Children Taboo

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Children Taboo
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I was 5 when I heard an adult talk about sex for the first time. It was Mrs. DeWitt, Chrissy's mom in the 1995 film Now and Then, who was willing to discuss sex with her daughter because even though she thought she was too young, her friends were "trash mouths." And since sex is one of the so-called taboo topics in America to discuss with your kids, Chrissy's mom described it as a man using "his watering can" to "sprinkle water on the flower" that a woman grows when she makes a baby with her husband. As a kid, I was completely confused.
Now that I'm a parent, I realize why Chrissy's mom chose this non-scientific, entirely inaccurate, potentially harmful, and certainly confusing explanation. After all, many parents avoid discussing certain topics with their children because they consider them too taboo or think their kids are too young to learn about them. But kids should feel safe and comfortable talking to their parents about complicated subject matter, and they should feel safe asking questions and learning something new in a welcoming and supportive environment.
Even though Chrissy's mom approached the topic of sex in a ridiculous and ineffective way, at least she still tried. According to a 2017 American Family Survey report, only 25% of parents discuss issues related to sex, religion, and politics with their children. Before we send our kids out into the world, we should talk to them about these important issues. At the very least, we should provide them with developmentally-appropriate resources to help them learn about topics that will influence how they view themselves and others. While there are so many examples of important conversations to have with your kids, here are nine taboo topics to explore with your kids so that their (potentially harmful) assumptions don't go unnoticed and unaddressed:
There are so many online resources that teach parents how to talk to their kids about sex . Some of them even offer help for parents who have toddlers and want to start these conversations early and in age-appropriate ways. So many issues related to sex are basic life skills that kids should know and understand, like consent, bodily autonomy, and respecting others. If your kids feel safe and comfortable coming to you to talk about sex, they're less likely to keep secrets from you when and/or if they become sexually active as teenagers. And if that's the case, you can help make sure they are safe.
No matter your race, you should talk to your kids about racism. They should know that there are things they will face in life that might be due to the color of their skin, institutional racism, bias, and, stereotypes. For families of color, that means explaining to their children that they can do anything their put their mind to, but they might face some unfair obstacles that their white peers won't have to endure.
For white families, that means explaining white supremacy in ways that their children can understand. It might be hard to put such complex concepts into age-appropriate words your child will comprehend, but it's important to try. Simply pretending racism doesn't exist will not eradicate racism.
This is a difficult conversation to have, especially for families of color who are disproportionately impacted by police violence . But it's still important to talk to our kids honestly about interactions with police officers. That means explaining what to do if they are questioned by police, placed in police custody, or arrested. It's painful and upsetting to think about the possibility of our kids being harmed by the very people who have sworn to "serve and protect," but we have to teach them about the realities of living in a police state .
If you are a white parent, you can also discuss how to be a white ally to people of color who are pulled over, stopped, or harassed by the police.
Growing up, I was terrified to talk to my family about my sexual orientation. Of course, back then, I didn't use or think in that language, but I knew I had to lie about the crushes I had on girls. Instead of turning to my family members for support, I found support in people online or at school . And while I'm glad I found community outside of my home, it would have been awesome to feel safe and comfortable talking about those things at home. I'd have felt more accepted and much less shame.
LGTQ kids who have at least one supportive and accepting adult in their life are 40% less likely to attempt suicide than those who aren't, according to The Trevor Project's National Survey on LGBTQ Youth Mental Health. These discussions, and a supportive, accepting attitude, can actually save lives.
Kids should know that not only do their parents make mistakes, they also don't know everything . Sometimes we're wrong. Sometimes we don't have an answer to their questions, and when those moments arise it's OK to say, "I don't know, but let's discover the answer together."
When we, as parents, admit that we don't know everything all the time, we let our children know that it's OK to admit that they don't know everything either, that they make mistakes, and that, at times, they can be wrong. It also shows them the value of being honest about what we don't know instead of pretending.
Talking to our kids about other religions, in a way that avoids shaming and hate, lets them know that it's OK to believe in different things. Things like Islamophobia and anti-Semitism are taught . If we tell our kids about other religions and explain to them what religion is , they'll be more understanding and accepting of people who have different beliefs. They'll also be able to embrace their own spiritual values while appreciating and celebrating those of others.
The first time I went to a funeral I was a child... and no one told me I was going to a funeral. I wasn't even told that the person, someone I was incredibly close to, had died. When I arrived at the service, and saw my loved one in the casket, I broke down and made a scene. I was confused, alarmed, shocked, sad, and angry.
As a parent, I know the conversations I'll have with my child about death and dying will be complicated and heavy, but I owe it to my child to be honest. Death is the one thing, aside from being born, that every living person has in common. We should try to find developmentally-appropriate ways to talk to our kids about death so that if tragedy strikes, they can be eased into coping.
When kids know the anatomically correct names for their body parts, they have one more layer of protection against sexual abuse , according to Psychology Today. If a child feels ashamed about a body part, however, they’re less likely to tell you if someone inappropriately touched them.
It's also important for our kids to know that "vagina" isn't a dirty word. Neither is "penis." Their bodies should never be a source of shame.
