There are so many things we think about as parents—how to raise kind, confident, resilient kids, how to keep our cool on little sleep, how to be present even when the day feels stretched too thin. One small phrase I’ve been thinking about a lot lately is “I told you so.” It might seem harmless, even natural, but it’s one of those things I’ve decided I don’t want to say to my toddler. I talked to my husband about it, too, and it led to a really meaningful conversation about the kind of tone and language we want to model in our home.
At its core, “I told you so” feels like it carries a heavy weight for such a short phrase. It’s usually said after something has gone wrong—when a child doesn’t listen and ends up with a skinned knee, a spilled drink, or a tear-streaked face. It comes out in those moments of frustration when, yes, we did warn them, and now they’ve learned the hard way. But saying “I told you so” doesn’t just point out that we were right. It reminds the child that they were wrong—and it does so in a way that often feels smug, sharp, or condescending.
That’s not the tone I want in my relationship with my child. My toddler is still learning everything—how gravity works, how emotions work, how to trust, how to bounce back. Mistakes aren’t just common; they’re essential. They’re part of the process. When we respond to those moments with “I told you so,” we risk shaming a child for doing what they’re supposed to be doing: trying, experimenting, and sometimes failing. It takes the focus away from learning and places it on judgment.
I remember once my daughter was trying to pour her own juice. I could see what was coming—juice all over the table, floor, and probably her clothes. I said, “Let me help you,” but she insisted, and I let her try. Of course, she missed. Juice everywhere. She looked up at me, eyes wide, waiting to see how I would react. I paused. Everything in me wanted to say, “See? I told you!” But instead, I knelt down, grabbed a towel, and said, “Oops. That was tricky. Want to clean it up together?” Her shoulders dropped, and she nodded. We cleaned it together, and later I gently showed her how to pour by holding the pitcher with both hands.
That moment stuck with me. Not just because the juice stain took a while to come out, but because it showed me how powerful my reaction could be. She knew she’d made a mess. She knew it hadn’t gone the way she wanted. She didn’t need to be told she failed. She needed to know I still saw her as capable and safe to try again. And I wanted her to know that making a mistake didn’t mean she had disappointed me.
Children listen to our tone even more than our words. If we speak with sarcasm, they feel it. If we speak with disappointment, they carry it. If we speak with kindness and curiosity, they absorb that, too. When a child hears “I told you so,” what they really hear is, “You didn’t listen, and now you’re in trouble. I was right, and you were wrong.” It makes the parent-child relationship feel more like a contest of who’s smarter, rather than a partnership of learning together.
That’s not to say boundaries or warnings aren’t important. Of course we guide our kids. Of course we say, “Be careful,” or “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” or “Let’s try it this way.” But when they still choose to do something their way, and it doesn’t work out, our response shapes what comes next. If we say, “That didn’t go how you wanted, huh?” or “What could we do differently next time?” it invites learning. If we jump in with “I told you so,” it shuts the door.
It’s also worth thinking about how this phrase can impact a child’s sense of independence. Toddlers are wired to test limits and push boundaries. It’s how they learn what’s safe, what works, and where the edges are. When we punish that curiosity—even subtly, through words like “I told you so”—we risk teaching them that it’s safer to just always do what they’re told, even if they’re unsure why. But we want them to ask questions, to try new things, to think for themselves. That doesn’t mean letting them run into danger, but it does mean offering room to explore while knowing they can trust us to be calm and loving when things don’t go perfectly.
It’s also helped me to flip the situation and ask myself: if I were the one who messed up, what would I want someone to say to me? Imagine being in a tricky spot at work, making a call that backfires, and having someone say, “I told you so.” Even if they were right, it wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t make me feel encouraged to try again. It would make me want to shut down. Now imagine that person instead said, “That didn’t go like we hoped. What can we learn from it?” That feels so much more helpful—and I think kids deserve the same courtesy.
So I’m practicing something different. Instead of “I told you so,” I try to offer connection. I try to offer presence. I remind myself that these little moments—spilled juice, missed steps, melted-down plans—are all invitations to teach not just lessons about the world, but lessons about kindness, empathy, and resilience. If I meet my toddler in those moments with a calm tone and open heart, I’m teaching her that mistakes are okay. That I’m a safe place to land. That being “right” isn’t more important than being supportive.
It’s not always easy. Sometimes the words slip out, especially when I’m tired or rushed. But I notice the difference when I take a breath and respond with patience. I see her eyes soften, her shoulders relax. I see her grow in confidence, not shame. And I think that’s the kind of parenting I want to keep leaning into—less about being right, and more about being there.
So yes, “I told you so” is a phrase I’m working hard to let go of. Not because it’s the worst thing a parent can say, but because it doesn’t match the kind of connection I want with my child. I want to raise someone who feels safe to take risks, who knows that messing up doesn’t make her less loved, and who learns to speak to herself with the same grace I offer her. If that starts with being mindful about just one little phrase, then it’s more than worth it.
