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Gentle parenting mirrors our ancestors' folklore
Gentle parenting is a parenting style rooted in respect, empathy and boundaries.
When I was four, I refused to eat pumpkins. Not because I was sick or fussy, I did not just like them. To this day, I still don't. But my mother, bless her, did not care for culinary opinions from people who still wet the bed.
She did not yell. She just reached for the mwiko, a wooden cooking spoon, and landed two precise slaps on my thighs that triggered my ability to eat the pumpkin. I chewed on the soggy pieces, almost gagging with every bite as I fought back hot tears that threatened to spill down my cheeks.
Many Kenyan adults share similar memories: discipline served hot and fast, often with a slipper, a wire, or a glare so deadly it could silence an entire room. Today, when we hear phrases like gentle parenting, positive discipline, or emotion coaching, they sound strange. But are they?
Critics often dismiss gentle parenting as a Western trend. But the truth is, traditional African parenting was not always harsh. Our grandparents told stories under the stars, used community wisdom, and taught through parables to teach values and instil discipline in children. History shows that the shift toward strict, even militaristic, parenting in Kenya emerged alongside colonial schooling systems and urban migration that emphasised order, silence, and structure.
Our ancestors did not beat children over every mistake. They used metaphors, natural consequences, and involvement in daily chores to teach responsibility.
Gentle parenting, contrary to popular belief, is not about letting children run wild. It is a parenting style rooted in respect, empathy, and boundaries. It asks a parent to pause and ask, Why is my child acting out? What need are they trying to communicate?
“We grew up being told ‘children are to be seen, not heard,’” says Lillian Mwende, a Nakuru-based early childhood educator and mother of two. “But now we are learning that children have big emotions they cannot yet name. Hitting them instils fear; it doesn’t teach them self-control.”
Lillian began her gentle parenting journey when her son, Ethan, started throwing tantrums at age three. Her first instinct was to shout, threaten, or spank. “But one day, I knelt and said, ‘Ethan, I see you are very upset. Can you tell me why?’ And he cried into my arms.”
Emotional regulation
When I told my mother I would not be spanking my son, she stared at me. “No pinching?”
“No.” “Then how will he learn?”
“He will learn… gently.”
Back in the day, questions like “why?” or “can we talk about this?” were met with a ngoto so sharp it could rearrange your frontal lobe. Today, my son asks, “why?” and I am supposed to kneel, make eye contact, breathe deeply, and say,
"I hear you are upset because you wanted a snack. That is okay to feel, but we are not buying snacks today.”
My friend Jeniffer uses what she calls “dhow parenting”. Flexible like a boat, anchored in love. “I don’t shout anymore. I narrate. I explain. And I pause before reacting. It takes longer. But my home is no longer a battlefield.”
“Nothing tests your self-control like a child who pees on the couch while staring you in the eyes. There are days I want to scream, “Just behave! Stop talking back! Eat your food! “But then I remember I am not raising a robot, but a person with a heart, a mind and feelings,” she says.
Unlike authoritarian parenting, which demands obedience through control, or permissive parenting, which avoids confrontation altogether, gentle parenting aims for cooperation.
Peter Wainaina from Nakuru recalls the day his six-year-old daughter, Zawadi, cut her hair into jagged tufts using office scissors.
“I asked her, ‘What made you do this? She told me she wanted to look like her teacher. Instead of punishing her, we talked about feelings, choices, and consequences. She helped clean up the hair and learned not to use sharp things without asking,” he says.Peter uses tools like time-ins (sitting with the child to talk instead of sending them to a corner), emotion naming (“Are you feeling angry or frustrated?”), and modelling behaviour (“Watch how I calm myself when I am upset.”). They admit it is hard. “Sometimes you want to snap. But I remind myself that this is for the long-term gain.”
Unlearning fear and shame
A 2019 study by the African Network for the Prevention and Protection Against Child Abuse and Neglect (ANPPCAN) found that over 60 per cent of Kenyan children experience corporal punishment at home.
Many carry this pain silently into adulthood, struggling with low self-esteem, fear of authority, or emotional repression.
I never want my kids to flinch when I walk into a room. I want respect, yes, but not fear. I journal with my teenage son when he is upset. We call it our “Feelings Book.”
Gentle parenting takes more time, more self-control, and more presence than many of us ever received as children.
It means regulating your anger before correcting your child’s. It means apologising when you overreact, slowing down to explain, teach, and guide, even when your instincts scream otherwise.
What happens when a child raised on slippers becomes a parent armed with words? They clash with their parents.
“My mum thinks I spoil my son. She says if I don’t beat him, he will embarrass me in public. But I told her I would rather he trusts me in public than fear me in private,” says Jeniffer.
Jeniffer is part of a WhatsApp group of young Kenyan parents practising positive parenting. They share wins, failures, and strategies. “It’s a community of unlearning shame, silence and the myth that fear equals respect.” Gentle parenting is a transition, straddling the line between how we were raised and how we want to raise the next generation. The slippers may be gone, but in their place, we are building bridges. So maybe the question is not, Are Kenyan parents too strict? Maybe it is; Can we be firm without being fierce? Can we teach without tearing down? Can we raise disciplined children without wounding them?
