You Are Not A Helicopter Parent. You Are Your Child's Emotional Support Parent
PREFACE: This blog may be the nearest and dearest to me. It speaks to a parenting phenomenon that I have personally struggled with, and continue to work on 30+ years into my parenting journey.
It all crystallized for me when, a few months ago, a mom of a very sensitive, reactive child who gets triggered into discomfort easily, and is thus prone to frequent and intense meltdowns, described herself as her child’s “emotional support animal” and it took my breath away. This so perfectly captured my experience and that of so many of the parents (most often a mom) I work with who have an HSC (highly sensitive child).
This mom is her child’s primary and most desired (demanded) source of comfort. She is the person who is highly tuned in to her child, keenly focused on anticipating anything that might cause him stress, and tirelessly working to head it off.
We are often called “Helicopter Parents” which has become the catch-all nomer (slur) for any parent who is perceived to be overprotecting their child. It is shaming and judgmental. It is damaging, and not helpful. And it does not capture or take into consideration the more complex and nuanced dynamic that evolves when you have a very committed, loving, sensitive parent with a child who is not wired to be as adaptable as other kids; who gets triggered easily by the unexpected, and by sensations that are registered at a higher decibel and cause discomfort; and, whose big feelings are hard to manage, especially at such an early age. These parents are acting out of necessity, really survival. They are doing their best and working to the point of physical and emotional exhaustion to provide comfort to their children who are hard to comfort, and to preserve some semblance of family peace and harmony—no small feat—when you’ve got a big reactor in your home.
Just telling parents to stop hovering, to stop “overprotecting” and rescuing, to set limits and not give in to tantrums, is too simplistic and doesn’t acknowledge the very complex systems that evolve in families with big reactors just to cope day to day.
This blog offers insights from my own parenting experience and my work with hundreds of kindred ESPs (“emotional support parents”) that I hope will be validating, and will also help you find that important, but often hard-to-find, sweet spot of supporting versus enabling your child. In other words, how to nurture that special closeness you have with your child while also setting the important limits that are essential for children’s individuation and healthy, independent functioning far into the future.
We Are Not Helicopter Parents, We Are Emotional Support Parents
“My son is desperate for me. He sticks to me like Velcro. I am his person. He only wants me to do everything for him. But I am also the fuel for his fire. When he is upset, because something has gone wrong, that I have absolutely nothing to do with—like his banana breaking in half—I am the target of his anger and am to blame.”
I hear stories like this weekly from families who seek my consultation. They almost always have a highly sensitive child (HSC) who registers their experiences and sensations more deeply than other children. They are amazing kids who are feisty, clever, empathetic, creative, and insightful beyond their years.
They also are often big reactors, getting triggered into discomfort more easily because their systems can’t effectively process the intensity of the input they experience. This often makes them more irritable and moody, and thus prone to more frequent and major meltdowns, often in response to seemingly benign events, such as:
The chicken is too close to the rice on their plate.
Their block tower doesn’t look exactly like the one they saw in the store.
You took a different route home from school.
Dad didn't sing the song using the exact words from the previous rendition.
Mom parked the car in the “wrong” (unexpected) space in the preschool lot.
A common phenomenon in many families with an HSC is that one parent becomes what one mom so aptly described as her child’s “emotional support animal.” This ESP (“Emotional Support Parent”) is very tuned into their child and shares an especially close, wonderful, fortifying bond with them.
Because their child gets triggered into discomfort/stress so quickly, the ESP often becomes keenly focused on trying to keep their child as calm and happy as possible. If you are an ESP, you know the drill: you are constantly trying to anticipate what may cause your child discomfort and then are working hard to figure out how to reduce—or even better—prevent it. I feel you. I am a recovering ESP.
ESPs find themselves working 24/7 to head off the tantrums that can be fierce and very distressing, to the whole family system: making sure the one pair of pants they will wear are clean every morning; preparing their food to ensure there is nothing foreign they aren't expecting (like a stray poppy seed that found its way onto the child's plain bagel); going through the plan for the next day six times before lights-out, and ensuring there is no divergence from it. ESPs often feel like they are the only one who truly understands and knows how to comfort their child and get them through the myriad difficult moments they encounter as they navigate daily life.
Being the ESP can feel very fortifying and rewarding. They share a special closeness with their child and know the important role they are playing as their child’s primary source of comfort. But being the ESP also takes enormous patience, and physical and emotional energy. And it is exhausting.
That’s not all...
“My daughter drops pizza on the floor, I’m responsible. I get a drip of water from her toothbrush on her shirt—I did it on purpose. She falls off her scooter, I made it happen. And, according to her, I should never have bought the scooter—that she had begged for!!—in the first place. Don’t I know that she HATES scooters???” It turns out that the ESP is not just the most desired (demanded) source of comfort, you are also to blame when anything goes wrong. You are their person—the one they trust to have their back, to keep them safe and secure. You are always there for them, and they know it. This also means that you should be able to solve all their problems and prevent all pain. So, when something unexpected or unwanted happens, you are not just the cause, you are responsible for making it all better.
“I want you to feel how bad I feel.” (5 yo to his ESP once calm after an epic meltdown)
As another mom so perfectly put it: "He's hitting me with one hand and pulling me with the other! 'Feel as bad as I do… AND make me feel better.’”
It is a basic human need to feel understood and not alone. For HSCs, this need is particularly strong. They want someone else to feel their pain, and that someone is you, the ESP.
