The HUG Effect: The Small Parenting Gesture That Changes Everything

Tamar Sloan
Jun 28
4 min read

Let’s be honest: parenting can feel like trying to keep a candle burning in a storm. You’re not just managing routines and responsibilities—you’re holding space for love, conflict, joy, and everything in between. And sometimes, you’re doing it with a teenager who seems to have forgotten how to smile.

That’s why we start with Caring Presence.

Caring Presence is the foundation of Relational Parenting. It’s the beginning of influence—not through power or control, but through relationship. It’s built in small, steady moments: a kind word when your child is struggling, a favourite snack left at their desk, a gentle “I see you” when they feel unseen. It’s not a reward, and it’s not conditional. It’s love—no strings attached.

It’s showing up when it’s hard.

Especially when it’s hard.

These moments of warmth and reassurance create emotional safety, the soil where your child’s values take root. Over time, that safety helps them internalise your voice—not the shouting one, but the calm, compassionate one that says, “You matter.”

Connection in the Tough Moments

When your child is at their worst—angry, defiant, withdrawn—that’s when they need connection the most. Their positive voice is buried beneath shame, frustration, and unmet needs. That’s when we offer what I call HUGs—Heart’s Unconditional Gifts.

HUGs are small acts of love, freely given, unrelated to behaviour. They’re reminders of connection. Anchors of relationship. A way of saying, “Even now—especially now—I’m still here.”

Some parents worry, “Isn’t that rewarding bad behaviour?” It’s a valid question. But HUGs aren’t reinforcement. They’re relationship. They’re not given to shape behaviour; they’re given because your child is still your child, even when they’re struggling.

So you can tell them, "Although I don't love your behaviour, I do love you."

The Four Types of HUGs

All parents have given HUGs before. But when we offer them deliberately—especially during conflict—they become powerful. There are four kinds:

1. Shared Activities

These are moments spent together doing what your child loves. Not what you think they should love. If your child’s into Minecraft, slime, anime, or baking weird TikTok recipes—join them. My own teens drifted into interests I didn’t share: one into cars and country music, the other into legal podcasts. I had to get creative. “Supernatural” became a bonding ritual. Car rides became crime story debates. Shared activities build connection on your child’s terms, not yours.

2. Validation

Validation means letting your child know you see their emotions, even when you don’t agree with their actions. “I know you’re tired.” “I get that you love this game.” It’s a soft mirror, not a lesson. I had to learn this myself. I used to jump straight to fixing and teaching. But sometimes, our kids just need to feel seen. Validation creates space for their feelings, and space creates safety.

3. Connecting Comments

These are expressions of gratitude, recognition, or praise. But here’s the magic: say them later. Let them land with the weight of memory. “Hey, I noticed how you handled that yesterday.” Or even better—say it to someone else while your child is listening. That overheard pride sticks with them longer than anything said in the moment.

4. Connecting Gestures

These are small symbolic gifts—favourite snacks, a note on their pillow, a warm breakfast on a cold morning. And they’re most powerful when things are tense. I’ve seen parents transform relationships through the simplest acts—a nightly cup of tea delivered to a teenager’s door. At first, that cup was met with hostility. Then indifference. Then… “You’re late.” And finally, one night, “Thank you.” That cup of tea became a turning point.

HUGs in Action

Let me tell you about Daisy. Diagnosed with multiple conditions—autism, ADHD, ODD, OCD—her behaviour was explosive and exhausting. Her parents were overwhelmed. But once they began offering HUGs—spending time with her, speaking gently, reducing reactivity—things changed. Dramatically. No more violence. No more endless meltdowns. Just a little girl who finally felt safe.

And another story, one that’s never left me. A father whose daughter had attempted suicide and had withdrawn to her room brought her tea every night at 10pm. For months, she ignored him. Until one night, she said two words: “You’re late.” Then weeks later, softly: “Thank you.” That ritual became their bridge. It carried them all the way to her leaving home for university—with tea still their shared language of love.

These aren’t grand gestures. They’re small, steady ones. But they have the power to shift everything.