From sand showers to safe spaces

Not once was her glass of chilled white wine at risk. Which, frankly, was the most – and perhaps only – impressive part of the entire scene. The episode confirmed my longstanding suspicion that “gentle parenting” – along with its evil twin, “pathological people-pleasing” – is responsible for a good portion of the world’s dysfunction.

The cast of characters? Two butt-naked hooligans, roughly five and three, who decided their freshly-bathed, frilly-dressed cousin, or sister, needed a sand exfoliation. Her shrieks pierced the serenity of a Mauritian sunset, summoning a mother, who glided in with the serene authority of someone safeguarding both her offspring and her Sauvignon Blanc.

“Liam, Sebastian,” she cooed, “it appears as though Cressida is saddened by your actions.” A pause. “Of course, this doesn’t make you naughty. It’s just … not what we expect.” And with that, she whisked away poor Cressida to be re-bathed, while the naked wonders continued to hurl grit like feral Neanderthals.

This isn’t parenting. It’s a sinister campaign designed to ensure that little Liam never encounters the word “no”. The result? A generation of adults who:

• Bring feelings charts to office meetings;
• File human resources (HR) complaints because a colleague’s sigh felt “weaponised”;
• Require “mental-health days” after someone corrected their spelling on Teams; and
• Calls everything from late Ubers to Woolies queues “trauma”.

In short: fragility masquerading as sensitivity.

The products of gentle parenting grow up believing that discomfort is oppression; that failure is abuse; and that a boss with expectations is a dictator. Hence the 30-year-old who needs a kombucha and a group hug after reading a firm email. Or the university student who insists that disagreement equals violence.

Because if you can throw sand at your sister while your mother rationalises it as “not what we expect”, why wouldn’t you demand the same indulgence from your professor, your boss, or eventually your government?

Still not convinced, or struggling to identify them in the wild? Here’s a quick guide:

• The HR oracle: armed with pastel sticky notes and phrases like “lived experience”, this one believes policy should bend around their anxiety like yoga pants around a midlife crisis;
• The TikTok activist: records performative rants about microaggressions while ignoring the macro-aggressions of actual dictators. Raised on “you’re not naughty, just misunderstood”;
• The barista avenger: collapses when their oat-milk flat white isn’t “exactly 64 degrees”. Blames capitalism. Writes poetry about it; and
• The workplace unicorn: requires applause for simply showing up. Considers deadlines a form of violence. Asks to “circle back when I feel emotionally ready”.

The real danger isn’t just the whining, it’s the entitlement. Gentle parenting trains children to believe that the world will adapt, cushion, and contort itself around them. And if the only thing ever at risk is Mom’s Chardonnay, why on earth would Sebastian ever stop throwing sand?

Because at the end of the day, gentle parenting doesn’t raise gentle people. It raises entitled ones. And while Cressida may recover from her sand bath, society may not recover from an entire workforce of Liams and Sebastians convinced that life itself is supposed to be one big “safe space”.