Why I Stopped Saying “Because I Said So”
What we pass down matters — especially the things we stop.
I say it to my son sometimes in jest, but more often than not, it slips out when I’m tired or at my limit: “Because I said so.”
It’s a phrase I inherited. My mother said it to me. My stepfather, too. I’m sure my grandparents said it to their children. I’ve even heard it in professional settings, though there, it sounds more like, “We’ve always done it this way.” These phrases don’t hold logic or care; they are about power, obedience, and shutting down the conversation.
From the beginning of my parenting journey, I questioned those methods. “Because I said so” never motivated my son. Like me, he needs to understand the why. Sometimes the reason is solid. Sometimes it invites negotiation. That dance of explanation, compromise, and boundary-setting in relationships has become central to how I parent.
This includes harder things, too—like my early use of spanking. I didn’t do it often, but when I did, it was because I felt I had run out of options. He was little. I needed the behavior to stop. I didn’t know better, and I was at my wits’ end.
We talked about this recently. I told him I had my own reckoning and came to understand it was wrong. Like Maya Angelou said, “When you know better, do better.” I apologized to him. Not just for the act, but for what it represented — using power over rather than building power with. More than anything, I hope he knows I’m not trying to be a perfect parent. I’m trying to be a human parent. A parent who learns, apologizes, and tries again—a parent who’s raising her child to be better than she was.
When we learn new tools, we’re invited to use them. And that often includes repair. Parenting for growth — both my own and my son’s — means holding love as the through line. It means showing up in challenging conversations. It means building a relationship grounded in justice, mutual respect, and emotional safety.
We live in a culture that prioritizes obedience over critical thinking. It trains us to be pleasers, to fear failure, to hide our mistakes. Obedience disconnects us from our own intuition, boundaries, and ethics. We hear it in the language of soldiers who say, “I was just doing my job,” even when that job causes harm. Obedience culture prepares us to submit, not to think.
Yes, you can get short-term compliance. When I spanked my son, he stopped the behavior. But how much mistrust did I sow? How many systems are built on that same logic, controlling behavior instead of cultivating character? I observed the same dynamic when we transitioned my son from a play-based preschool to a private Catholic school. He went from exploration to “sit down, sit still, be quiet.” I watched the light dim in his eyes.
If we want brave, creative, emotionally literate people in the world, we can’t raise them with authoritarian tools. If we want a different kind of future, we need a different kind of parenting.
My son is now 18, and I feel like I’m still figuring this out. But many years ago, it became clear to me, through reading, reflection, and conversations with trusted peers, that I wanted to be the kind of parent my son could always talk to. I wanted him to know he is loved without condition. That we can face hard things together. That emotional literacy is a tool for life.
This value paid off during a major crisis in his late elementary years. Our foundation of trust held us. Even now, I work to center consent in our relationship. I’m not perfect, but I’m committed. We try to co-create boundaries. Recently, while I was traveling for work, he told me he was starting to dread our evening phone calls. It was the end of senior year, and his stress was high. Later, I asked, “As your mom, part of my job is to hold you accountable. How else would you like me to do that?” He didn’t have a clear answer, but the question itself mattered. It lets us renegotiate the container of our relationship. That’s parenting beyond obedience.
This practice includes modeling accountability. I tell him out loud, “I was wrong to spank. I want to do better.” I try not to impose punitive consequences. I focus on real-world feedback. I try to see him as a full person, whose brain is still growing, who’s doing the best he can with what he has. I hold him accountable, but I try not to use shame or fear to do it.
And I do all of this because I believe parenting is part of how we shift the world. How we parent shapes how we relate to power. Do we use power over? Or do we practice power with?
Power over — the kind baked into patriarchy, white supremacy, authoritarian religion — is what breeds disconnection and distrust. It’s what says, “Because I said so.” But power with? That’s the third way. It’s the space where we can build something different.
I want my son to know how to negotiate with a boss, to advocate for what he needs, to say, “That’s too much — how can we renegotiate?” I want him to stand in his power with confidence, not fear. I want him to offer that same freedom to others. That’s the kind of man I hope he becomes. That’s the kind of culture I want to ripple outward.
Because when we raise children with accountability and confidence — without fear — we are seeding a future that values freedom, trust, and relationship. That’s how we reimagine liberation.
I hated being told what to do as a kid. Maybe that’s why I’ve chosen this path. Have you noticed how control shows up in your life — in your parenting, in your relationships, at work? Have you tried shifting from control to connection?
Being rooted in our values is what keeps us anchored in challenging moments. If this resonates with you, I’d love to hear what you value.
And after you take my survey, consider: What are you passing down to your children’s children? What do you want to stop?
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