Olivia: The most common parenting advice for fighting siblings is 'be nice to each other.' What if that's precisely the advice that guarantees they'll resent each other for life? Today, we explore why the path to sibling harmony might start with permission to hate. Jackson: Whoa, that's a bold claim. So you're telling me all my childhood scoldings were counterproductive? I feel like I owe my brother an apology. Or maybe he owes me one. I'm not sure. Olivia: Well, according to our book today, you both might be owed an apology from the well-meaning adults in your life. That's the radical premise at the heart of a book that has been a cornerstone for parents for decades: Siblings Without Rivalry by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish. Jackson: Right, these are the authors who basically changed the game on parent-child communication. I read that they both studied with the famous child psychologist Dr. Haim Ginott, and you can feel that deep psychological insight, but they make it so practical. Olivia: Exactly. And their background in theater arts really comes through. They don't just give you theories; they give you scripts, role-plays, and stories that stick with you. The book was a #1 New York Times bestseller for a reason—it addresses a pain point that is universal and deeply felt. Jackson: And it's still so relevant. The book came out in the late 80s, part of that big shift towards more empathetic parenting, but the advice feels like it could have been written yesterday. Olivia: It really does. And it all starts with their most radical idea: you have to let the bad feelings out first.

Jackson: Okay, let's dive into that, because my first instinct as a parent, or just as a human, is to shut that down. When a kid says "I hate my sister," every fiber of your being wants to say, "No you don't! That's a terrible thing to say! Be nice!" Olivia: Of course. It's a protective instinct. We want our children to love each other, and we want a peaceful home. But Faber and Mazlish argue that denying those feelings just shoves them underground, where they fester and come out sideways—in the form of tattling, poking, or just general misery. They have this incredible exercise in the book to help parents understand the sheer intensity of what a child feels when a new sibling arrives. Jackson: I'm ready. Hit me with it. Olivia: Alright. Jackson, imagine I'm your loving partner. I come home one evening and say, "Honey, I love you so much, and our relationship is so wonderful, that I've decided to get a new, younger husband. He's really cute. He'll be joining our family tomorrow." Jackson: Hold on. A new husband? You're bringing another guy into our house? Olivia: Yes, but don't worry! I'll still love you. It's just that he's new, so he'll need a lot of my attention. And he won't have any clothes, so he'll need to borrow your sweaters. And all our friends and family are going to come over and bring him presents and tell him how adorable he is. But you're still my special guy! How are you feeling? Jackson: I'm feeling... homicidal. I'm not feeling generous. I'm thinking about changing the locks. I'm definitely not thinking, "Oh, what a wonderful addition to our family!" Wow. Okay, I get it now. That's exactly what a toddler must feel. They were the center of the universe, and suddenly this new, helpless, attention-sucking creature shows up and starts wearing their old onesies. Olivia: Precisely. You feel displaced, jealous, enraged. And then, on top of all that, imagine I say to you, "Why are you being so grumpy? You need to share your things and be nice to the new husband." It adds insult to injury. Jackson: It's completely invalidating. Okay, so the analogy is powerful. It makes me feel the emotion. But what's the skill here? You can't just say, "You're right, honey, your new sister is a pain." Where's the line between validating feelings and just letting chaos reign? Olivia: That is the million-dollar question, and the book's answer is brilliant in its simplicity. The core principle is: all feelings are acceptable, but not all actions are. You have to separate the emotion from the behavior. Jackson: Can you give me an example? Like, what do you actually say when your son is about to throttle the new baby? Olivia: You intervene, firmly. You stop the action. You say, "I can't let you hit the baby." But then, you immediately validate the feeling behind it. You say, "It looks like you are furious with him. It can be a real pain to have a little brother. Tell me about it. I can take it." Jackson: So you're not condoning the hitting, you're just acknowledging the rage. Olivia: Exactly. And then you give them a safe outlet for that rage. The book is full of creative ideas. You can say, "You can't hit your brother, but you can hit this pillow. Show me how mad you are on this pillow." Or, "Draw me a picture of your angry feelings. Use a lot of red!" You can even give them a doll and say, "This doll is the baby. Show the doll what you feel like doing." You're channeling the emotion into a safe, symbolic expression instead of letting it fester or explode onto another person. Jackson: That's a huge shift. You're not the referee anymore; you're the emotional translator. You're teaching them emotional literacy. Olivia: You're teaching them that their inner world is valid, even the ugly parts. And once a child feels heard and understood, their need to act out those feelings in harmful ways often diminishes dramatically.

