by Mohammad J. Farshchi and Mohammad H. Sharifian
We wanted to share how Positive Discipline helped us, and many families in Iran, during days of crisis, fear, displacement, and uncertainty.
In the name of God, the Source of peace, connection, and human dignity
Dear members of our global Positive Discipline family,
We are two Positive Discipline Certified Educators from Iran. For more than ten years, we have been teaching and practicing Positive Discipline tools and principles with parents and teachers. Both of us have been teachers for more than twenty years. Both of us are fathers of two children. And, interestingly, both of us live in the same neighborhood in Tehran.
Over the years, like many of you, we have spoken many times about Family Meetings, Class Meetings, Encouragement, Curiosity Questions, Connection Before Correction, Listening, Validating Feelings, Problem Solving, Routines, empathy, being Kind and Firm, responsibility, mutual respect, and empowering children. We have practiced with parents and teachers how to help children feel belonging, significance, and capability instead of trying to control them; how to focus on solutions instead of blame; how to support rather than rescue; and how to listen instead of lecture.
But what we experienced over the past months went far beyond our usual teaching of Positive Discipline tools. This time, life placed us in a situation where we had to see whether what we had learned and taught for years could still help us stand, stay connected, and remain human in days filled with fear, insecurity, the sound of explosions, displacement, heartbreaking news, online schools, grief, and worry for the lives of loved ones.
You may have heard that our country experienced two periods of war and military attacks during the past year. We do not wish to enter into political discussion. This letter is not written for politics. It is written for human beings; for children, families, teachers, and for everyone, anywhere in the world, who cares deeply about raising children with respect, dignity, and responsibility.
War, whatever name we give it, is a painful reality. No child should have to hear the sound of an explosion. No parent should have to explain to a child why a building has collapsed, why a school has been attacked, why a family has lost someone they love, or why they must leave their home and move somewhere safer. No teacher should suddenly have to move a living classroom into the cold frame of a laptop or tablet screen while also worrying about their own family, their students, and the future.
But these were parts of the reality we faced.
Parents called us and asked, “What should we tell the children?”
There were children who had heard explosions and were afraid.
There were teenagers who had heard things from the news, friends, and social media, asking, “What is happening? Why is this happening?”
There were families whose homes had been damaged and who had to leave. Our own home was also damaged in an attack, and we too had to leave it.
There were families who, out of fear and worry, left the capital and began a temporary life with relatives or friends.
Schools moved online, and for days and weeks children saw their teachers and classmates only through screens.
We are not writing these things to make your hearts heavy. We write them because without sharing part of this reality, we cannot share the main experience we want to offer: that Positive Discipline, in times of crisis, is not merely a set of tools for solving everyday problems. It can become a language for preserving connection, regulating emotions, making meaning, keeping hope alive, and helping children experience belonging, significance, and capability.
From the first days of the crisis, we tried to bring everything we had learned from Positive Discipline into real life. Before correcting, we tried to connect. Before offering ready-made answers, we tried to listen. Before trying to calm children’s fears, we tried to validate them. Before telling parents what to do, we stood beside them so they would not feel alone in such a situation.
We created groups for parents of children in different age ranges: parents of children under three, preschoolers, elementary-aged children, and teenagers. We wanted families not to be alone. More than 1,000 people joined us in the first days. We wanted there to be a place where parents could ask questions, share their worries, exchange experiences, and draw strength from one another. In reality, we were trying to build an encouraging community in the middle of a crisis; a place where parents could feel supported, hopeful, and capable instead of ashamed, blamed, or helpless.
During those days, we understood the meaning of belonging and connection more deeply than ever. The phrase we had heard at the 2022 Think Tank came alive for us again: We belong. Because that Think Tank was held online during the pandemic, we were able to attend from Iran. Now, in the middle of another crisis, the meaning of that phrase became even more real to us. We belong to one another. The crisis showed us that human beings, especially children, cannot endure in isolation. What keeps resilience alive is not only advice or technique. It is connection. It is being seen. It is being heard. It is the feeling that “I am not alone” and “my presence matters to others.”
