Tag: stoicism-for-children

“Just One More…” — What Bedtime Battles Taught Me About the Stoic Virtue of Temperance

On By Ian ToalLeave a comment

When my son kept reaching for one more snack, one more story, one more show ( or at least the first 5 minutes to see what happens) — I realized the most loving thing I could do wasn’t saying yes, but holding the line with purpose, clarity, and care.

This is Part 4 of a four-part series on incorporating Stoic principles into my son’s and my life. Each post explores one of the core Stoic virtues, finishing with Temperance.

Temperance:

Desire always asks for more.
Temperance knows when enough is enough.

It always starts with a plea:

“Just one more…”

One more minute.
One more snack.
One more video.
One more chapter, even after we agreed it was the last.

My son says it almost without thinking.
But I hear it for what it is:
A test.
A request.
A reaching out for more —
and maybe a way to delay the next thing he doesn’t want to do.

And the truth is, sometimes I want to say yes. Because I’m tired. Because he’s cute. Because one more feels easier than a meltdown. And I don’t want some moments to end either. Sometimes I’d love to give in — to stretch bedtime a little longer, to enjoy just one more laugh or cuddle. But I’ve come to see that parenting isn’t only about the moment. It’s also about the bigger picture — about what’s healthiest and most meaningful for both of us in the long run.

And that is what Temperance asks of us.

It asks for steadiness, not surrender.
For clarity, not control.
It invites me to stay grounded — even when the easy answer is yes.

Not just for me. But also for him.

Temperance Means Holding the Line with Love

The Stoics saw Temperance not as denial, but as discipline with purpose.
It’s knowing what’s enough — and having the strength to stop there.

The nights, when I said no to a third snack, or paused the screen when the timer beeped, or held him while he cried because he didn’t get what he wanted — that was Temperance too.

Not because I was cold. But because I was clear. Because I was present. Because I wanted to teach him that limits are love, not punishment.

Because love isn’t always about saying yes — it’s about knowing when to say it’s been enough. It’s helping him feel safe in a world that doesn’t bend to every whim. It’s showing him that his needs matter more than his impulses. And that the people who care for him will guide him through disappointment, not avoid it.

A Bedtime Battle, A Bigger Lesson

Last week, he hit his limit. We were three requests past lights out. He had asked for another snack, another video, another glass of water, another everything. And when I gently said, “No more tonight, bud. It’s time to get to bed,” he broke.

Tears. Yelling. Arms crossed tight.
And then finally, climbing into my lap with his face buried in my shirt.

He didn’t need the snack.
Or the screen.
He needed me — to give him some limits and help him reset and get ready for bed.

So I held him.
Not to fix it.
Not to make it go away.
Just to let him know the boundary was still there—
and so was I.

That, too, is Temperance.

Begin With Purpose

Temperance isn’t about being strict for the sake of it.
It’s about starting the day with intention—
and ending it with care.

That means deciding throughout the day: What matters the most right now? And holding that line when things get loud, messy, and emotional.

Even when your kid says,
“Just one more…”

You breathe.
You hold the line.
You love them through it.

Because the world doesn’t need more indulgence. It needs more calm and rational moments. More clarity. More parents who are willing to begin with purpose.

Try This Tomorrow:

For You:
Pick one area where you often give in, out of exhaustion.
Decide ahead of time what “enough” looks like.
Stick to it, gently and without apology, throughout the day.

Together:
Let your child know the plan ahead of time: one show, one snack, one story.
Then offer something more lasting: a snuggle, a conversation, a moment of stillness.

Final Thought

Boundaries aren’t walls.
They’re garden fences,
built to protect what we love.

And inside those fences,
with presence and purpose,
nourishment grows.

Seeing the World Through a Child’s Sense of Fairness

On By Ian ToalLeave a comment

What One Morning Taught Me About Justice, Integrity, and the Quiet Power of Doing What’s Right

This is Part 3 of a 4-part series on incorporating Stoic principles into the life of my son. Each post explores one of the core Stoic virtues — continuing with Justice.

Fairness is a compass.
Justice is the way we walk with it.

We were getting ready for school one morning — a little behind, a little foggy in the head. I was pouring coffee when Bear came into the kitchen with a look that told me something was coming.

“Dad,” he said, calm but firm,
“you said we both have to make our beds before breakfast… but you didn’t make yours.”

He wasn’t trying to catch me.
He wasn’t being rude.
He was holding me to the same standard I’d set for him.

And he was right.

Not long ago, I might’ve brushed it off.
Told him, “Focus on what you’re supposed to do.”
Or given the classic adult line — I was busy. I’ll get to it later.

But my son has always had a strong sense of fairness.
At school.
On the playground.
In our home.

That morning, he wasn’t just focused on himself.
He was focused on both of us doing what we say.

