I tried reparenting myself for a week—i didn’t expect to cry this much

I didn’t plan on crying on a Tuesday over a bowl of oatmeal.

But that’s where I found myself on day three of my “reparenting” experiment—spoon paused midair, eyes leaking, because I’d just told myself out loud, “You can have more if you’re still hungry.”

Something in my chest loosened, and decades of white-knuckled self-control about food, time, achievement—everything—let go a little.

I’d heard of reparenting before: tending to yourself the way a good-enough parent would. Safety first. Warmth and structure. Limits and repair. I decided to try it for seven days and track what happened.

Spoiler: I cried a lot. But not in a fall-apart way. More like thawing.

Here’s what surprised me, what worked, and what I’ll keep.

1. I started with a morning “check-in,” not a checklist

Normally I launch into the day like I’m late to my own life.

This week, I sat on the edge of the bed and asked three questions: How do you feel? What do you need? What’s one kind thing I can do for you?

It took two minutes. The answers were embarrassingly simple: “Tired.” “Water.” “Five minutes of sunlight.”

Turns out, meeting basic needs early quieted the background static. Less hustle, more clarity. And yes, sometimes the kind thing was changing a meeting time or pushing a run to the afternoon.

Which leads to…

2. I made decisions like a steady parent, not a panicked manager

Reparenting isn’t permissive. It’s firm and kind. So when my calendar looked like a Jenga tower, I pretended I was making choices for a kid I love.

Would I schedule back-to-back tasks for her with no lunch? No.

Would I let her scroll her phone until midnight? Also no.

Did I still try to negotiate with myself? Of course.

But saying, “Sweetheart, nice try,” with a smile worked better than the usual drill-sergeant voice.

“Self-compassion is simply giving the same kindness to ourselves that we would give to others.” — psychologist Christopher Germer. That line kept echoing all week, and it’s truer in practice than in posters.

3. Naming feelings disarmed them (and it felt weirdly adult)

Half the time I don’t know what I’m feeling until it explodes.

This week I tried “name it to tame it.” I paused and literally labeled sensations: tight throat (sad), buzzing cheeks (anxious), lead limbs (tired, not lazy).

As noted by psychiatrist Daniel J. Siegel, the “Name It to Tame It” strategy helps corral right-brain emotional storms with words and reasoning.

The phrase is memorable; the effect is measurable—you can feel your nervous system downshift when you put words to a wave.

4. I built tiny rituals that signaled safety

If reparenting has a secret ingredient, it’s predictable care.

I made a “landing” ritual for when I came home: shoes off, water refill, two minutes standing by a window.

I made a “reset” ritual after tough meetings: hand on chest, three slow exhales, one sentence to myself: “You are safe and you’re learning.”

Five minutes of stretch on the floor before bed became non-negotiable. The point wasn’t performance; it was consistency.

My body got the memo: predictable care = we can relax now.

5. I let myself cry—and learned what tears were saying

I cried because I was relieved. I cried because twenty-something me would have loved this kind of gentle order. I cried because I didn’t know I was hungry until I let myself eat enough.

Crying wasn’t a setback—it was data. The tears came when I allowed comfort where I usually withhold it: second helpings, short walks between tasks, going to bed when I’m tired instead of pushing through emails at 11 p.m.

Have you ever noticed how much energy it takes to not need anything?

6. I practiced “repair” after I messed up (because I did)

Good parents mess up. Great parents repair.

On day four, I snapped at myself out loud after a small mistake—old habits. Instead of ignoring it, I practiced repair: “Hey, that was harsh. You’re frustrated, but you don’t deserve to be talked to like that. Let’s try again.”

The moment I acknowledged the rupture, my shoulders dropped. Repair builds trust with ourselves the same way it does between people.

“Being able to feel safe with other people is probably the single most important aspect of mental health; safe connections are fundamental to meaningful and satisfying lives,” writes Bessel van der Kolk.

I’d add: a safe connection with yourself matters, too.

7. I swapped self-criticism for coaching language

Instead of “Are you kidding me?” I tried: “Okay, what’s the next right step?” Instead of “You always do this,” I asked: “What would make this 1% easier?”

Coaching language nudged me forward without shame. It also made my brain more creative. When you stop burning energy on self-attack, you get that fuel back for problem-solving.

If you’re not sure where to start, try these three prompts:

• “What am I feeling right now?”

• “What do I need right now?”

