What If My Kid Never Gets Off the Couch? (A Low Demand 101 Blog)

There was a 6 month stretch of time when my son Michael didn’t leave his room for anything except snacks and bathroom breaks. He was in the deepest part of burnout. He spent every hour of every day inside his cocoon — mostly lying on the couch, locked into a solo video game or YouTube video, barely speaking, sometimes yelling, often crying. He screamed at tiny mistakes. He was furious when a game didn’t load, when the internet lagged, when the pretzel broke in the wrong place. And his rage was real. His pain was real. I could feel it vibrating off of him like heat.

Every day, I thought: I cannot let this go on one moment longer.

Every day, I let it go on anyway.

Because underneath my panic was a deeper truth: He wasn’t doing this on purpose. He wasn’t defiant or lazy or choosing to check out of life. He was in burnout. He was surviving.

But let me tell you — I didn’t always see it that way. I spiraled. I internalized every scream. I blamed myself for his struggles. I re-examined my parenting daily. I hunted for answers. I tried everything — encouragement, negotiation, bribery, scheduling, screen limits, screen rewards, screen alternatives. Nothing helped. Everything hurt.

The turning point came when I discovered one of the core truths of low demand parenting:

“Can’t” looks like “won’t” — until you really see it.

Most of the time, what we’re labeling as refusal or resistance is actually a nervous system in shutdown. It’s not a choice. It’s a capacity issue.

Michael couldn’t play with his siblings. Couldn’t help with a chore. Couldn’t go to the store. Couldn’t sit through a meal. Couldn’t hold a conversation. And for a long time, I couldn’t accept that. Because the stakes felt so high. I was afraid. What if this is who he is now? What if he’s never motivated again? What if he’s falling behind? What if I’m failing him?

But over time, I came to trust what I say so often now to others:

You can trust your child’s nervous system.

You can trust their timing.

Kids want to do well. They want to engage. They want to be curious and connected and creative. And when their nervous systems are regulated enough — when they feel safe enough — they will. It might not look the way we expect. It might be slow and nonlinear and quiet and weird. But it will come.

Even the couch gets boring eventually.

Even the video games lose their sparkle.

Even the silence starts to crack open to something new.

But — and this part really matters — coming back isn’t on our terms.

Just because they get off the couch doesn’t mean they want to return to algebra.

Just because the mindless video games lose their sparkle doesn’t mean they want to read Atlas Shrugged.

Growth isn’t linear, and it isn’t prescribed by us.

And I know — I know — how hard that is to hold in a world obsessed with achievement. A world where success has a checklist. Where fitting in is survival. Where getting good grades and joining extracurriculars and applying to college are the default path. I know the fear. I’ve lived in it. I’ve bathed in it.

It’s scary to hold the possibility that the kid who returns might not fit into the neat little box the world is ready to offer them.

So here’s my best advice:

• Use this time — this long, boring, painful stretch where they won’t get off the couch — not to scan the internet for gurus and solutions, but to work on your own inner landscape.
• This is the time to confront your own people-pleaser.
• To get curious about your own fears of inadequacy.
• To peel back the layers of internalized shame that whisper, You’re not enough. You’re not doing enough. You’re not fighting hard enough.

Because wherever this journey leads, I promise you — it will require you to reshape the world for your child.

It will require you to get loud.

To ask for things that feel “too much.”

To make people uncomfortable.

To hold the line on your child’s needs in places where no one else understands.

So start now.

• Ask the restaurant owner if they can turn down the music.
• Let a grocery clerk carry your groceries.
• Tell a friend what your life is really like.
• Say yes when they offer to send you a laundry gift card or drop off a muffin.
• Let yourself be supported.

They will get off the couch.

And when they do, your work as their advocate will begin in a whole new way.

Trust them. Trust yourself.

This isn’t forever. But it is necessary.

This cocoon is doing its job.