How to Move from “Tough Love” to Gentle Love

What it really means, why the brain science backs it, and how to set boundaries with unhelpful advice

A story: “We tried to be tougher. It broke us.”

When I met Jenna, she showed me her family’s three-page plan from a well-meaning behaviorist. It was based around 3 key pillars for their chronically explosive 7-year old who was struggling to go to school and spending hours a day locked in battles with her parents: 1) zero tolerance for “school refusal,” 2) time-outs for yelling/hitting/etc, 3) loss of screens for every piece of the routine she didn’t complete each day. 

At the top of the therapist’s report read two words in big bold font: “Consistency wins.”

When we first met, Jenna was in tears. Because they really, really tried. For a week, mornings were on lock-down with each moment scripted, pictured, rewarded and reinforced. Visuals schedules all over the place. Timers. Sticker charts. Jenna kept her voice even and remained calm. She “followed through” on every consequence. Her PDAer white-knuckled until 2:15pm, then exploded after school. Night-time was worse than ever before: she stopped being able to fall asleep, she began to withhold poop for days, she scratched her own arms until they bled.

After weeks of things going steadily downhill, when her PDAer began having recurring thoughts of not wanting to be alive, Jenna closed the notebook and said, “We’re done. We’re drowning.” 

They decided to try something they thought was “crazy” (and which Jenna later realized is the core of low demand). They swapped “tough love” for gentle love. They took down all the visual schedules and cancelled all the alarms. They let their daughter eat Eggos in bed every morning, added in co-regulation and doing tasks for her (like dressing her while she lay floppy on her bed), and let her play on her tsblet on the way to school. Jenna laid in her bed until she fell asleep a night and started sitting in the bathroom with her reading stories while she pooped. 

Within two weeks, meltdowns shortened and lessened, repairs and apologies came faster and more authentically, and Jenna saw a little light come into her daughter’s eyes. After hearing stories in the PDA community of how severe burnout could get, Jenna said she felt like they stopped just in time. “We were breaking, everything was crumbling. I feel like we just dodged a severe burnout because we were able to turn things around. I’m so glad we stopped when we did.”

Why gentle love works (a quick brain-body tour)

Our bodies are full of sensors. Eyes, ears, skin, muscles, gut—every system is constantly scanning: Am I safe? Is this too much? Do I have a way out? 

This automatic scan (often called “neuroception”) runs faster than conscious thought. Long before a person can tell you, “This is too hard,” their body has subconsciously already made a call about whether they feel safe.

When we don’t feel safe, our brain and body automatically moves us into a survival-focused mode. People often call this “activating the threat response”: fight, flight, freeze, or fawn. In that state, the parts of the brain we need for flexible thinking and self-control are dimmed. Our heart rate spikes; our stomach churns; our fists and jaws clench; our eyes narrow; we break out in a sweat. 

Using shame and pressure raise the threat. And when we are in threat-survival mode, our capacity for creativity, flexibility, and using our skills decreases. 

Safety cues do the opposite. A regulated and trusted adult, a real, empowering choice, a softer voice, a predictable plan, a soothing sensory experience—all of these subconsciously tell the body, “You’re not in danger.”

Then, when the threat lowers, the prefrontal cortex (flexible thinking brain) comes back online. That’s when collaboration, learning, and repair are possible. 

In short: it’s always safety first, build skills second. 

What gentle love looks like in real life

• Instead of “You have to get dressed now or you lose iPad time,” try holding up a shirt or hoodie without saying anything and let the kid point to their choice. Then help them pop it on or leave the option on the bed where they can easily see it.
• Instead of “You can’t get up until your homework is done,” try working in 5-minute chunks interspersed with lots of regulating things like chewing gum, listening to music, throwing a ball, or playing with a pet. 
• Instead of "You're in time-out until you can be nice to your sister,” try “It’s job to keep everyone safe. I know you are kind when you can, which means that something was too much for you there. I promise I’m listening, and I can help with repair when all our bodies are ready.”
• Instead of “Don’t you dare embarrass me in this restaurant,” try a more-grounded approach: “This is hard. We’re going to the car to hang out and breathe. We can come back in if you’re ready or just get takeout and head home.” 

Boundaries for the advice we take (and what we leave at the door)

Parents get oceans of unsolicited judgment and advice—from school, family, and internet strangers. Practicing parenting with a gentle-love approach asks you to create clear boundaries about what kind of advice you will entertain (because people are always going to be ready and willing to share their criticism. All you can do is decide what steps you’re willing to take to protect your peace). 

Here are practical filters you can use.

Advice I decline:

Any advice that…

• Uses shame, fear, or humiliation as tools. If the “strategy” depends on shame, embarrassment, withdrawal of affection, or public call-outs, it’s a no for me.
• Defines success as compliance, and doesn’t adjust for fluctuating capacity and disability. (“They did it” is not real success if the cost is masking and a three-hour crash later).
• Tells me to ignore my kid’s distress. Planned ignoring of panic, pain, or shutdown is not neutral; it’s dysregulating and damages the long-term relationship we’re building.
• Treats my child as if they are “manipulative.” If someone assumes my kid has an intent to harm rather than a body asking for help, we’re not aligned.
• One-size-fits-all systems. Universal charts, rigid token economies, blanket attendance rules—all are a big Nope. We need customized, individualized supports.
• Requires me to betray my kid to “be consistent.” If I have to lie, withhold comfort, or weaponize our connection, it’s off for me.
• Dismisses equity. If an approach ignores how Black and brown, queer, trans, immigrant, single parents, and disabled families are judged more harshly, it isn’t safe guidance for us.

Our dominant parenting culture is full of messages around "strictness" and "tough love." How are you putting boundaries around this vulnerability? Do you click on that article? Listen to that podcast? Spend lots of time with those friends? Imagine what your mom would say? 

 Or can you protect this brave, vulnerable choice with a firm boundary? A firm boundary may simply exist inside yourself as you choose what thoughts and fears to feed and which to let float away. 

A Compassionate Reframe

It's so vulnerable to parent your children off the well-traveled-path. It is even more vulnerable to do so when it exposes your own childhood wounds and deep needs. The first compassionate reframe is seeing these messages themselves as a sign of strength: These messages rise up from your vulnerability and point to your bravery.

We can be compassionate and still recognize these messages aren't serving you. When your inner voice says, "you're coddling them," you can respond, "No, I'm accommodating with love. I'm breaking the cycle.” This second compassionate reframe moves from “getting away with it” to needed accommodation, from “coddling” to connection.

Here’s the move at the end of the day: listen with curiosity—first to yourself, then to your kid. Own your story so you’re not parenting from shame. Respond with compassion to your own adult needs, because adults have sensitive nervous systems too. Reframe “letting them get away with it” or “enabling them” to accommodating a real capacity limit. Repeat to yourself: “It’s a ‘can’t.’ Not a ‘won’t.’”

Move from tough love to gentle love, from strict to connected. Draw boundaries around parenting messages that spike your anxiety—keep what helps, and then unfollow/mute/unsubscribe from all the rest. 

Practice this flow (imperfectly), again and again, and then watch safety grow, capacity return, and trusting relationships deepen. 

And yes, these “tough love” messages will fade, leaving a powerful, brave parent in their wake.