Zero Fucks Parenting, Zero Fucks Living

I don’t talk about my kids much, not because I don’t love the shit out of them, but because the general theme of this blog is ah…… not child friendly at all.

Don’t judge me for having a life and a persona outside of mother mode.  This is what makes me so fucking badass-  I honour all facets of myself.

Anyway, I recently applied some principles to my parenting style, which I find really align with my general lifestyle and attitude all around.  You can probably tell by the name of it, just how god damn aligned it is.

The Zero Fucks method was born in my car.  Yep, that’s how these things happen.  Driving with my #1 high level gangsta associate and queen of my universe, my sister.

So there we were, driving along, when I found myself saying how I can’t take another fucking second of the disrespectful fuckery my children have been dishing out.  It’s no secret, I’ve sat back and allowed a lot of bullshit to wash over me in the past.  The biggest of my sins against myself, being their father.

Sister dear reminded me of a couple of things.  That I’m the boss, and why do I even give a fuck if they don’t like the rules?  I need to break them and re-shape them before I find myself with teenagers threatening me and being aggressive.

Word.  Fucking word.

I needed to lift my game and find some strength.

And so, the Zero Fucks method was born.  There are only two rules.  Rule 1:  I am the boss, and what I say is for the good of everyone.  My word is law.  Rule 2:  I give zero fucks if they don’t like it, my will is stronger than theirs.

I’m only on day 3 of the method, and I’m seeing some great results.  A lot of it comes down to attitude.  They started out having meltdowns over every single thing.  Putting on pants… brushing teeth… lifting their own cups to their own faces.

Guess how many fucks I gave about those tantrums though?  On the inside, I gave a few fucks.  It was pretty exhausting dealing with wall to wall bullshit.

I don’t know why I’m speaking of it in the past tense, because I’m still in the middle of it.  Maybe I’ve just decided this is the way it’s going to be, and it’s going to go well.

Which brings me to my point.  (I think.)

What if you just stopped giving fucks about things that don’t fucking matter?  One thing I don’t give a fuck about is how much I’m saying fuck right now.

You can apply this strategy across all areas of your life.  Am I saying that I don’t give a fuck how I parent?  Hell no.  Quite the opposite.  That’s where the most solid and strong fucks apply.  I care so goddamn much about the way I raise these boys into men, that I’ve kind of imploded into a zero fucks state of being.  It’s reverse fuckery.

Don’t like your breakfast?  Zero fucks.

Don’t wanna dress yourself?  Zero fucks.

Can’t pick up after yourself?  A total of zero fucks will be given, when I turn off the wifi until the thing I commanded them (nicely) to be done, is done.

I don’t have the energy to yell at them.  I don’t have the will to hit them.  Unless we’re playing our cool clapping/slapping game.  But that’s a whole other thing.  I’ve always felt like shit when I used force for discipline.  Frankly it’s not discipline.  If you think it is, get the fuck out of here.

All that was, for me, was MY OWN LACK OF DISCIPLINE rising to the surface and spilling over.  When I have the urge to strike in anger, I remind myself that it’s not necessary.  That my calm, low tone is enough.  That walking away is enough.

I don’t call them names when they irritate me.  I won’t claim that I’ve never said they’re being assholes, or lost my shit entirely and had a tantrum of my own.  The only way to teach them respect though, is to honour them enough to give them the respect I’m asking for.  I allow them to express themselves with whatever words they need to, at home.  I do not allow them to hatefully call anybody a dick, a cunt, etc.  That’s not allowed.

I wouldn’t slap a friend for pissing me off.  Why the hell would I touch my children in that way unless I’d lost control of myself?

That’s what it’s all about.

Control.  The ultimate control is derived from leading them with my example of fucking discipline, strength and a badass ‘don’t give a fuck’ attitude.

Some of you will think it’s counter-intuitive.  Some of you should also fuck off.  That’s the truth, because I said so.

I can’t remember a time in my life where someone being aggressive and domineering with me has taught me a single thing.  I was raised in a house where small bamboo canes were used for discipline.  It taught me fear.  It taught me to shrink myself, not to expand and to grow and learn a better way to express my needs and desires.  It taught me to shut down the part of myself that needed or desired anything.  It taught me I didn’t deserve the space to be heard, the chance to negotiate, it taught me I was a slave.

