The Food Fight & The Pike | 3.5 min read

The story

I was only trying to help

We ordered takeout this past weekend. Chinese food. My son decided he didn't like it.

"There's nothing for me to eat."

"I don't like anything that's there."

Dude, it's rice and chicken in sauce. Half our meals at home are exactly that.

"You don't understand. It's all gross stuff."

My first mistake: "Well, Ben, you have options, right? Be grateful you have options — many in this world don't."

My second mistake: "You can walk home. You can get something different there. You can ask your Baba if she has something else."

My third mistake: "Either way, you can't sit here and mope. People are trying to enjoy their food. Let them eat in peace."

That last one provoked a yell: "Why can't you just let me sit here?"

I walked away. It was the best move I made.

Parenting is hard. And what I didn't realize in the moment was how each of those "helpful" responses was chipping away at my son's ability to solve the problem himself. The barrier to his happiness was locked inside a mental model called all-or-nothing thinking — and instead of helping him find the door, I was bricking up the windows.

It's a pervasive mindset that follows us through life, work, and relationships:

"How did I overcook the eggs? I'm such an idiot."

"My presentation was awful. I always mess this up."

"I forgot their birthday. I'll never get it right."

The Pike Syndrome

Scientists put a ferocious, big-toothed, open-mouthed, hungry pike in a tank with small, tasty minnows. Between the pike and the minnows, they placed a sheet of transparent glass — an invisible wall.

The pike would swim, spot the minnows, and bash its head into the glass. Retreat. Bash. Retreat. Over and over, until it gave up.

Then the researchers pulled out the glass.

The pike swam peacefully among the minnows until it died of starvation. It couldn't help itself.

All-or-nothing thinking creates learned helplessness.

With nothing left to try, there's nothing left to do but suffer.

Three steps back from the edge

So how do you help someone — your kid, your partner, yourself — climb out?

1. Regulate before you reason. When you're sad, angry, or frustrated, you don't think clearly. You're locked in the amygdala — fight, flight, freeze — and logic can't reach you there. The first step is simply noticing the emotion. I'm upset. Until your mind registers that you're in that headspace, you can't move beyond it.

2. Get curious, not corrective. Ask questions instead of offering solutions. I feel upset. Why? I'm hungry. I don't like the food. What can I do about it? With my son, I could have reaffirmed his experience first: "Yeah, that's frustrating when there's nothing you want to eat."

3. Wait. Then wait some more. If someone's deep in the hole, they can't see the light. Sit with them. Only when they're ready — and you'll feel the shift — offer a gentle nudge: "What if you walked home? Is there food there you'd want?"

When my son solves the problem himself, he can do it again next time.

That's confidence. That's self-esteem. That's happiness.

Be a scientist

A scientist stares at bacteria in a Petri dish. They notice without judgment: Why did it do that?

Turn that lens on yourself.

Why was I upset that my son was upset? What did it trigger in me? I wanted his emotions to go away so I could feel better.

That's called emotional co-dependency, and it's incredibly common — in parents, in bosses, in relationships. We're sitting with family, having a meal. Why couldn't I just let him feel what he was feeling? He's allowed to have emotions. He's allowed to exist in discomfort.

The fact that I couldn't sit with it? That tells me there's something in me — a story, a pattern — that needs attention.

That's called "doing the work."

Just not right now though, k? I'm too busy.

The Pebble
How to deal with the devil

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Watch this clip of Susan from the TV show, Ted. It’s hilarious.

Susan arrives in full knight's armour, ready to fight a demon. Her son tells her to attack. Instead, she asks the demon how his day's going.

She stays calm.

She gets curious: "Do you enjoy being a demon?"

She validates: "That must really hurt."

And this terrifying beast? He melts.

“Turns out the real demon is loneliness.”

Within minutes, they're gossiping about Carol's watercolour class.

It's the three steps in action. Regulate. Get curious. Wait. The scariest thing in the room just needed someone to sit with it.

The challenge
Be your best scientist

When a negative emotion rises this week, be kind to yourself. Don't judge it. Just notice.

Ask: What am I feeling? Why? What's underneath that?

Try it once. Just once. And let us know how it changes things.

When I walked away from that dinner table, it was the best thing I could do — because I was dysregulated too. My wife stepped in once Ben was calm, and he asked his Baba for some noodles. She happily obliged. He sat down and ate in peace, in his happy place.