They’re Really Not Testing Us

People message me every day with questions like this: “I get why low demand is needed for my kids, but what about boundaries? How am I not raising a lazy entitled kid who thinks they can get away with anything?”

And I know what you mean. In the mainstream parenting world, boundaries mean clear rules with firm consequences. Set it, stick to it, mean it. 

If a kid crosses the line or does something you don’t want to see, you tell them that it’s not ok – and follow through with a consequence, because that’s what good parents do. Or perhaps, on a deeper level, boundaries about what we will do in response to kids’ behaviors, how we will use our grounded adult actions to reinforce what’s expected and ok (and what’s not). In this worldview, boundaries make kids feel safe because they have a safe and sturdy adult to trust in. Boundaries give them guard rails and show them we are strong, capable leaders of the family, classroom, group, or therapy space.

But that kind of boundary never worked for my family.

Every time I drew a line, it triggered panic. Every time I calmly stated expected behaviors, things immediately escalated. The more I used a consequence model to respond to aggression, the more I saw aggression increase. Meltdowns, shutdowns, screaming, hitting, bolting — not because my kid was trying to defy me, but because they were drowning. These boundaries weren’t creating safety. They weren’t building trust. They were making everything worse.

And I was stuck.

Because What Happens When the Kid Just Doesn’t Do It?

Traditional boundary systems rely on compliance. The kid doesn’t do what you ask, so you follow through with a consequence — a time out, removal of screen time, or some other deprivation. 

In many family systems, the go-to consequence is physical. In that framework, “consequences” means hitting the child. In other family systems, the consequence is a parent saying, “I’m disappointed in you,” or “You know better,” and sending the child to their room to think about what they’ve done. In that framework, “consequences” means shame and isolation.

When many of us struggling families first reached out for help, we received some version of the boundaries & consequences model. A classic is the system in the book “1-2-3 Magic.” Published in 1995, this parenting classic, which has sold nearly 2 million copies in 22 languages, places the emphasis on adult control— the parent is the authority who enforces boundaries with total consistency. The book explicitly says: “You set the boundaries, not them.” 

In the 1-2-3 Magic system, every time you see a behavior that you do not like or that doesn’t meet your expectations, you count. If they hit three, they lose something. If you’re following a behavior chart, you take away a sticker. If you’re following pop parenting accounts, you calmly restate the limit and hold firm, not letting them move forward with their day until they can shift the behavior or comply.

It’s all built on one assumption: Adult consistency will equal safety.

But what if consistency just equals escalation?

What if every time you follow through, your child falls apart harder?

That’s what was happening in my house. And I kept thinking: I must be doing it wrong. I must not be consistent enough, clear enough, strong enough. 

But the truth was simpler and scarier: These boundary systems were never designed for my children to thrive.

Three False Beliefs Behind Traditional Boundaries

There are three major assumptions driving behavior-based parenting systems:

1. Kids are testing us — not expressing real needs. So we’re taught to ignore their protests, emotions, or explanations. They’re just seeing if we’ll hold firm. They are having “big feelings” or “testing” if we really mean business. That’s it. 
2. Consistency is king — even when it escalates the problem. We’re told that wobbling or flexing will confuse kids and make them feel unsafe. So we follow through even when the consequence doesn’t fit or help.
3. Power is the goal — parents must stay in charge at all costs. This is framed as what creates safety for kids: grown-ups are in control, kids are not.

These beliefs shape how boundaries are taught — and how parents judge themselves. If a boundary doesn’t work, it’s because you weren’t strong enough, clear enough, consistent enough. If your child panics, resists, hits, or flees, it’s your fault for not holding the boundary well enough.

After all, in most traditional parenting, compliance is expected and will be enforced, whether or not the child is developmentally or emotionally capable of meeting the demand. What matters most is that the child learns a few key messages: “When a grown-up tells me to do something, they really mean it, and there is no wiggle room. If I don’t do it, they’ll make my life worse. Nothing I do or say will change this.”

This rigid thinking makes no room for difference, for nuance, for disability, for trauma, for actual human complexity.

Are Kids Testing Us? Maybe. But Mine Weren’t.

Some kids do test boundaries. They need to see how the world works. They learn by watching your response. They learn and feel safe through clear, consistent systems. And in some cases, once these kids fully understand the system, they do relax into it, feeling safer within the structure.

But many neurodivergent kids — including mine — aren’t testing. They’re struggling. They’re in distress. I rarely see my kids pushing back just to test me or learn the system. If they want to understand how I would respond to a situation, they ask me directly: “What would you do if…?” They come to me openly, curiously. And we talk. 

This is how learning happens in our home—not through enforcing rigid consequences, but through genuine conversations built on trust. 

Because what I’ve been learning, over time, is that my kids don’t need to be controlled. They need to be understood.

They need boundaries, yes — but not the kind that escalate panic or reinforce power struggles. They need boundaries that protect relationships, that hold space for emotional truth, that build trust.

They need boundaries that are flexible, not rigid. Collaborative, not imposed. Protective, not punitive.

And in order to give them that, I had to start reimagining what boundaries even are.

What If Boundaries Aren’t About Control At All?

What if boundaries aren’t a power move? What if they aren’t a battle line? What if they’re something softer, wiser, more rooted in trust and care?

What if a boundary is just this: Here is what I can do. Here is what I need. Here is what will help us stay safe and connected.

That’s the path we’re on now. And it doesn’t mean we always get it right. It doesn’t mean we’re never stretched, never unsure, never triggered.

But it means we stop pretending our kids are problems to solve. And we start building something together — a relationship that can hold us both.

Because if I’m really honest, my kids are not the only ones learning and testing, figuring out this whole parenting/childing gig on the fly. I am too. I’ve never been a parent to this kid, in this moment, ever before. I am learning on the fly. I am testing things out, learning how it goes, and making real-time adjustments. I don’t get it right every time. Sometimes I try something, realize I was triggered and scared and just reacting, not parenting from my best self. 

The “strong, sturdy, clear parents” role didn’t give me enough freedom to get it wrong, to mess up and course correct. I felt like I needed to get it right every time, stay sturdy and consistent and strong every single time, or else something would be irrevocably broken.

What I’m learning, as I shift my beliefs about boundaries, is that, as a parent, I don’t get it right every time–and I don’t have to. But it does help when I am more honest, more open, and more transparent about my goals and intentions with my kids, so we’re building trust through every learning experience together. This is the opposite of “I told you so,” or “Because I said so.” This is offering honest answers to hard questions with genuine uncertainty and grounded humility to admit that I don’t always know; I make mistakes; I don’t always do my best.

For instance, I have told my kids, “I will not force you to do things, or use my adult power over you.” And then I mess up and pressure them to do a scheduled playdate because I’m embarrassed to cancel last minute. But my kids know our family values. And they know my stated priorities. They know the adult I am trying to be, and that I fall short of my own goals sometimes. So they say, “Hey mom, why are you pressuring this? What’s going on?” They are not scared because I seem “unsteady.” They are empowered and confident in who I am trying to be. They call me out and call me forward to align with my intentions. And they have grace and understanding when I fall short because we are all human, and humans make mistakes.

Coming Up Next:

In my last blog on boundaries, we’ve got a big question to tackle together: If boundaries aren’t about control, what are they about?

We’ll get a solid low demand definition of boundaries. We’ll look at what boundaries sound like in low demand homes. We’ll talk about clarity, honesty, and the kind of loving commitments that build trust — even during the hardest moments.

Because there is another way. And it doesn’t break us.