Because Knowing Better Doesn’t Always Mean Doing Better — By Dr. Kristin Kroll, PhD
Licensed Psychologist • Little Dove Consulting PLLC
(512) 240-2633I have a PhD in psychology. I specialize in children’s mental health. I have read more parenting research than most humans alive. And last Tuesday, I said “because I said so” with my full chest.
If you’re a parent who has ever felt like you should be doing better — that you should be calmer, more patient, more consistent, more something — I want you to know: I am literally a child psychologist, and I still have days where my parenting looks nothing like my training.
Here are my honest confessions. No filter. No clinical jargon. Just a mom who also happens to know what the research says — and sometimes does the other thing anyway.
I know. I know. I literally teach parents about collaborative problem-solving, about giving children age-appropriate explanations, about respecting their need to understand the “why.”
And then my daughter asked “but why?” for the fourteenth time about why she couldn’t wear her swimsuit to the grocery store in January, and out it came: “Because I said so.”
She looked at me. I looked at her. She put on pants.
What I know as a psychologist: Giving children explanations builds trust, cooperation, and critical thinking. It’s one of the hallmarks of authoritative parenting, which research consistently links to the best outcomes.
What I know as a mom: Sometimes it’s 7:47 AM and you are out of explanations. And that is okay. One “because I said so” is not going to undo years of connected parenting. Your overall pattern matters infinitely more than any single moment. Give yourself grace.
Picture it: a beautiful vow renewal. My husband and I, standing in front of family and friends, saying meaningful things about our commitment to each other. Music playing. Tears flowing. It was perfect.
And then, in the most sacred silence of the entire ceremony, my daughter announced — loudly, clearly, and with zero regard for the moment — that she needed to go potty. Right now.
Did I calmly validate her need? Did I use it as a teachable moment about reading social cues? No. I did not. I gave her The Look. You know The Look. And then my husband’s aunt quietly escorted her to the bathroom while I stood there pretending my eye wasn’t twitching.
What I know as a psychologist: Young children are beautifully, maddeningly present-tense creatures. They don’t understand “wait for a better moment” because to them, every moment is THE moment. Their prefrontal cortex — the part of the brain that handles things like timing, social awareness, and impulse control — won’t be fully developed until their mid-twenties.
What I know as a mom: None of that knowledge stops you from wanting to melt into the floor when your child announces her bladder status during your vows. And honestly? It’s the part of the day everyone remembers. It’s the part that was real.
“Mom, watch! Mom, watch this! Mom, are you watching? MOM. WATCH.”
I have watched approximately forty-seven thousand cartwheels. I have said “wow!” and “amazing!” and “that was your best one yet!” so many times that the words have lost all structural integrity. I have watched cartwheels in the kitchen, in the yard, in the Target parking lot, and once — memorably — in a restaurant.
And there are days when my daughter says “Mom, watch!” and every cell in my body wants to say: “I physically cannot watch one more cartwheel or I will lose my mind.”
What I know as a psychologist: When your child says “watch me,” what they’re really saying is “see me.” They want to know they matter, that their efforts are noticed, that you are present with them. This is called “serve and return” interaction, and it’s one of the building blocks of secure attachment. Every time you respond to their bid for attention, you’re wiring their brain for connection.
What I know as a mom: You can “see” your child and also be deeply, profoundly tired of cartwheels. Both things are true. And sometimes “seeing” them looks like saying: “I love watching you. I’m going to sit here and read for a few minutes, and then I want you to show me your very best one.” You don’t have to be an unlimited audience to be a good parent.
I have a doctoral degree in this. I have supervised other therapists. I have published work on children’s mental health. And I have absolutely, 100%, sat in bed at 11 PM Googling “is it normal for a 6-year-old to [fill in the blank].”
Because here’s the thing nobody tells you about being a psychologist and a parent: knowing the research doesn’t make you immune to the worry. If anything, you know just enough to catastrophize more creatively.
What I know as a psychologist: Most of the things parents worry about at 11 PM are developmentally normal. Most phases are just that — phases.
What I know as a mom: Knowing that doesn’t stop the 11 PM spiral. And that’s okay. Worrying about your child is not a sign that something is wrong with you. It’s a sign that you love someone more than your brain knows what to do with.
I write about screen time. I share research about screen time. I have strong professional opinions about screen time.
I have also turned on a third episode of Bluey so I could drink my coffee while it was still hot and have one single thought that wasn’t interrupted by the word “Mom.”
What I know as a psychologist: The research on screen time is nuanced. It’s not about zero screens ever — it’s about the type of content, the context, and whether screens are replacing other important activities like outdoor play, reading, and human connection.
What I know as a mom: Sometimes the most important thing for your child’s well-being is a parent who has had five minutes to breathe. A regulated parent raises a regulated child. And sometimes regulation looks like Bluey and a cup of coffee.
I’m not sharing these stories to undermine my own credibility. I’m sharing them because I think parents — especially moms — carry an impossible weight of expectation. We are supposed to be calm, present, patient, educational, fun, firm-but-gentle, screen-limiting, vegetable-providing, emotion-coaching superhumans all the time.
And when we inevitably fall short of that imaginary standard, we feel guilty. We feel like we’re doing it wrong. We compare ourselves to other parents who seem to have it figured out (they don’t).
I want you to hear this from someone who has spent her career studying child development:
Your child does not need a perfect parent. They need a real one. A parent who shows up, who repairs when they mess up, who loves them fiercely even on the days when parenting feels like the hardest thing in the world.
The research backs this up. It’s not about getting every interaction right. It’s about your overall pattern — warmth, connection, consistency, repair. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to keep showing up.
And for the record? My daughter still does cartwheels. I still watch them. And I still say “because I said so” sometimes. We’re doing fine.
— Dr. Kristin Kroll
Need support on the hard days? We offer free 15-minute consultations for Texas families. No judgment. Just help. Call (512) 240-2633 or contact us online.