If you're a parent who overcoming mental health issues, you should be open and honest about it with your kids. This is especially true if they outright ask. Of course, your child's stage of development and age will likely dictate how much you share, but your honesty could help them in the future. The National Alliance On Mental Illness recommends having "a recurring family meeting or a set, consistent time when you all sit down and have a candid conversation about mental health . This will provide repeated opportunities for discussion and for your children to ask questions."
The American Academy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry does suggest that parents should "have a basic understanding and answers to questions such as what are mental illnesses, who can get them, what causes them if that is known, how diagnoses are made, and what treatments are available." So you may have to do some research before broaching this subject, but that's OK! It can be a learning experience for everyone involved.

‘It's the breaking of a taboo’: the parents who regret having children
Victoria Elder and her 18-year-old daughter Morgane. Photograph: Daymon Gardner/The Guardian
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It’s tiring, often boring – and can mean a return to more traditional roles. Why some mothers (and fathers) feel they made a mistake
I t was coming up to Christmas 2015 when a query popped up on Victoria Elder’s home computer screen. It was from the question-and-answer site Quora , to which she had only recently subscribed. She didn’t know much about Quora at the time, except that it was a place where users posted questions others would do their best to answer, such as “Who’s the yellow suit guy in Gangnam Style?” or “If the Earth were a cube, how would gravity be different?” She found the site intriguing and informative. That afternoon, the question was: “ What is it like to regret having children? ”
Being a practical person and very forthright, Elder, who works for a mortgage company in Lafayette, Louisiana, sat down to write. She was 47, and as the mother of a 17-year-old she thought perhaps she had some wisdom to impart.
“This is just my story – I can’t speak for other people,” Elder began. Unlike the person who had posted the question, she used her real name. “I planned my pregnancy and thought I desperately wanted a baby. Desperate enough that I married the first man who was interested in having a child with me, knowing, in the back of my mind, that I was making a bad decision but thinking I was strong enough to do this.”
Within two years of their daughter’s birth, Elder’s husband, she says, had become increasingly absent, then left, before disappearing altogether in 2008. She had had to struggle to keep on top of things, both logistically and financially, but that hadn’t really been the problem. “It went deeper.” The day her daughter was born, the exact moment the tiny baby was placed in her arms, “I felt like, and still feel like, I made a mistake.”
Not that she didn’t intensely love and care for her daughter. That’s the important distinction to make, she tells me when we first speak. It was the fact of becoming a mother. “The sanctity of motherhood,” she explained in her original Quora post, “is certainly a subject that could use a dose of reality. I felt terrible about what I was feeling and thought there was something wrong with me.”
It seemed like an acceptable enough thing to admit to on a semi-anonymous online platform. The reaction implied otherwise. “Commit to psychotherapy,” read one of the 600 comments. “Sort out your insecurities and guilt and self-centred, self-indulgent feelings, and get on with the job of parenting.”
“Take it from the child of an anxious, self-centred, narcissistic, psychopathic mother and a selfish, abusive and ultimately absent father,” another contributor posted. “Your daughter may seem unaffected by your bad choices, but trust me, she’s been affected.”
“People don’t want to hear that mothers don’t want to be mothers,” Elder says. “I think it screws with the stereotype.”
Alongside the outrage, however, came a huge swell of relief. “This is a very intense, brave answer,” applauded one woman. “Anyone who says they loved being a parent,” wrote another mother, “is a liar or on drugs.” A father pitched in: his life had turned into that of “a machine”.
If you could go back in time, I ask Elder, would you honestly decide against having children? “Definitely,” she says. Her daughter, Morgane, is now 18. I ask if Morgane would be willing to speak to me, to give her side of the story. “Sure,” Elder says. “Try tomorrow afternoon,” and she gives me Morgane’s number.
I hadn’t expected Elder or her daughter to be willing to speak to me. Regretting having had your children is not a topic of conversation one strikes up in the playground, or maybe anywhere at all. Society presumes that women, especially, feel elated about becoming parents. Social media has magnified this: taut, post-baby bodies on Instagram; mother-and-child selfies used as profile pictures on Facebook; motherhood has become an alternative identity rather than a rite of passage. Plenty of people rail against the commodification of parenthood, or the difficulty of achieving a work-life balance. Many loathe the modern rebranding of motherhood, yet few openly regret having become parents.
But they will talk about it on anonymous forums. A Mumsnet thread – subject heading “ *deep breath* I regret having children ”– is ongoing. “I have photos of us all as a family when they were five and three, and I look as though I am suicidal, and I felt it too,” goes one entry. Another reads: “I had no idea it would be this shit.”
There’s a Facebook group, I Regret Having Children , illustrated with a picture of a woman with the word “GUILTY” written across her forehead. “This page is here to let all the mothers and fathers know that regretting having a kid(s) is not abnormal and shouldn’t be a taboo subject,” reads the text below. When you scroll down, there’s a memo warning against “soliciting regretful parents for adoption”, and reassuring users that there should be “no shaming of women or men for their non-euphoric feelings”. The group has 5,800 followers. The talk is of parenting plus depression, debt, extreme stress; it is of not being able to relate to your children.
