Parents’ Love: The Many Faces of Unwavering Care
One of our greatest privileges at New Agenda is partnering with families. Travel with us in this 3-Part Blog series about the “Many Faces of Parents’ Love” —evidenced through our partnership based work.
PART 1: ALEX*—11 year old with ADHD / heightened impulsivity
Experience the many faces of parents’ love through Alex’s journey in three New Agenda Executive Function Coaching sessions —with co-founder, Maria DelCorso, from firm guidance to heartfelt attention. Learn how the combination of boundaries, presence, and shared family moments fosters growth, confidence, and lasting emotional security.
The Warmth Beneath the Cold
It was a cold winter day, the type that leaves your face burning the moment you step outside. The air feels sharp, unforgiving, and even the walk from the parking lot to the door makes you pull your coat tighter around you. Inside my office, the heater hummed softly, doing its best to fight the chill. Alex arrived with his mug of hot chocolate, the steam rising in gentle curls, the scent sweet and familiar. Usually, this small ritual softens him. Usually, warmth helps. But on this day, the hot chocolate did not shift his stoic face frozen in place as Alex walked in and sat down across from me, shoulders tense, jaw clenched, eyes fixed somewhere far away. He took the mug, wrapped his hands around it, but his expression stayed guarded. The cold from the day seems to have followed him inside — not just on his skin, but in his emotions. When he finally began to talk about his day, it’s clear that something heavier than winter weather was weighing on him.
Earlier that day at school, Alex, an 11 year old with ADHD, had yelled at a classmate and then his teacher. What started as a minor disagreement escalated quickly, fueled by frustration that had been building long before the moment itself. Words came out louder and harsher than he intended, and once they were out, there was no pulling them back in. The classroom fell silent. The teacher intervened and Alex became further agitated, yelling at his teacher. Alex was sent out of the room and eventually given detention. By the time he got home, the consequences didn’t stop there. His parents listened with empathy, asked questions, and then made a decision that Alex knew was coming but still hoped to avoid. Because of his behavior, he was grounded for the weekend. That meant missing his friend’s birthday party — the one he had been talking about all week, the one he had already planned what he would wear to, the one that felt like the bright spot at the end of a long school week. Sitting in my office, Alex’s voice cracked as he said, “It’s not fair.” He knew he messed up. He also knew how badly it hurts to lose something he was looking forward to. His parents knew it too. And still, the consequence stood. This is what parents’ love looks like.
For many parents, moments like this are some of the hardest parts of raising children. This is especially true for children who struggle with impulsivity. It is far easier to comfort than to correct, easier to soften the blow than to hold a boundary that will disappoint your child. Consequences can feel cruel in the moment, especially when you see the hurt on your child’s face or hear the frustration in their voice. Parents often question themselves: Am I being too strict? Will this damage our relationship? Should I just let it go this once? These questions don’t come from indifference — they come from deep care. But consequences play a critical role in healthy child development. They teach children that actions have impact, that emotions don’t excuse harmful behavior, and that repair often requires accountability. When parents consistently follow through with consequences, they are doing the long, difficult work of preparing their children for life beyond childhood. They are teaching skills like emotional regulation, responsibility, and resilience — skills that cannot be learned without discomfort. Choosing to enforce consequences, even when it hurts both parent and child, is a profound act of love. It says, I care enough about you to do the hard thing. I care enough about your future to tolerate your anger today. True parental love is not always warm and comforting like hot chocolate on a winter day. Sometimes it looks firm, steady, and unwavering — a kind of warmth that holds its shape even when the cold presses in.
The Warmth of Presence
The following week, the winter chill still pressed against the windows, but inside my office, something entirely different greeted me. Alex walked in, and the moment he stepped across the threshold, I noticed it — a beam of light in his expression, a looseness in his shoulders, a smile that reached his eyes. The hot chocolate in my hand felt almost redundant this time; Alex was radiating warmth on his own. As he slid into the chair, there was no stoicism, no tension frozen across his face. Instead, there was an energy that carried the evidence of joy, curiosity, and connection. “You won’t believe what happened this weekend,” he said, practically bursting at the seams with excitement. And I didn’t need to ask — I could see that something had shifted in him.
His parents had made a decision that, in the moment, may have felt radical: a fully screen-free weekend for the entire family. Phones, tablets, computers — everything was set aside. No scrolling, no notifications, no half-attention given to the glowing rectangles that often demand presence without asking. At first, Alex admitted he was skeptical. He worried about boredom, about missing out on his favorite shows or games. But what unfolded instead was something deeper: attention, undivided attention, devoted not just in small bursts, but as a constant presence. For Alex, whose life often felt crowded with the buzz of electronics, the absence of screens was a revelation. It was a weekend where his thoughts, ideas, and play were the center of attention. The living room became a space for laughter, storytelling, shared jokes, and spontaneous games. Conversations stretched beyond monosyllabic exchanges, and every moment of curiosity was met with undistracted responses.
Watching Alex recount his weekend, it was clear how profoundly this presence had impacted him. He described playing board games with his siblings without interruption, making up stories that kept everyone engaged, and even teaching his parents a new card game — the kind of involvement that made him feel seen and valued. “I felt like they were really listening to me,” he said. And in his words, I could hear the validation that had been missing during the previous week’s tension and consequence. The simple act of being fully present had a gravitational pull, drawing him out of the usual defensive shell, and revealing a spark of engagement that reminded me why connection is the heartbeat of growth.