Justice Isn’t Just for Judges

The Stoics believed Justice wasn’t about laws and punishments —
It was about how we live.
How we treat people.
How we show up, even when it’s inconvenient.

My son had already figured that out.

If someone cut in line, he noticed.
If a classmate got blamed unfairly, he spoke up.
If I skipped a step I said was important, he called it out — not to be difficult, but because it mattered to him.

And I almost crushed that instinct.

Not on purpose.

At first, when he pointed out things he thought were unfair,
I’d tell him to just focus on himself.
That he was in charge of himself and let others be in charge of themselves.
That he can’t control other people.

Which is true —
but not the whole truth.

Because kids see deeply.
They feel when something is off.
They care when things aren’t right.

And when we dismiss that…
We risk teaching them to stop caring.

What my son needed wasn’t to be silenced.
He needed help understanding what he was seeing.
Help learning how to move through the world where fairness matters —
But so does grace.
So does compassion.

Justice doesn’t mean policing the world.
It means walking through it with integrity.

A Daily Reset

So now we do a check-in each afternoon or evening.

Not just:
“Did you brush your teeth?”
But:
“Did we clean up after ourselves?”
“Were we respectful?”
“Did anything happen today that you want to talk about or felt wasn’t right?”

Then we talk about it,

really talk about it, and figure out how we felt and what he or I might have done differently next time.

And I give him the grace to say what he’s feeling or thinking, and if I feel he needs a different way of seeing what happened, I’ll steer the conversation in a way that helps him understand.

Because in his eyes —
and honestly, in mine too —

How you do one thing is how you do everything.

And the way we reflect on those things together —
honestly, openly, without shame —
that’s how we build the sense of justice,
one small moment at a time.

Try This Tomorrow:

For You:
Notice one moment where you could act with more fairness — especially when no one’s watching. Choose integrity. Follow through.

Together:
Ask your child to share something that felt unfair today. Then talk through it — not to fix it, but to understand it together. Talk about what integrity might look like next time.

Final Thought

Justice begins in small, quiet places.
A made bed.
An honest word.
A promise kept.

That’s where your child learns it.
And that’s how you show them the path forward.

Step by step.
Side by side.

The Light Inside: Teaching Kids to Find Their Courage

On By Ian ToalLeave a comment
We can all be brave. We just need to trust ourselves

What a walk through the dark, a quiet warning, and a single statement taught me about courage.

by A Mindful Dad’s Life

Fear is a shadow. Courage is a flame. That’s how the Stoics saw it — not just as bravery, but as the foundation for moral action. A light that helps us step rightly, even when fear is near.

We were leaving a school event not long ago.
The night was cool, and we were walking back to the car.

I asked my son to stay close.
Not because I wanted to scare him,
but because earlier, near the woods,
I’d seen a man who had shouted at people passing by.

I just wanted him aware.
Safe.
Close.

He stayed beside me, as I’d hoped.
But once we were in the car, he looked at me and said something that stuck:

“Kids are pretty helpless. Boys and girls are pretty much defenseless.”

His words landed heavy.
Because I don’t want him moving through the world with that belief.
Not as my son. Not as himself.

Courage Means Acting Even When Afraid:

Here’s what I hope he learns instead:

Courage — Andreia — doesn’t mean being fearless.
It means feeling the fear and still doing what’s right.

Like this:

Can I protect him from every risk?
No.

Can I make the world safe wherever we go?
Not always.

But I can teach him how to face fear without freezing.
I can show him how to step into the braver path when it matters.
That’s Courage. And it’s steady. Quiet. Strong.

For the Stoics, courage was more than boldness — it was ethical strength. Without courage, wisdom stays unspoken, justice goes unseen, and temperance withers. Courage lights the way for all the other virtues to act.

A Tool for Both of Us:

So here’s the practice.

When fear shows up — whether it’s a shadow in the woods,
a tough question in class,
or the moment before trying something new —

Pause.

Ask:
“What would the braver me do right now?”

Then take that step — big or small.
Because you are not helpless.
You are not defenseless.
You are learning every day to be strong, thoughtful, and brave.

Try This Tomorrow:

For You: Notice one moment today where you feel hesitation. Ask yourself: “What’s the braver choice?” Take that step, even if it’s small.

Together: Ask your child to share a time they felt afraid today. Then share one of your own. Talk about the brave step you each took — or could take next time.

Final Thought:

Fear will always be there, a shadow.
But so will courage, a flame.

And courage doesn’t need to roar.
It just needs to whisper “try.”

Every time you listen to that whisper, you light a flame — one that guides you, and one that shows your child how to walk the path with courage too.

We’re not just raising kids. We’re raising ourselves, too.

If you’ve got a saying that works to help your kids be brave— drop it in the comments. Maybe it helps another parent or child light their path.

Because all of this? It’s practice. And practice makes a path we can walk clearly.

This is part 2 of a 4-part series on teaching young children Stoic Virtues. You can find part 1 Here: