difficult. Lean on the authority of your tea and fancy robe. Seriously—they project devil-may-care noblesse oblige. You’ll feel fancy, and you’ll feel powerful, and you’ll remember: All humans are not the same; therefore, all babies are not the same. What worked for one person may not work for you. All those you-shoulds and you-have-tos should come with big asterisks: I don’t know you, your baby, or your life situation. What I’m about to say is conditional on many things, and you should probably ignore most of it anyway.

You have permission to ignore all advice. You have permission to take a deep breath and chill out. You have permission to ugly-cry. You have permission to sleep and shower as you see fit. New parenting is hard enough. Don’t make it harder by stuffing down your feelings or obeying rules that feel wrong. Trust yourself. You’ve got this.