In the groups, parents talked with one another, shared their experiences, offered ideas, and helped calm one another. Once again, we saw that when parents come together in a safe, respectful, and nonjudgmental space, they themselves become a source of support and collective wisdom. Sometimes the most beautiful responses did not come from us, but from a mother or father who shared a living and honest experience in that very moment. Parents were helping parents, and that was one of the most encouraging parts of the whole experience.
One of the most important tools we experienced again, and more deeply than ever, was the Family Meeting.
We all know Family Meetings in ordinary times: a time for compliments and appreciations, reviewing past solutions, bringing up new agenda items, inviting family members to share feelings and thoughts, brainstorming solutions, planning, and ending with a fun activity, a treat, or a joyful moment together. But imagine the same Family Meeting being held when the shadow of war has fallen over family life, when everyone is worried about the next piece of news, when no one knows what tomorrow will bring, and when children are facing big questions and big fears.
In such days, Family Meetings took on a new meaning for us. They were no longer just a good method for organizing family life. They became like a small light inside a home while darkness and anxiety moved outside.
We reminded parents that even in difficult days, there are still things to appreciate. We can still thank one another. We can still say to a child, “I am glad you are here with us.” We can still say to a spouse, a child, a sister, or a brother, “Something you did today helped me.” These small appreciations are not small in times of crisis. Sometimes they are the thin threads that help hold a family’s heart together.
In Family Meetings, families talked about real problems. Sometimes the problem was what to do if the sound of explosions returned. Sometimes it was how to manage electricity, water, or fuel. Sometimes it was that children were watching too much news. Sometimes a child was asking why people fight wars. Sometimes it was about planning the next day in a temporary home or in another city.
We helped parents remember that a problem, no matter how heavy or painful, is still a problem. It is something we can talk about, notice the feelings around it, brainstorm around it, consider possible solutions for it, and take small steps. The goal was not to solve everything. The goal was not for families to pretend they were not afraid. The goal was to preserve connection in the middle of fear, and to find, within helplessness, the parts of life that were still within their influence.
One of the most important Positive Discipline reminders in those days was that when people are upset, they have more access to the fight-or-flight part of the brain than to the rational, problem-solving brain. So we could not expect a frightened child, a worried parent, or a teenager full of questions and anger to think logically, calmly, and clearly in that very moment. First, there had to be room to cool off, to feel safe, to create a Positive Time-Out, and to return to the rational brain. Sometimes this meant a hug. Sometimes it meant a few deep breaths. Sometimes it meant kind silence. Sometimes it meant saying something as simple as, “I can see that you are scared. I am worried too. But we are together, and we will find the next step together.”
We told parents again and again: You do not need to rescue children from their feelings. You do not need to immediately turn off their fear, sadness, anger, or worry. Children’s feelings are not our enemy. Their feelings are messages that need to be heard. When a child’s feelings are validated, the child gradually learns that feelings can be faced and moved through. So instead of saying, “Don’t be afraid,” we practiced saying, “I can see that you are scared.” Instead of saying, “Nothing happened,” we practiced saying, “Something hard has happened, and it makes sense that you feel worried.” Instead of lecturing, we practiced listening.
During these days, the meaning of Connection Before Correction became deeper for us. When a child acted aggressively out of fear, when a teenager asked questions in a sharp tone, when a child kept clinging to the news, when a child did not want to separate from their parents, the child’s first need was not correction. The first need was connection. The message of love had to get through. The child needed to know that even if the behavior was not appropriate, the child was still valuable. The child needed to hear, “I love you and I am here with you. And we can find a respectful solution to this problem together.”
Routines also took on a new meaning in these days. In ordinary conditions, routines give children a sense of security. In crisis, routines can become a small pillar holding up the psychological roof of the home. We encouraged families to create new routines, routines that fit temporary homes, war conditions, online school, worries, and new limitations.