In fact, ESPs often describe that they do, indeed, feel their children’s pain. When their child is sad, the ESP feels very down. When their child is anxious, the ESP absorbs their anxiety. ESPs have a hard time separating their child’s feelings and experiences from their own, which can make it hard to be the rock our kids need us to be when they are distressed and dysregulated.
“I am so tired of my family and friends judging me, and my kid. They think I’m too permissive and that I’m raising a spoiled brat. They just don’t get it. All kids are not the same. It doesn’t help that my brother’s child is chill and compliant. I have come to dread family get-togethers and feel so sad about that.”
As if being the ESP is not stressful enough, they often feel judged by family, friends, caregivers and teachers for being too "permissive"—coddling, rescuing, spoiling them. Not only do they feel their child is misunderstood, the ESP feels misunderstood and alone. The comparisons that are constantly made to other, more adaptable kids, even if not voiced aloud, are palpable. One client explained: “My siblings’ kids eagerly run into family gatherings and jump right into play, while my little guy just wants to do Legos on his own, which I let him do. He finds big groups overwhelming. They all think I baby and spoil him and that’s why he won’t join the group. My mom is constantly telling me he’s going to be a ‘momma’s boy’ if I don’t make him ‘act his age’.” When what ESPs need most are empathy and support, what they get is criticism (as if they weren't already hard enough on themselves) and made to feel they have a bad kid and are bad parents who don't know how to discipline their child.
“I love the deep closeness we share. But I also feel suffocated, overwhelmed, and exhausted. When I am being honest with myself, I feel resentful and angry toward my child which feels horrible. I don’t know how to give her what she needs and not feel like the life is being sucked out of me. I am not a bottomless pit of empathy.” Being a child’s ESP is complicated. They thrive on the deep connection with their children, and are often the preferred parent, which can be a double-edged sword. On the one hand it feels great to be so needed—to know that your child trusts you so completely and that you are their person. At the same time, many ESPs struggle with feelings of resentment. They feel suffocated and depleted, being the only one who can take their child to the bathroom, cut their sandwich, put them to bed at night.
Just last week I met with a couple: two moms, Celia and Dori, with a 3-year-old, Addie. Celia, the ESP, shared that she is having very negative feelings about Addie which is causing her horrible guilt. Addie insists Celia does everything for her. She can’t get a break. She is annoyed now all the time with Addie and she knows Addie is picking up on it, asking her over and over: "Is mommy sad? Mad?" At this point Celia’s wife, Dori, chimed in with a story of how differently she and Celia are at the playground with Addie. Celia is always within arm’s reach of Addie, constantly scaffolding her experience and instantaneously solving whatever problem may arise. Dori has a very different relationship with Addie. She hangs back more and gives Addie space to figure things out on her own. Addie functions more independently with Dori.
Celia appreciated this insight and could see that she has set up certain expectations with Addie that is resulting in her being much more dependent on Celia. Celia then shared that she is a highly sensitive person and did not get her emotional needs met as a child. There was no acknowledgment of feelings and she felt very alone. She identifies strongly with Addie as an HSC and is very committed to Addie knowing she is loved and that ALL of her feelings matter. She misinterprets Addie's struggling when she faces a challenge or doesn't like a limit as harmful to her. This makes it hard for Celia to resist jumping in to rescue Addie when she faces a challenge, and to set the limits because of the major meltdowns that ensue when Addie doesn't get what she wants and are very triggering to Celia.
This describes a very common dynamic in families I see. Often the parent who is not the ESP reports that when the ESP isn’t present, the child is much more regulated, cooperative, and resilient. When the ESP is around, the child acts more helpless and needy, and less competent than they are.
Why? Children are constantly trying to figure out what the expectations are in any given situation and then adapt to those expectations—be it with parents, teachers, grandparents, nannies and other caregivers—which is why the same child can behave so differently depending on who is in charge.
Children know their ESP is always there to trouble-shoot, so they come to expect it and rely on it. With other adults, who give them wider berth, they don’t expect that level of support so they rise to a higher level of functioning/independence.
Kids know their ESP is very focused on and tuned into their feelings; that the ESP is the person who goes deep with them, who makes space for all of their feelings, which is essential and beautiful. Kids, clever and strategic as they are, also become masters at pulling at ESP heartstrings to get what they want, saying things like: "But mommy, that makes me so sad when you won't lie down with me longer. I haven't had enough time with you today." They know there is no way their ESP would say “no” to talking about feelings, and that maybe that will lead to extending bedtime, delay leaving for school, avoid putting away toys—or any of the many tasks or transitions kids are not keen on and will try to put off, if possible.
On the other hand, kids tend to put up less of a fight and are more cooperative with the parent who is more clear and consistent with limit-setting. This doesn't mean these parents are cold or harsh or punitive, and that their child is cooperating out of fear. They are being authoritative, not authoritarian. If at the end of their loving bedtime routine their child says they have one more thing to talk about, this parent is comfortable saying: “I know you have so much to share, and I can’t wait to hear about it in the morning. Now it’s time for sleep. I love you and can’t wait to see you when your wake-up light comes on.”
These kids are not being manipulative. There is nothing wrong with: wanting more time with a parent, hoping to derail the implementation of an unwanted limit, or trying to avoid discomfort. That is human nature, and kids will rely on whatever works to get what they want or to fend off what they don’t want.
The question is whether what they want is what they need—what is best for them—in that moment.
Another way to think about it, and what I find it really boils down to, is how to support vs enable our HSCs—no small, but indeed a very important, feat.
In Part 2 of this blog, I address how to nurture that special closeness you have with your child while also setting the important limits that are essential for children’s individuation, growing sense of competence, and healthy, independent functioning.