In Kashmir, Helicopter Parenting Is Quietly Harming A Generation

(MENAFN- Kashmir Observer)
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By Haziqa Lanker

Aamir was 15 when his parents realized they might be doing more harm than good.

He grew up in a remote village, a place where love often disguises itself as fear. His parents were warm, protective and deeply involved in every aspect of his life. They made his daily schedule, decided who he could meet, often escorted him to school, and kept a close watch on his moods, grades and routines.

In a region marred by strife and uncertainty, their approach felt like the safest way to raise a child.

But Aamir had begun to shrink. He struggled to make small decisions. He relied on his parents for everything, from picking out his clothes to choosing friends. He rarely spoke up in class. When things didn't go his way, he would become overwhelmed, unsure how to cope without immediate help. His world was secure, but narrow.

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This kind of parenting is common in Kashmir. What elsewhere might be called“helicopter parenting”-an over-controlling, over-involved style-is often intensified here by a different set of worries. Parents tend to keep their children close, safe and sheltered, due to situational realities of the valley.

But that instinct, however well-meaning, can quietly erode a child's confidence. And Aamir's case is not unique.

Researchers have long warned about the dangers of helicopter parenting. A 2020 study in the Journal of Adolescence found that children of overly controlling parents showed higher rates of anxiety and had lower problem-solving skills. They often grew up fearing failure and doubting their own judgment.

In Kashmir, where the outside world already feels unstable, this kind of emotional dependence can be especially limiting.

Aamir's parents only began to rethink their approach when they noticed his emotional growth was stalling. He avoided extracurriculars. He hesitated to speak up or try new things. He feared mistakes. They had meant to protect him, but they had also unintentionally stifled him.

The shift began with small acts. They encouraged him to walk to school with friends. They stopped correcting him mid-sentence. When he didn't get selected for a local cricket team, they let him process the disappointment instead of calling the coach.

Over time, they started giving him space to make his own decisions, while staying present and not intrusive.

The change in Aamir was slow but real. He became more confident and expressive. He joined a local art club. He learned to bounce back from small failures. His friendships improved. Most importantly, he began to trust himself.

That trust didn't grow in spite of his parents' distance, it grew because of it.

There's a lesson here, not just for parents in Kashmir, but anywhere where fear threatens to eclipse freedom.

Children need guidance, yes. But they also need room to fall, to fail, and to figure things out on their own.

The desire to protect is natural. But when we step in too often, we rob children of the chance to grow.

In Kashmir, this pattern is compounded by political and emotional fragility. But if we want our children to be resilient in an uncertain world, we have to give them the tools to stand on their own.

And that begins with stepping back. Not abandoning them, but believing in their strength.

Aamir's story is a stark reminder that letting go is not a loss. It's an act of faith.

Haziqa Lanker is an educator based in Kashmir with over nine years of experience in teaching, including early childhood education.

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