We asked parents to make lists with their children: What is outside our control? And what is still within our control?
We cannot change all the news, but we can manage when and how we watch the news.
We cannot remove all danger, but we can know what to do when danger comes.
We cannot make the outside world calm, but we can create moments of calm, play, conversation, kindness, and contribution inside the home.
We cannot always keep the old routines of life, but we can create new routines that tell the child, “Life is still continuing, and you still have a meaningful part in it.”
During these days, the role of practice and step-by-step training also became very important to us. We suggested that parents use calmer moments to design role-plays and practice possible situations with children. For example, they could practice where to go if there was a warning or the sound of an explosion, what to take with them, how to stay together, and how to help younger children. These practices were not meant to deny fear. They were meant to build capability. When a child knows, “I know what I can do,” the child is less likely to sink into helplessness.
We repeatedly reminded parents that children need calm presence, a listening ear, and a sense of safety more than they need long explanations. Parents do not need to have perfect answers. They do not need to play the role of fearless heroes. Children need adults who are honest, calm, kind, and reliable, adults who can say, with kindness and firmness, “I am worried too, but we are together. Your feeling matters, and at the same time, we have a plan that helps us take care of ourselves.”
We also saw again the importance of Curiosity Questions. When a child asked, “Are we going to die?” or “Why did this happen?” or “What if our house is destroyed?” parents could pause before answering and ask, “What have you heard about it?” “What are you most afraid of right now?” “What do you think could help you feel a little calmer?” “If we hear that sound again, what is our plan?” These questions opened a door into the child’s inner world, a world that, if we do not hear it, may leave the child alone with their fears.
In days of crisis, Closet Listening was not only a parenting suggestion for us. It became a human necessity. Sometimes it was enough for a parent to sit near a child and say, “I just wanted to be with you for a few minutes.” Not to interrogate. Not to advise. Not to correct. Just to be present. Some children did not speak right away. Some began talking after a few minutes. Some simply moved closer. And that closeness itself carried a message: “You matter to me.”
Another important experience was limiting children’s exposure to news and screens. In wartime, news enters the home like an endless wave. Parents want to know what is happening, but children cannot process this volume of images, sounds, analysis, and fear. We encouraged families to make clear agreements about news-watching, phones, and online spaces, not through power struggles, but through discussion, agreements, and attention to the real needs of the child. Alongside that, we suggested alternative activities: playing games, cooking, organizing the temporary home, calling loved ones, writing, drawing, praying, telling stories, helping others, and any activity that could bring family members closer together again.
Limited Choices were also very helpful in these days. Children in crisis lose many of the ordinary choices of life. They may not be able to go to school freely. They may not be able to stay in their own home. They may not be able to see their friends. In such conditions, even small choices can give them a healthy sense of power: “Would you like to do your online homework before or after the snack?” “To help yourself calm down, would you like to draw or sit next to me?” “For your emergency bag, would you like to put in the flashlight or the bottle of water?” These small choices return a small but important share of control to the child.
We also tried to remind parents that mistakes are natural in days of crisis. Parents become exhausted. They speak sharply. Sometimes they lose patience. Sometimes they are afraid. Sometimes they do not know what to do. In Positive Discipline, a mistake is not the end of the relationship; it is an opportunity for learning and repair. We told parents many times that if their voice became too loud, if they gave an answer they later regretted, if they could not stay as calm as they wished, they could still return: recognize their part with responsibility, apologize, and work with the child to find a respectful way to repair and move forward. These simple steps helped protect relationships from breaking during crisis.
In difficult days, values also become clearer. War and crisis remind us what truly matters. We talked with families about the difference between values and goals. Kindness is a value; buying groceries for an elderly neighbor who cannot leave home is a specific and reachable goal. Courage is a value; helping a frightened child is a courageous act. Social interest is a value; preparing food for a family whose home has been damaged is an act of social interest. Responsibility is a value; helping a child know what they can place in the family emergency bag is a real practice of responsibility.
In these days, our children saw scenes no child should have to see. But alongside those scenes, they also saw helping, courage, empathy, care, and responsibility. We tried to help families turn these scenes into a parenting language, into an opportunity to talk about humanity, respect, helping others, and living our values. Positive Discipline reminded us that children do not grow through hearing values alone. They learn values when they see them in real life, touch them, and have a meaningful part in them.
This experience reminded us of the teachings of Alfred Adler and Rudolf Dreikurs: that human beings need belonging, meaning, contribution, and a sense of capability. A child becomes calmer when the child feels like a valued member of the family, when the child’s voice is heard, when the child can contribute, and when even in difficult days the child can do something small but meaningful.
One sentence that we saw again and again in action during these days was this: Children do better when they feel better. This is true in peaceful days, too, but in crisis its truth becomes even more visible. A frightened child does not need humiliation or blame. An angry teenager does not need a power struggle. Exhausted parents do not need criticism. In such days, all of us need encouragement, connection, time to cool off, and someone’s faith in our capability.
We learned that Positive Discipline in crisis does not mean permissiveness. It does not mean lack of boundaries, ignoring reality, or saying, “Everything is fine.” Positive Discipline means being Kind and Firm. It means being able to say, “I know you want to follow the news more, and at the same time, the time for news needs to be limited.” It means saying, “I understand that you do not want to sleep, and our bodies need rest so we can keep going.” It means saying, “You have the right to feel afraid, and now it is time to follow our safety plan.” This small “and” became, in days of crisis, a bridge between empathy and responsibility.
As we write this letter today, we believe more than ever that Positive Discipline is not only for ordinary days. It is not only for times when the problem is homework, cleaning a room, sibling conflict, household jobs, or bedtime. Positive Discipline remains alive in difficult days as well; perhaps it finds its deeper meaning in those very days.
We cannot always change the painful realities of the world. We cannot stop all wars. We cannot prevent all suffering. But we can build more humane relationships within this difficult world. We can help children express their fears, experience connection instead of isolation, take small steps instead of sinking into helplessness, live values such as respect, courage, kindness, and responsibility instead of hatred, and experience that they can still have a small but real contribution to their own lives and to the lives of others.
Today, in a 15-minute online meeting, we were invited to share something we would like Jane to know. Because of internet difficulties, we could not use the chat, and our microphone was muted. Strangely, that silence created an opportunity for us to write this letter to Jane and to all members of the Positive Discipline family.
Jane, we want to express our deep gratitude to you. What we have learned from you, from Positive Discipline, and from this global community has been invaluable to us. We write to say that the teachings we have learned and now teach were alive and effective for us in one of life’s hardest tests. They helped us live our own values more fully.
We have been working for years to develop and spread Positive Discipline in Iran, and we remain deeply committed to this path. After what we experienced, this commitment has grown even stronger. We want to continue this work with more energy, more clarity, and greater urgency, so that more parents, teachers, and children in Iran can experience relationships built on connection, respect, encouragement, responsibility, and dignity. We believe that by living and teaching these principles, we can help raise a remarkable, capable, and socially responsible generation; children who feel belonging and significance, who know they can contribute, and who grow with courage, compassion, and responsibility.
Family Meetings, Routines, Curiosity Questions, Listening, Validating Feelings, Connection Before Correction, Encouragement, Problem Solving, role-playing, being Kind and Firm, Special Time, Positive Time-Out, Understanding the Brain, Limited Choices, Focus on Solutions, and showing faith in children’s capability created, for us and for many families, a small but real refuge when life had become deeply unstable.
We hope no family anywhere in the world has to experience such days. But if one day a family faces crisis, war, displacement, grief, fear, or insecurity, perhaps these simple yet profound tools can offer a small source of light: a source of conversation, connection, calm, meaning, responsibility, hope, and the reminder that even in the hardest days, we can still remain human.
With our deepest wishes for peace, safety, respect, responsibility, and calm for all children and families around the world.
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