There is a parallel here that cannot be ignored: the way parents use their phones can be like second-hand smoke in a relationship. It may seem harmless, casual, even necessary at times, but for children, it creates an invisible haze. Attention is split. Moments are diluted. Even when love is present, its reception is impaired. Alex described this with startling clarity, recognizing that when his parents weren’t tethered to their devices, he felt the difference in his body and in his mind. He felt lighter, freer, and more confident. “I could tell they were really focused on me,” he said, “like nothing else existed for those hours.” That focus, that undivided presence, was not just noticed — it was absorbed, stored in the parts of him that crave connection and affirmation.
In practical terms, the screen-free weekend allowed Alex to experience what psychologists and developmental specialists often describe: children thrive when attention is given without distraction. It strengthens executive functioning, emotional regulation, and social skills. But beyond these measurable benefits, it nourishes the emotional body — a body that registers love in the subtleties of undivided time. For Alex, each laugh, each turn in a game, each attentive response was a reminder that he mattered. That he could influence the family dynamic. That he was prioritized, not as an afterthought in the wake of endless notifications, but as the center of a shared experience.
This is what love looks like. It is the firm consistency of boundaries, yes — as we saw last week — but it is also the expansive generosity of presence. Parents’ love is not only the difficult “no” that teaches responsibility, but also the attentive “yes” that validates existence and celebrates individuality. When love is present in both forms — in consequences and in engagement — children like Alex have the rare chance to feel both safe and cherished. They learn that their parents are reliable, that their needs are met, and that their family is a space where they can thrive.
As Alex sat across from me, recounting every detail of the weekend, I could see how fully he had absorbed this gift. His smile wasn’t just for the stories he had to tell; it was the radiance of being witnessed, valued, and loved without distraction. The warm light from the heater seemed to pale in comparison to the warmth emanating from him. And as we talked, it was once again evident that the small but intentional choices parents make — even when difficult, even when inconvenient — are the quiet architecture of love. In Alex’s world that weekend, the screens went off, and love turned fully on.
The Balance of Boundaries and Presence
The week following that screen-free weekend, Alex arrived for his session again. His steps were lighter than before, but there was also a calmness in his expression that had not been there previously. He had experienced firsthand the warmth of focused attention, and yet he also remembered the disappointment of last week — the consequence of missing his friend’s birthday party. As we talked, Alex began to articulate something subtle but profound: “It’s easier when I know they’re paying attention, but it’s also okay when they have rules.” Our session then progressed to address concerns with managing and problem solving social a challenges as well as mapping a plan for the week for school and home responsibilities.
That statement “It’s easier when I know they’re paying attention, but it’s also okay when they have rules” encapsulates a truth that every parent eventually comes to understand: love in parenting is not a single feeling, nor is it always comfortable. It takes many forms — sometimes tender, sometimes firm, sometimes invisible until years later. The balance between enforcing boundaries and offering undistracted attention is delicate. Children, especially those navigating the often turbulent currents of developing self-regulation and social awareness, require both. They need to see that love is reliable, even when it is not convenient or easy. They need to feel celebrated, even when they have made mistakes.
Parents’ love, in its most authentic form, often looks like doing the hard work before the reward is visible. Grounding a child for misbehavior, establishing consequences, or saying “no” when a request is unsafe or inappropriate is not punishment for punishment’s sake — it is the careful tending of a young life. Alex’s grounding, his loss of a party, and the disappointment he experienced were acts of love disguised as inconvenience. They were demonstrations of his parents’ commitment to teaching him accountability and responsibility. Love, in these moments, is not about comfort alone; it is about growth.
But love also manifests in the joyous, unstructured moments — the ones where time is given freely, attentively, and without distraction. The screen-free weekend, with laughter echoing through the living room, games played with undivided focus, and conversations that were fully engaged, was an act of love just as significant as the difficult consequences that came before. It signaled to Alex that his parents were present not only as authority figures but as allies, as witnesses, and as champions of his emotional and social development. By showing up in both ways, they conveyed a message that is difficult to articulate but easy to feel: I love you, always, in every circumstance.
This duality — discipline paired with presence — is what defines the many faces of parents’ love. It is not linear, neat, or easily summarized. There are days that feel heavy with rules, structured schedules, and tough choices. There are weekends that feel light with freedom, laughter, and shared experiences. And there are the quiet moments in between: a lingering hug after a hard day, a hot chocolate shared silently, an approving nod that says, without words, I see you, I hear you, and I am here. Each instance, whether it carries the weight of correction or the softness of attention, builds the architecture of a child’s trust in the world and in those who love them.
Alex’s story serves as a reminder to all parents: love is multidimensional. It is not limited to comfort, treats, or praise, nor is it restricted to discipline, consequence, or structure. True parental love is the seamless integration of these elements — a balance of firmness and warmth, teaching and celebrating, boundaries and freedom. When parents do this well, children feel both safe and valued, disciplined yet empowered. They learn that mistakes are part of growth and that love is not withdrawn because of error. They learn to trust in the constancy of the people who care for them.
By the time Alex left that day, the stoicism that once marked his visits had transformed into a glow of understanding and confidence. He had experienced the weight of boundaries and the lift of presence, and in doing so, he had felt love in all its complexity. Watching him walk out the door, I reflected on the ways parents show love every single day — sometimes through action, sometimes through restraint, sometimes through just being there. The cold winter day, the grounding, the screen-free weekend, and the attentive conversation were all threads in the same fabric: the rich, intricate, unwavering tapestry of parents’ love.
This is what parents’ love looks like — steadfast in its discipline, radiant in its attention, and enduring in its commitment. It is often invisible, sometimes misunderstood, but always present, shaping children like Alex into individuals who know, in their bones, that they are seen, heard, and cherished.
*Alex’s name has been changed for confidentiality.
For more information about executive function coaching, check out our website: newagendacoaching.com