• “What’s the smallest possible next step?”

8. I set boundaries with my phone like I would for a teen

Would I hand a teenager an attention casino with no curfew? Absolutely not. So I moved my phone out of the bedroom and set a 9 p.m. “screens off” alarm with a goofy sound.

The first night, my hand kept reaching for a device that wasn’t there. The third night, I fell asleep in eight minutes. Boundaries aren’t punishment; they’re protection.

And when I slipped (hello, doom-scroll), I used repair: “Screens got sticky tonight. Tomorrow we try again.”

9. I made food and rest boringly adequate

Reparenting shifted food from moral math to nourishment. I added a fat to breakfast, protein to lunch, and an afternoon snack like I was packing it for a kid’s backpack.

When I was still hungry, I ate. When I was full, I stopped—without a speech about “earning” it.

I also stopped treating sleep like a negotiable. Eight hours isn’t indulgent; it’s infrastructure. On the nights I didn’t get there, I took 20 minutes for a daytime down-regulation break—eyes closed, legs up the wall.

Surprisingly effective.

10. I tracked wins like an analyst, not like a perfectionist

Former life: financial analyst. I still love a clean spreadsheet. So I made a quick tracker with three columns—Ritual (what I tried), Effect (how it felt), Note (what I’d tweak).

Why track? Because reparenting is less about big breakthroughs and more about pattern recognition. I learned that sunlight before 10 a.m. pays disproportionate dividends. I learned that late coffee guarantees late anxiety. I learned that the days I moved my body—even ten minutes—I was kinder to myself.

Data, but make it compassionate.

11. I allowed help instead of trying to “do healing right”

Midweek, I texted a friend: “Trying to be gentler with myself this week. If you see me spiraling, please ping me.” She sent a heart and a meme.

That’s it. But it reminded me: grown-up support counts as reparenting, too.

I also bookmarked a therapist referral, and I’ll likely schedule it. Reparenting isn’t a one-woman show. It’s also knowing when to add to your team.

12. I gave future-me small gifts

Tiny acts of care compounded: setting the coffee to brew, laying out running shoes, pre-chopping vegetables, leaving a sticky note that said, “3 deep breaths before you open Slack.”

Each one whispered, “I’m thinking of you.” The more I did it, the less I needed my inner critic as a motivator.

When someone trustworthy is looking out for you—even if that someone is you—you don’t hustle from fear.

What I’ll keep (and what I’ll ditch)

Keep: The morning check-in. The “name it to tame it” pause. The no-phone bedroom. The bedtime floor stretch. Repair language when I slip.

Ditch: The myth that I have to earn rest. The idea that harshness equals high standards. The fantasy that I’ll be perfectly gentle forever (I won’t, and that’s okay).

Tweak: I’ll try a weekly “family meeting” with myself on Sundays—what worked, what didn’t, and one small experiment for the week ahead.

If you want to try this, here’s a simple 7-day map

You don’t need a whole life overhaul. Think micro-shifts.

Day 1 — Check-in + water. Ask the three questions. Drink a full glass before coffee.

Day 2 — Name and normalize. Label one feeling in the morning and one at night; remind yourself, “Of course I feel X.”

Day 3 — Food without drama. Add one nourishing element to each meal. Allow seconds if you’re still hungry.

Day 4 — Repair practice. Notice a harsh voice and try one repair sentence: “That was rough. Let’s try again.”

Day 5 — Phone boundary. Give your device a bedtime and charge it outside your bedroom.

Day 6 — Movement as kindness. Ten minutes counts. Walk, stretch, dance in your kitchen.

Day 7 — Review + gift. Jot down what helped. Set up one tiny gift for tomorrow-you.

If you like quotes, tape one to your mirror. This line from Siegel’s handout lives on mine: “Name It to Tame It: Corral raging right-brain behavior through left-brain storytelling.” It’s nerdy and it works.

Final thoughts from the other side of a teary week

I used to believe that being hard on myself kept me sharp. This week showed me the opposite. Kindness didn’t make me sloppy; it made me steady. Structure didn’t box me in; it freed me to focus.

I didn’t expect to cry this much. But the tears weren’t a setback; they were a sign I was finally safe enough to feel.

If you try your own version, remember: you don’t need to do reparenting “right.” You just need to do it consistently and with care. Start small. Listen closely. Repair often.

And give yourself the sort of boring, reliable kindness that lets you get on with living.