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Is it True: Nobody really knows what they’re doing

The Puzzle Pieces

Dr Becky Kennedy

Dr Becky Kennedy, Clinical Psychologist

3 min read

Is It Okay to Show Emotions in Front of Kids?

Introduction

I promised on the podcast I’d write this up. Here it is.

Here’s the scene from my home: The five of us (me, my husband, my kids – age 4, 7, 10) were doing a family puzzle. My older kids were genuinely into it – working together, which felt like its own small miracle. My youngest was there too, but it was honestly just too hard for him. He tried, got frustrated, and eventually peeled off to play nearby. I didn’t think much of it.

After a bit, we took a break to do other things. And here’s where things went wrong: I came back an hour later and… pieces were missing. Not one or two on the floor. A bunch. And sections we’d already finished had been taken apart.



I just knew. I knew my youngest had destroyed it.

I found him on the couch and asked a straightforward question: “Did you take some of the puzzle pieces?” Immediately: “What? No. I didn’t.” “Pieces are missing. Parts we finished are gone.” He insisted: “I didn’t take them.”

And there it is. The moment every parent knows. Because now it’s not just the puzzle. Now it’s the lying. Now it’s the feeling of being played. To be clear, most of me wanted to push harder. Get the confession. Go straight to consequences.

But here’s the thing: as much as possible (and it’s not all the time – hey, I’m human), I try to play the long game. I know my kid. Under the ruining the puzzle and the lying was a kid who felt left out of something the rest of his family was doing. And he’s a kid who sees himself as strong and capable, so that story – wait, this isn’t ME. I’m not someone who can’t do something – is unbearable. It didn’t make it okay, but I kind of “got” it: “If I can’t get joy from this… no one can.”

Plus, I know this: when a kid is lying, they are already in shame. And if you pile fear on top of shame – threats, interrogation, punishment – all you do is make the walls go up higher. The math just doesn’t work. Especially not with strong-willed kids. He wasn’t going to crumble. He was going to armor up.



So I paused. I said “Oh…” and let it go. For that moment. I knew I needed time to figure out my next move.

Later that night, I sat next to him on the couch and started like this: “I don’t know if I can tell you this…”

He looked at me immediately. Kids are so pulled in by that. Wait. What? What is my parent going to reveal? I paused. I hesitated. And then I said something that might be surprising: “When I was about seven, I did something really …bad.”

I told him a true story. My sister had these oily stickers I desperately wanted. I asked my mom. She said no. And I took them anyway.

“But that’s not even the worst part,” I said.

“What’s the worst part?”

“My mom asked me if I took them. And you know what I told her?”

“You said yes,” he guessed with a four-year-old eye roll.

“No. I told her no.”

He just stared at me. You did?



I didn’t have to say “everyone makes mistakes.” I didn’t have to say “you’re still a good kid.” He could just feel it.

I didn’t add, “so now you can tell me.” I just let it sit.

He didn’t confess that night. My husband looked at me like – are we really just leaving this here? And I get it. Punishment feels cathartic. It feels like something is being resolved.

But it doesn’t work – it doesn’t work short-term for strong-willed kids and it doesn’t work long-term for anyone. All it tells a kid in this situation is: “I better get better at lying.” Remember – I’m playing the long game. I’m thinking about how my son will remember this – because yes, his body will remember this – when he’s a teen and I just know the stakes will be higher than a puzzle.

Three days later, he came up to me holding a little bag.



Inside were the puzzle pieces. “I took them,” he said quietly. And he started crying.

I didn’t lecture him. I didn’t do the speech. Because the arc had already happened. The truth coming out was the repair.

A day or so later – not in that moment, but after the dust settled – I did one more thing. I practiced the skill with him.

“What if you want to take the pieces again?” “I won’t.” “I know. But you might want to.”

Because urges are human. Wanting to do the wrong thing doesn’t make you bad – it makes you a person.

An urge isn’t a behavior. The behavior is acting on it. And the only thing that stops an urge from becoming a behavior is having a skill.

So we talked. Could he come find me and say he felt left out? Could he ask for time together? Could he name it instead of act on it? Because this was never really about puzzle pieces. It was about a kid who felt left out of something his family was doing. That needed a name, a story, and a skill to practice. Not a punishment.

—

This is one of my proudest parenting moments. Because in the hard moment, I felt like I could lead and not just react. I could notice what felt natural and choose what would be effective. Because I was long-term greedy.

And because I didn’t trap him in the identity of “bad kid.” I helped him find a way back.

None of this comes naturally. I want to be honest about that. In that moment, when he looked me in the eye and lied, something in me absolutely wanted to escalate. That instinct is real. I felt it.

But none of this is out of reach, either.

These are skills. For them and for us. They can be learned. They can be practiced. Every parent has this inside them – I just know it.


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