I carried that into adulthood.  It affected the way I related with every man I ever had the misfortune of meeting.

I say misfortune, because I made shitty choices in the past.

I don’t do that anymore.  You know why?

Because I give zero fucks if I’m alone.  I choose this so that I might learn all the lessons I failed to learn over the last couple of decades.  This is the price.  I open my wallet and dump the contents of it on the table.  NOT A SINGLE FUCK.  There’s mostly only lint in there anyway, so I suppose the price isn’t that high after all.


What was I saying?

Oh yes.  The fucks I do not give.

They apply to everything, and everyone.

Professionally, if accepting an assignment or a job doesn’t feel like a tiny orgasm, then my answer is a great big middle finger to that person.

Don’t panic, I do it gracefully.  I issue a thank you and a no, and then let my actions be the middle finger.  I can’t remember the last time I flipped off a boss…… but I do it metaphorically all the time.

In relationships, there’s little I give a fuck about, except the quality of the interactions we’re having and whether or not we’re both feeding each other a diet of pure fucking adoration and enjoyment.

If one or both of us is not….. I kiss them goodbye.  Zero fucks.

The last time I gave a fuck it almost put me back on my knees.  This is the point.  I found the point.

You can’t claim to be moderating your outgoing fucks carefully, if you’re allowing the things people say TO you and do AROUND you, to affect your core.  That makes you a slave.  A slave to their opinion, a slave to their actions, a god damn motherfucking slave.

I say no to slavery.  I choose to disassociate myself with anyone who upsets my chi.  I do it as kindly as I possibly can, unless of course telling them what a dickhead they are, would somehow assist them.

Which brings me to my final point.

My children are not immune to this boundary.  For a long time, their whole lives actually, I’ve parented them from a place of guilt and shame.  Guilt that I had them when I really knew I shouldn’t have, with such a dickhead of a father.  Shame that I couldn’t be the mother I imagined I’d be.  Sadness.  Pain.  Fear.  Struggle.

Fuck all of that shit.

I’m gonna take a hit of fuckitol and drink a cup of fuckoffee to celebrate.

I created this method off the top of my head, and on the fly, automatically.  It’s working, automatically.  It’s all mindset, baby.

If you decide things will be different, and then do exactly what you know you’re supposed to, in exactly the way that feels natural and organic to you- there’s no such thing as failure.

When the kids are done crying and melting down over a firm new boundary, I always go to them and give them a pat on the back.  A hug if they were really distraught.  (Not until they’re calm though.  I don’t hug tantrums.)  I congratulate them on making a fast recovery, thank them for calming the fuck down, and then explain to them what I expect of them next time, if they can’t already tell me that first.

They get it.

ALL HUMANS respond well to strength and discipline.

I don’t cry when they go to sleep at night anymore.

I don’t doubt the steps I’m taking to make them stronger.

I don’t feel guilty and sad for all the ways I’m letting them down.  Because nobody is being let down anymore.

In fact, I’m pretty sure that giving zero fucks is showing them exactly how powerful my love of them is.  I mean, that’s the only thing I really give a fuck about in life.  Their well being.  Their happiness.  Their resilience, self awareness and strength.

It’s not love, to allow them to walk all over me, and make me into a screaming, insane mess.  It’s fear.

What is love, is holding strong boundaries, staying calm, being the eye of their storm and showing them exactly how life is done.  Life is a series of choices.  Watch mama choose right, every single time.

When I get it wrong, I correct myself in front of them.  I apologize.  I explain myself.  I ask them to forgive me for my mistakes.

They always do.  They’re innocent, and gentle, and only want to be loved and accepted the way that they are.  Even mid-tantrum….. I accept their behaviour.  That doesn’t mean I have to tolerate disrespect and a lack of discipline.

There is always a consequence.  It’s always fair and proportionate.  I do not bend or break on the important rules.  I will negotiate.  But I will not do so with terrorists having tantrums.

They’re learning fast.  So am I.

This is the zero fucks method, and this is how my sons will grow to be amazing, badass motherfuckers who reserve their fucks for only the things that matter.

They will be the leaders of the next gen men.




P.S – I realize there are no pictures on this post.  Since I’m speaking about my sons,  I choose not to show them on a global platform where I have no control over who sees them, and they have no say about their images being used.  Thanks for understanding.

I may add some memes at a later date.

I may not.

Zero fucks!

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