Teaching Kids to Repair and Resolve (and Remembering to Do It Myself)

As both a teacher and a parent, a big part of my job isn’t just helping kids read, write, and do math; it’s helping them be human. Every day, I’m teaching small humans how to identify their feelings, find coping strategies, and navigate conflict without losing their minds (or mine).

As an elder millennial, I grew up in the “follow the rules, say sorry, take your punishment” era. You messed up, you said sorry (whether you meant it or not), and you moved on. The repair part, actually fixing what went wrong or talking it out, often got skipped.

Now that I’m the adult in the room (most of the time), I’ve realized how crucial that missing step really is.

All Feelings Are Welcome — Even the Ugly Ones

Kids need to know that all feelings are valid, even the big, messy, loud ones. Anger, frustration, jealousy, none of them are “bad.” They’re just… human. What matters is what happens after the feeling: how we process it, express it, and eventually repair.

And let’s be honest, adults are still working on that too. Sometimes “repair” looks like me muttering, “I’m sorry I snapped, I’m just hangry,” while heating up leftover mac and cheese at 9 p.m. We’re all human. Sometimes that means yelling in frustration and saying things you don’t mean. Sometimes it means being grumpy because you’re tired and hungry and taking it out on whoever dares be in your path when you explode. (Apologies to my husband, kids, and the customer service rep on the phone who caught the fallout.)

The Great Saturday Morning Showdown

Last weekend, I was having a lazy morning in bed while my girls played in the living room. It was peaceful, for about seven minutes. Then came the yelling and tears.

I asked my youngest what happened. She said her sister quit the game they were playing and it “wasn’t fair.” Then my oldest came in, inconsolable. Once she calmed down, she explained that her sister “wasn’t playing the right way,” so she quit. In retaliation, the youngest tore up her picture and threw some stuffed animals. (We call that “emotional theater.”)

As we unpacked the situation, it came out that my oldest hadn’t given her sister a chance to try something herself. I asked, “How would you feel if someone didn’t let you try and then quit on you?” She thought for a second and said, “I’d be mad.”

We brought little sister back in, and together we talked about what each person could’ve done differently. Everyone had feelings, everyone made choices. And, miracle of miracles, they both apologized, unprompted, and went back to playing together. My youngest even taped her torn picture back together.

It was a rare parenting win, the kind you wish someone had filmed so you could prove it actually happened.

The Harder Days

Of course, not every disagreement ends with hugs and tape. When I’m tired or overstimulated (and let’s be honest, that’s most days), I default to the classics:
“Go to your room!”
“Say sorry!”
“Knock it off!”

But when I’m in a clearer headspace, I remember that what I really want my kids to learn isn’t blind obedience, it’s self-awareness, empathy, and genuine repair.

We all lose our cool. The goal isn’t perfection; it’s coming back together afterward.

Parenting, Teaching, and the Common Ground

A few days later, I was texting with a neighbor about playground drama among our kids. We both laughed because, at the end of the day, we’re all just doing the best we can. Different parenting styles, different expectations, same goal: raising decent humans who can make mistakes, own them, and make it right.

And after sitting through dozens of parent-teacher conferences recently, that truth feels universal. Every parent I talked to, no matter their background or approach, loves their child fiercely and wants them to grow into kind, capable, respectful people.

The Takeaway

Teaching kids to regulate their feelings isn’t about keeping them calm all the time. It’s about showing them how to repair and resolve when things fall apart, because things will fall apart.

Whether it’s a torn picture, a playground argument, or a meltdown in aisle seven, these little moments are opportunities to connect, reflect, and model what being human really looks like.

And maybe, just maybe, next time they’ll handle it with grace, while I sip my coffee and pretend I totally have it all together.