“Oh, hi, kids. I fell down.”

“Clearly,” my sister replied somewhat sarcastically.

“Yes, well, I’m headed to the hospital.”

“WHY?!” I asked, a rather silly question, given that she was leaving drips of blood on the tile.

In an attempt to reassure me, my mom launched into an explanation … and an anatomy lesson.

“Well, you see, when I fell, the corner of the step cut my arm. See the blood? Well, under the blood you can see the muscles that make up my wrist flexor group, and some fat, and if you look closely … here, you can see the bone! So I’m going to head to the doctor so they can sew my arm back up and put a bandage on it. You stay here with your sister.”

The child was too stunned to speak.

My mom headed out the door and got her stitches, and I sat on the couch, processing. I had asked a question and gotten an answer … though not necessarily the one I was expecting. I don’t fault my mom for giving me what some could argue was a little too much information—she was in a bit of a state, so her judgment maybe wasn’t perfect—and the result has made for great family lore.

This was an instance where normally my mother would have asked for consent to give me this knowledge. At any other time, when we asked questions that might be answered with scary or overwhelming or really just a lot of information, my parents would verify that we actually wanted to know. This verification came in several forms, but the simplest and most straightforward was directly asking us “Are you sure you want to know?” As a parent, I have maintained this method, but with a slight change: I include the reason why I’m asking.

“Mom, how do the cells get in a uterus to make a baby?”

“That question has a couple different answers, might make you think of more questions, and will probably make you feel some pretty big and interesting feelings. Are you sure you want to know right now? Or would you like to wait?”

My kids have taken every possible route when asked this question, from asking to wait until later all the way to insisting on knowing and asking several follow-up questions. But in every scenario, they have felt in control and able to steer how much they were learning, all because they have given consent for knowledge. They have felt empowered to direct the conversation and to tell me when they wanted more information and when they were ready to disengage. The idea that your child can basically ask you to shut up might feel off-putting, but think about how many times you have looked away from a news story or opted not to open a comment thread online. When we are a primary source of information for our children, I believe they need to have the option to “close window.”

See, when we talk about consent, it is almost always framed in the physical sense. Chapter 3 stressed how important it is to teach our children that they have the ability to give and withdraw consent over their own bodies, and that they must obtain consent when interacting with other people’s bodies. But very infrequently do we consider teaching children (or anyone, really) about consent in the mental, emotional, or spiritual sense.

At the beginning of this book, I recounted how my dad sat me down to have The Talk and revealed that I remember very little of it. I am fairly certain that part of the reason my brain kicked up the ’90s pop to drown out my dad was that I had not consented to hear the information he was presenting. Not because it was new information, but because I was not in a mental or emotional place to want to hear it from my dad. I had already reached the point in our relationship where we could joke about bodies and sex—he got me good when we were watching Ghost and during the pottery scene simply said, “You know what that is supposed to stand for, right?”—but having a frank and open conversation about things my body might feel and how I might someday date? Absolutely not. I was not in a place to have that conversation … but he didn’t ask. And I think he was so intent on giving the lecture correctly that he couldn’t see that I wasn’t listening.

The most important thing to remember as you embark on having these conversations is just that—they are conversations, not lectures. These are opportunities to sit down and share information, yes, but also to listen to what your child has to say about what they may or may not know. To get a read on their feelings toward relationships, sex, and themselves. On balance, you should be listening at least as much as you are talking, if not more. Because if you’re not listening … then they likely aren’t, either.

That is not to say that we should let the conversation die if they are not talking—this information is too vital for us to simply skip it. We need to become facilitators of conversation, learn to ask questions and ease discomfort so our children feel empowered to discuss with us or to seek information in other safe places. One of the most powerful questions you can ask your child is “What do you want to know?” Even though it is six simple words, it can be used for several different purposes:

“Mom, what is an orgy?” asks Rick, age fourteen.

“What do you want to know?”

“Well, what is it?”

“Okay. It’s when a group of more than three people have sex.”

“Oh. Uh. Okay.”

In this scenario, the question was answered in the simplest and most straightforward way because the child confirmed that they wanted an operational definition—what is it? And given their age and previous knowledge, it’s important for them to have the information and follow the “asked and answered” mantra. But there are other ways a similar situation could go, especially with different ages:

“Dad, can you tell me about an orgy?” asks Monica, age eleven.

“What do you want to know?”

“Um, well, what is it?”

“The answer might make you have a lot of complicated feelings. Are you sure you want to know?”

“Oh … uh … well … maybe?”

“Hmmm. Sounds like you’re not sure. What do you want to know?”

“I guess I just want to know if it’s something that teenagers actually do.”

“I can tell you that most teenagers are not doing it, and that if a teenager is doing it, I have some concerns. Would you like to use your Free Pass?”

“No, I’m good. I just figured out that Jared is probably full of crap.”

“I’m not going to ask, but if it’s Jared P. talking about orgies, you’re right—he’s probably full of crap. When you feel like you’re ready for more info, I’ll tell you, and you’ll know I’m right.”

In this scenario, the child made it clear that they didn’t really want all the details, but they did need to know enough to ease their minds and make sure they didn’t feel out of step with their peers. By changing the tone of the question and making it clear that the child was in the driver’s seat on the information bus, the conversation went where it needed to go.

Intellectual consent, or consent for knowledge, follows the same rules as physical consent, so it can be revoked at any time. It is very empowering for a child to know that they can not only stop listening, but tell you to please stop talking when they are feeling done with a conversation.

At a truck stop late one evening, I was reminded of the joys of having a new reader in my household. We had gone in to use the restroom and my daughter was standing by the sink waiting for everyone to finish drying their hands so we could hit the road. As she stood there, she caught sight of a sign advertising help for victims of human trafficking.

“Mom … what is sex-you-all assault and human … whatever that said?”

“Sexual assault and human trafficking?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Oh boy. Where did you see those words?”

“On the sign in the bathroom.”

“Okay, well, are you sure you want to know? It might make you have a lot of questions, and these answers might be a bit scary.”

“I do want to know.”

At that point, I explained the concept of rape to my nine-year-old child. I explained that sometimes, people will hurt other people with sex. That when a person violates another person’s consent and does things to their body without permission, that’s called sexual assault. That this hurts the person, and that people who have been sexually assaulted or raped deserve to have support and help in recovering from that hurt. And then I checked in.

“I know that’s a lot to learn about—if you want to take a pause in talking about it for now, we absolutely can.”

She opted to take a pause—she needed time to process that contrary to her life experience so far, not everyone asked for consent or respected other people’s boundaries. Her face was fixed up in concern and deep thought, so I made sure to reassure her with a mantra we’ve used for her whole life.

“Hey, kiddo—you remember that my whole job is to keep you safe, right?”

“Yes.”

“What happens if anyone tries to push your boundaries or not wait for your consent?”

“I … say no? Don’t let them?”

“You can say no, that’s true. But what else? You tell …”