09/29/2026
From Jen: a couple nights ago, I had one of those parenting moments that could have gone very differently. We suddenly realized it was a shower night, and we had forgotten to remind my son earlier in the day. For most kids, that might sound like a small thing. For him, it is not.
He does much better when he knows what the day is going to look like in advance, especially when something is difficult or unpleasant for him. A shower is one of his least favorite things. If he knows about it early, he has time to mentally prepare. If we tell him a couple of hours beforehand, or worse, announce it at the last minute, it can feel much bigger. So when we reminded him that he needed to shower, he got upset. “You know how much I need a good warning,” he said.
My first instinct was to defend myself. “We gave you a warning a couple of hours ago.”
But he immediately explained that this was not what he meant. “No. I need a warning about how I am doing my whole day. Not just a soon warning. I haven't had a chance to wrap my mind around this.”
At that point, I was getting frustrated too. I told him that sometimes I needed him to be resilient and go with the flow. We try hard to give him lots of notice, I explained, but sometimes we are not thinking that far ahead either.
Then he said something that stopped me. “Mom, when you do not give me my warning, it makes me feel less loved. And kind of betrayed and sad.”
I could feel myself getting frustrated and defensive. I'd had my cup-full of critical feedback for the day, and my brain immediately wanted to explain all the ways we love him, all the ways we accommodate him, and all the reasons forgetting one reminder was not a betrayal. But I remembered something my coworker Jacob says when people in conflict are stuck: “It’s time to get curious.”
So instead of defending myself, I tried that. “Okay. So you are feeling betrayed and sad. Can you tell me more?”
He did. “You are supposed to have my back. And when you don't, it breaks my heart a little.”
That changed the entire conversation for me. I said, “So it sounds like trust is a really important part of feeling safe and loved for you?”
He nodded.
“And giving you a heads up early in the day about what to expect is something you trust us to do?”
He hugged me and nodded again. And suddenly I understood something I had not understood before. I had been thinking of advance warning as a practical accommodation. It helps him transition. It reduces anxiety. It gives him time to mentally shift gears. But for him, it was also relational. The warning was not only about the shower. It was part of how he knew we were paying attention to what was hard for him. It communicated: We know you. We remember what you need. We have your back.
Once I understood that, the whole disagreement looked different. The conflict was not really about whether two hours technically counted as “enough warning.” That was the position. The interest underneath it was predictability, trust, safety, and the feeling that the people who love you are helping you prepare for what is coming.
That distinction is one of the most useful things I have learned from mediation. People often enter conflict arguing about positions: I need this. You should have done that. This is fair. That is not fair. But underneath those positions are usually deeper interests.
Safety.
Respect.
Autonomy.
Predictability.
Belonging.
Trust.
Being heard.
Being treated like you matter.
Once you find the thing underneath the argument, the conversation can change. That does not mean the practical problem disappears. He still needed to take a shower. And I did not promise that we would never forget again. I told him that I understood much better now why the advance warning mattered to him. I said I would make a real effort to be proactive about letting him know the plan for the day, and I asked him to give me some grace and dig deep for resilience when I inevitably get it wrong, or when life surprises us.
That seemed fair to both of us. A few minutes earlier, we had both been headed toward dysregulation. Instead, he got up, took his shower, and we all moved on with our day. Not because I convinced him that he was wrong. Not because he decided the shower was suddenly fun. The problem became manageable because he felt understood.
I think that is the part I want to remember. Curiosity is not the same thing as agreement. Listening does not mean surrendering a boundary. Understanding why something matters to someone does not mean you can always give them exactly what they want. Sometimes curiosity simply gives you enough information to see the conflict accurately. And sometimes that is what allows everyone involved to come back onto the same team.
Life is good.