One father posts: “I have an almost five-year-old girl. She is amazing. I spent her first four years regretting having her. Seeing all my single friends, or married friends without children, made me jealous. It’s like I died and lost my previous life. I entered a new life with much less joy, sex, sleep, FUN… I do wish people would talk about it more openly. Thank you, REAL people who are true to their feelings. I believe most parents suffer but they stay quiet with a fake smile.”
Offline, a few writers are addressing the subject, too. Corinne Maier is a French psychoanalyst, a mother and the author of a bestselling book , No Kids: 40 Good Reasons Not To Be A Mother. When it came out in 2008, the book featured on every French talkshow, in every bookshop, on everyone’s bookshelf. Parents came forward to debate the idea, and Maier referred to the wave of people being newly open about regretting parenthood as “a movement”. The BBC included Maier in a 2016 list of the 100 most inspirational and influential women in the world . I email Maier to request an interview, and settle down with a copy of her book.
Maier’s writing is funny, in a typically deadpan, French nihilist way. But it’s clear why some people have found her book jarring: on page one, in bold, is a quote from the novelist Michel Houellebecq : “The child is a sort of vicious, innately cruel dwarf.” Chapter titles include: Kids Are The Death Knell Of The Couple; Your Kid Will Always Disappoint You; Wanting To Reproduce Yourself At Any Cost Is The Pinnacle Of Banality. A few days later, Maier asks me to email her my questions because her English isn’t good enough for a conversation; she reminds me that she’s written 19 other books, several of them also bestsellers, about other, far more interesting subjects (a Lacanian interpretation of the life of de Gaulle, for one). She is very bored with talking about kids.
While I wait for her to get back to me, I speak some more with Victoria Elder. “In my teens, I babysat a lot of my cousins. I did not want to be a parent at all,” she says. “Then, suddenly, in my late 20s, it just came out of nowhere, this urge to have a child. It was a total shock to me.” The pregnancy was great. Labour was torture, lasting three days, and ended only after Elder was induced. Then, “It was the weirdest experience. When she was placed in my hands for the first time, it was, ‘Oh, no. What have I done? This was a huge mistake.’”
“I didn’t know what to do with her. I wanted to breastfeed and I couldn’t make that happen.” She says the regret wasn’t helped by postnatal depression, but nor did it disappear when the depression lifted. She tried to stay optimistic. “I hoped the feeling would go away.” It didn’t.
It wasn’t the child. “I love my daughter and have referred to her as my magnum opus,” Elder wrote in the Quora post. “If anything were to happen to her, I would be inconsolable. For ever. My mistake was not because I don’t love her or because I don’t want her or because there is something wrong with her. It is not her fault by any stretch of the imagination that I shouldn’t be a parent. And because she is pretty damned awesome, what it feels like more often than anything else is guilt. Not because I failed as a parent, but because I don’t want to be a parent.”
Elder’s Quora response was syndicated on Fatherly , a popular American parenting site. Fortunately, she says, though the article was published under her real name, she wasn’t on Facebook or Twitter; she’d not imagined her piece would kick up so much controversy and was glad she didn’t have to deal with it firsthand. This was in January last year. Two months later, another mother, this time in Germany, went public with her own regrets.
The title of Sarah Fischer’s book , loosely translated from the German, is The Happy Mother Lie: And Why I Would Have Preferred To Be A Father. Fischer is the mother of Emma, now three, and the book is dedicated to her. Like Elder, she had a successful career, as a photographer and award-winning author with a special interest in Mongolia. Unlike Elder, she was in her late 30s when she conceived and is still married; she and her husband Alexander met a year before she got pregnant.
“My husband really wanted to get married and have children and have this small family life. I didn’t, but I agreed to try, because I love him, and because, at 38, I thought I would never get pregnant,” she tells me. Fischer was adopted and had spent many of her adult years trying to find her biological parents: “I had a therapist who said to me, when I was 37, ‘Only if you have your own child will the searching and yearning end.’ So that was a factor. And I thought I was prepared, because Alexander and I had discussed how being parents would play out. My friends had warned me that all mothers end up in the traditional role, no matter what. I thought I could avoid that. How naive.”
“The first time I regretted having a child? When the contractions started,” Fischer says. She felt a sudden burst of anxiety: what if she and her husband weren’t able to stick to their plan? “We’d agreed before the birth that we’d both keep working and look after the child 50:50, and not slide into the traditional role models: father works and earns the salary, and mother stays at home.”
“I’d never failed at anything before,” she says. “I’d travelled to 180 countries. I’d almost died of dehydration in a jungle in Madagascar. I’d been on a sailing boat in the Indian ocean that had been attacked by pirates. I’d almost died from food poisoning in Turkmenistan.” So she felt she could handle motherhood. “What happened over the next few years I couldn’t have imagined in my worst nightmares. I felt like I was in a plot in a crime book, where the woman is being suffocated by motherhood.”
Fischer says she found herself forced to have endless baby conversations with other mothers. She watched friends drop their previous interests and careers for “baking bread or setting up mummy blogs or making jam”. When Emma was four months old, she was offered a freelance job that involved a lot of forei
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