Jackson: That distinction between feelings and actions is huge. But it brings up another minefield: fairness. Parents are obsessed with being fair, with treating kids equally. But the book has a pretty shocking take on that, right? Olivia: It's one of my favorite parts of the book, because it's so counter-intuitive. The chapter is titled "Equal Is Less." The authors argue that our relentless pursuit of equality is actually a major source of sibling rivalry. Jackson: How so? It seems like the most logical way to keep the peace. You get a cookie, you get a cookie. Everyone's happy. Olivia: Are they, though? Or are they just constantly on alert, measuring and comparing? The book is filled with these darkly funny stories from parents who drove themselves crazy trying to be perfectly equal. One mother talks about her kids screaming for more ice from the freezer, even when they were ankle-deep in it and their feet were hurting, just because the other one might have gotten a slightly bigger piece. The need for "more" becomes insatiable. Jackson: It becomes about the competition, not the need. Olivia: Exactly. And sometimes, the pursuit of equality leads to things that are just plain cruel. There's a story in the book from a woman whose mother was obsessed with fairness. The woman was born with beautiful, naturally curly hair. Her sister's hair was straight. To make them "equal," her mother took her to the barber and had all her curls cut off. Jackson: She did what? That's insane! But you're right, it's the logical endpoint of that kind of thinking. If difference is the problem, then the solution is to eliminate difference. How heartbreaking. Olivia: The woman said she cried all day and found it hard to ever forgive her mother. Because what she learned wasn't that she was equal to her sister; it was that her own unique, beautiful quality was a problem that needed to be erased. Jackson: It's like the parent who buys a gift for the other kid on one child's birthday. It feels fair, but it actually cheapens the moment for everyone. The birthday child's special day is diluted, and the other child gets a gift for no reason, which teaches them nothing. Olivia: The book's argument is that children don't need to be loved equally; they need to be loved uniquely. The goal isn't to give them the same things, but to give each child what they need. If one child needs new running shoes because they're on the track team, you buy them running shoes. If the other child needs a new sketchbook because they love to draw, you buy them a sketchbook. Jackson: But what do you say when the other one inevitably says, "That's not fair! He got new shoes and I didn't!" Olivia: You acknowledge the feeling and state the principle. "You wish you were getting new shoes today, too. I get that. And when your shoes wear out, or when you need something special for something you love to do, I'll be there for you, too. I'm not focused on giving you both the exact same thing. I'm focused on giving each of you what you need." It's a much deeper, more secure form of love.

Olivia: And this idea of treating them uniquely is the perfect antidote to the final trap the book identifies: casting our children in roles. Jackson: Ah, the family script. "He's the smart one." "She's the athletic one." "He's the troublemaker." I think every family has these. Olivia: They do, and they can be incredibly limiting. The book argues that once a child is cast in a role, the whole family conspires to keep them there. If a child is "the responsible one," we give them more responsibilities. If a child is "the shy one," we speak for them. We stop seeing the whole child and only see the label. Jackson: And the other kids police it, too. The "messy" one is never allowed to be organized, because that's the other sister's job. It locks them in. Olivia: It completely locks them in. But the most powerful story in the entire book is about how a parent can consciously rewrite that script. The author shares a personal story about her two sons, David and Andy. From a young age, she had decided that David, the older one, was a "born bully," and Andy, the younger one, was his "victim." Jackson: I can see how that would become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Olivia: Totally. Every day brought fresh evidence she was right. Then one day, she's in a session with Dr. Ginott, and he says to treat children not as they are, but as you hope they will become. This idea just revolutionizes her thinking. Shortly after, she comes home to find David, who was ten, pressing a red-hot spoon onto seven-year-old Andy's arm. Jackson: Oh, that's awful. That's the moment you just lose it as a parent. Olivia: Her first instinct was to scream, to call him a monster. But instead, remembering Ginott's words, she did something extraordinary. She calmly took the spoon, tended to Andy, and then sat down with David. She told him a story about how her own uncle had done something cruel to her as a child, but had grown up to be a wonderful man. And then she looked at David and said, "David, you have a superior capacity to be nice. Use it!" Jackson: That gives me chills. To see your child do something monstrous and respond not with punishment, but with a statement of their highest potential... that's next-level. But how does a parent find that strength? And does this mean you just ignore bad behavior? Olivia: It's not ignoring it. The behavior was clearly stopped and addressed. It's about holding two ideas at once: "Your behavior was unacceptable, AND I see the good person you are capable of being." You're giving them a new script to live up to, instead of just reinforcing the old, negative one. You're telling them, "This action is not who you are. You are better than this." Jackson: You're separating the deed from the doer. You're refusing to let one bad act define their entire character. Olivia: Exactly. You're freeing them from the role of "bully" and giving them the role of "person with a superior capacity for niceness." And she said, in that moment, his whole being changed. He saw that his mother didn't see him as a monster, and that gave him hope that he didn't have to be one.

Jackson: So, when you put it all together, it's not a book of simple tips. It's a fundamental shift in perspective. You stop being a referee of fights and start being a translator of feelings, a celebrator of uniqueness, and a writer of better family scripts. Olivia: That's a perfect summary. It's about moving from a mindset of control to a mindset of connection and empowerment. And the authors are clear that the goal isn't even to force siblings to be best friends. It's to give them the skills to navigate all caring relationships in their lives. That's the permanent gift. Jackson: Because if you can learn to live with, respect, and even love the person who steals your toys and gets on your last nerve, you're pretty well-equipped for the rest of the world. Olivia: You really are. The family is the first society we ever belong to. The skills we learn there—how to handle anger, how to negotiate, how to see another person's point of view—are the foundation for everything that follows. Jackson: It makes you wonder, what roles were we cast in as kids, and are we still playing them out? Olivia: That's a powerful question for everyone. And it's a testament to this book that, decades later, it's still prompting those kinds of deep reflections. We'd love to hear your thoughts. Join the conversation and share your own sibling stories with the Aibrary community. Jackson: This is Aibrary, signing off.