'The "hidden-camera" parenting trick has changed my relationship with my kids.'

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It's one of the inescapable truths of parenting that we hold ourselves to a slightly higher standard when doing it in front of an audience. I don't know about you, but it feels significantly more embarrassing to lose my sh*t in front of another grown adult, so as a result … I don't. 

I turn my diplomacy dial up to 50, dig around for every negotiating tactic I can find, and put in the extra effort because, rightly or wrongly, I've been socialised to judge myself against my ability to remain in control in public settings. 

There's just something about being watched that changes your behaviour. Scientists even have a name for it: the observer effect, where the very act of watching or measuring something changes the thing itself. 

The flip side of this, of course, is that I do some of my worst parenting when there's no one else around to judge. 

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The urge to 'perform' good parenting.

It's not as though I'm a raging authoritarian when I'm alone with my kids. In fact, the best parts of my day are when it's just us, circling random topics of conversation that, recently, have included everything from cannibalism to Christianity. 

But, much in the same way you hear mums in the park manage to keep that even tone in their voice when they call out for the third time in 15 minutes: "I told you five minutes, Arlo, now your time is up", so too does an audience force me to be a bit more measured.

For instance, I might engage more heartily with my nine-year-old's endless stream of consciousness about One Piece (IYKYK) when his grandparents are also at the dinner table. Without an external observer, I might be quicker to space out and pretend to be listening while mentally tallying my online grocery shop for the next day. 

When my five-year-old takes off her jumper outside her classroom to reveal a midriff tank top on a 14-degree day, I might gently explain to her in front of her teacher why I need her to compromise and wear something warmer. On another day, when she makes the same choice in the car, I might bribe her with a box of orange Tic Tacs to get a result. 

I think that maybe everyone does this. We keep the more vulnerable, shame-inducing parts of ourselves hidden from everyone but the closest people to us. 

Perhaps because we know that's often where the most acceptance lies. 

There's an extra person in the room whenever you're alone with your kids.

But I've been thinking a lot lately about why it is that I fear the judgement of random adults more than I do my own kids. 

Because the reality is, any time you're in a room alone with your kid, there is another grown-up there. It's the adult version of them, looking back through time at childhood memories, from way in the distant future when they have a family of their own and no longer feel the need to kick soccer balls repeatedly into the garage door, shaking the very foundations of your house and sanity. 

It was a revelation that hit me like a tonne of bricks. 

I've been more invested in looking like a perfect parent in front of random adults than I am in looking like an authentic one in the eyes of my children. 

And so, I've developed a little experiment. 

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'Hidden camera' parenting.

I call it 'hidden camera parenting', and it basically entails pretending there's a secret, hidden camera capturing all of my private interactions with the kids. 

Then I ask myself: when I play back the imaginary footage, will I be proud of the parenting I did in that moment, or will it make me feel guilty? 

Will I see myself putting down firm, but fair, boundaries and holding them with loving kindness? Or will I see myself cutting corners, giving in because it's easier, or succumbing to the lure of my phone while they're in the room trying to get my attention? 

And while I have no concrete evidence — and my study has a sample size of three — something pretty remarkable has begun to happen these past few weeks.

I've been able to step out of my own overstimulated brain and look at situations in a more detached way. 

I've settled in for the long, difficult conversation even when there was a shortcut sitting in front of me. 

I've listened (OK, pretended to listen) to the same chapter of my daughter's audiobook seven nights in a row because she refuses to start another one and for some reason finds the repetition comforting. 

I've been able to ask myself whether the thing that currently has me irritated (having to ask eight times for their shoes to be put on, for example) is really worth a lecture, or whether choosing a harmonious car ride is a better long-term strategy. 

Our relationship is calmer. I'm also prouder of some of the boundaries I've stuck with — rules I've held firm on that, while they might have caused outrage in the moment, the adult version of my kids will look back and understand the decision. 

And maybe this is all very obvious to you. Maybe I'm the only parent who feels like they need some form of external moderator to keep their sh*t together. 

But if you're in the trenches too, I'd invite you to consider installing an imaginary hidden camera at your house for a while too. 

Who knows what core memories you'll end up capturing. 

Feature Image: Supplied.