Adaptive Parenting and the Cost of Change
by Danii Oliver
Change is Good… Until It Isn’t
Change is good.
The loss that comes with change is the ikky part we don’t want.
Adaptive parenting, adaptive healing, adaptive living inherently comes with deep-rooted fears of losing that which we have grown used to. Sadly, even if that means sabotaging our progress.
I am not going to discuss where this comes from. If you need to know, please work with Chi’Va to get to the root of your why.
What I am going to do is discuss the messy work of getting through it—to the other side of you.
The You you want to be, and the life you have dreamed of living.
What I Did This Weekend
This weekend, I did a crazy, last-minute amazing thing no parent I have met would have considered, outside of “My wife voluntold me to do it.”
At 1AM Thursday night, I agreed to take on the responsibilities of looking after, unknown to me at the time, 10 wild and wanting freedom 6- to 7-year-olds.
Three days. Twenty-four hours. Pure fun in the Texas sun, supporting the needs and wants of real-life Rug Rats.
Stop for a moment and ask yourself:
Would you have done it?
For me, the answer—blindly—was Yes.
Looking back, the answer is still HECK YEAH!
What I Got to Share
What I got to do was share my autonomy-driven, self-directed, respect-for-children-as-whole-beings philosophy…
with kids who didn’t give a shit about me.
I’m not their mother or aunty, and they may never see me again.
And I have mixed reviews from the entire experience that I have literally processed into a business plan. Lie to you not!
A Real-Life Field Study
The kids were great.
I got to witness, study, and practice all the things I discuss in my writing—with beings outside of my children.
I’d always wondered if it all resonated only with my kids because they were mine.
But this experience taught me otherwise.
What Broke My Heart
First: parents can be scary, violent, and detached when things don’t go their way, when kids interrupt their screen scrolling, or when they’re simply in need.
And that broke my heart.
I’m not going to sit here and act like I’m not guilty of lashing out while on the phone trying to send a text or while reading.
I am human, managing the same addictions to these devices we’re all dealing with.
But that’s at home, on my own time.
Not in a childcare situation, while supporting other people’s kids.
When Dysregulation is Misunderstood
What I mean by “scary” is this:
When kids showed signs of dysregulation and needing support, the go-to methods I saw and heard were horrific:
“He needs a kick in the ass!”
“That kid is bad news.”
“Be quiet or suffer the consequences.”
“I can’t deal with that one.”
“That one is trouble.”
Each of these statements was rooted in a deep misunderstanding of what dysregulation actually is—
a nervous system asking for safety, not punishment.
They came from unhealed adult wounds, generational scripts, and a system that prioritizes control over connection.
What I Really Saw
What I saw wasn’t “bad behavior.”
Okay—yes, it was a child hitting other kids.
But at its core was a child’s cry for help, met with shame, threats of bodily harm (which they were already dishing out), and fear of isolation.
What scared me most was that these were parents of children present, thinking it was okay to do this to other people’s kids.
There was no reflection. No “What if it were my kid?”
The real problem?
This articulate, smart child was tired and hungry.
How I Responded
I used an adaptive diagnosis method:
ask questions first to find out what’s going on.
Once the root of his dysregulation was understood, I employed a technical solution.
No—it wasn’t punishment, isolation, or any form of corporal consequence.
It was listening to him, and providing space and permission for him to rest.
When he realized he could open up to me without getting hit or yelled at,
he submitted his fears to the safety I was able to offer.
And Then the Complication Set In
What bothered me, though, was the image of me acting as his “Mammy.”
Caring for a white family’s child for free—meeting his needs, correcting violence, supporting emotional regulation, feeding him, and offering examples of manners and respect...
all out of the kindness of my heart and a desire to give my kid experiences I believe they deserve—
but could only get if we entered a white space, with me volunteering to work for free.
The Pain of Historical Echoes
The Mammy stereotype was an offensive racial caricature constructed during slavery and popularized through minstrel shows.
Enslaved Black women were highly skilled domestic workers, working in the homes of white families as caretakers for their children.
So yes—I am torn.
Torn on the joy I experienced.
Torn on the joy my child now owns.
Torn about the ability to exercise these ideals we as a community advocate for.
Torn by the old world circumstance I had to agree to in order to explore that moment in time.
The Adaptive Loss I Face Now
The adaptive leadership loss I must now grapple with is the devaluation of myself.
“What they fear and resist is loss, and that's the subject we turn to next.”
— Ronald Heifetz, Harvard University
What We Were Taught About Learning
Somewhere in childhood, we were taught that learning would come to an end.
That programming, mixed with a restricting education system, made us all too happy to do away with learning new things in adulthood.
It made us think we know everything we need to know—and don’t have to learn anew.
We don’t willingly have the emotional bandwidth to say out loud, or even to ourselves,
“I don’t know.”
We fear losing control.
We fear looking silly.
And so we fall back on old technical systems that are outdated—
robbing us of beautiful moments for change.
Maybe adaptive parenting is about being willing to lose a version of yourself…
so your child can become all of who they are.
Maybe what we fear isn’t change—it’s what we have to give up to let it happen.
A Ripple Starts Somewhere
So yes, I am torn about the Mammy thing—about stepping up in a space that carries the weight of historical exploitation.
I’m torn about how much it cost me emotionally, even as I did what I knew was right.
But I was willing to lose something in me to find growth.
To support a child.
To be the best darn Den Walker I could be for those kids this past weekend.
Maybe adaptive parenting—and adaptive living—requires just that:
A willingness to learn.
A willingness to surrender the illusion of control.
A willingness to let go of performance-based adulthood
in favor of presence, connection, and change,
and to do better not just for our own kids,
but for the kids we usually dismiss with a mental “not my problem.”
Because we all impact our communities.
And sometimes, simply showing a glimpse of a better way
is what starts the ripple.
The child I mentioned may never see me again.
But maybe, just maybe, he moves a little differently in the world now.
Maybe he remembers that one moment
when he wasn’t punished for being a kid in need.
When he was given space, instead of threats.
A nap, instead of shame.
Maybe he forgets it all.
But maybe that brief taste of safety
will whisper to him in the future:
You don’t deserve to be hurt. Especially when you’re not okay.