Momming as a Millennial: Raising the living room generation

By Christine Giarrizzo

They say the bedroom generation is raising the living room generation.

As a millennial, I immediately know what they meant.

The “bedroom generation” refers to those of us who grew up in homes where the living room was largely for adults and entertaining, while kids were expected to occupy themselves elsewhere.

The “living room generation” is what many of us are intentionally creating now: homes where children are welcome in the common spaces and family life happens together.

Growing up, I was fortunate enough to have my own room. My eldest brother did try to convince my mom he should have it, leaving me to share with the middle brother. Thankfully, my mom found that to be “sacrilegious.” You know, male, female, hormones, puberty and all that.

In my room, I would curl up on my teal and purple tie-dye bean bag chair under the window and read. I could read an entire book in one sitting. That's how much time I spent in that spot.

Or I was belting out along with Mariah Carey on the “MTV Unplugged” cassette tape I had. One of the only tapes I had worth listening to besides Ace of Base.

It never occurred to me that everyone in the house could hear me singing. Because when I was in my bedroom, I was safe and untouchable. Everything outside of it was nonexistent.

And I needed that escape. I was constantly in a state of hypervigilance growing up because I never knew what would set off the powder keg. It could be something so little, so innocuous, and the next thing you knew, all hell broke loose. Doors slamming, yelling, the sound of another thing being broken or destroyed – chaos could be unfolding throughout the house, but within my four walls, I could let my guard down ever so slightly.

My bedroom was more than a place I could call my own. It was where I could block out the rest of the world and just be with myself, the only person I could truly trust. I chose isolation because it was where I felt safest.

That is exactly what I don’t want for my own children.

I’ve intentionally created a home where open communication is encouraged and emotional expression is welcomed. I see it in where my kids choose to be. If we’re in the living room, that’s where they want to be. If I’m in my bedroom, I hear them coming up the stairs calling, “Mama, where are you?”

They want to be around their parents. They want to be around each other.

After living through an unpredictable childhood, there are certain things I prioritize in our home because I want to create the environment I wish I had as a kid. These aren’t rules for how anyone else should parent. They’re the things I’ve become particularly intentional about because of my own experiences.

I try to keep yelling out of our home.

I try my hardest every day not to lose my cool. Being in an environment with a lot of yelling has definitely left me with some scars. I know no parent is perfect; I’m very intentional about not creating that environment for my own kids.

I have raised my voice, especially when safety was a concern. But screaming and yelling for hours on end is not something you'll find in my home. Going hand in hand with this is slamming things – doors, cupboards, objects, you name it. Those sudden, unpredictable noises can put me right back into that hypervigilant state I spent so much of my childhood in.

I know what it feels like to never know when the next explosion is coming. I don't want my kids to feel that way in their own home.

I don’t call my kids names.

I will never call my children names, berate them or demean them. Seems like an obvious one, right? I wish it were.

I remember when my firstborn was a baby, he had a lot of trouble sleeping. I was holding our nugget, and my husband was next to me when he said to him, “Oh, you can be such a little a** hole.”

He said it in a sweet baby voice, and obviously my son was too young to understand, but I kind of lost it.

I am so adamant that we don’t ever talk to our kids in a disrespectful or demeaning way because I have experienced it, and I carry those scars to this day.

I also don’t call anyone else names in front of my kids. I’m doing my best to lead by example, even though I did slip up that one time and call someone a jerk while they were in the car with me. Insert hand-slap-to-forehead emoji here.

I don’t swear at my kids.

I truly think this is a personal choice, and everyone is entitled to their own philosophy when it comes to swearing. The research I’ve looked at is much more concerned about harsh verbal discipline – swearing at, insulting or demeaning children – than whether a parent occasionally uses a swear word in front of them.

Coming from an environment where swearing was directed at us kids, I choose not to have it in our home because it carries traumatic weight for me.

If you swear in your house, cool. I’m not here to tell you that’s wrong. For me, my own experience has made the decision pretty easy.

I put my phone down.

Granted, when we were growing up, there were no phones to distract our parents. But there were plenty of other ways my parents let us know they weren’t in the business of entertaining us. “Go outside and play.” “Come home when the streetlights come on.” “Make yourself scarce.”

Being on my phone is a sure way to tell my kids I’m not interested in what they’re saying.

I’m not saying I never check a text, scroll Instagram or answer an email while my kids are around. I’m saying I want my default to be looking up when they’re talking to me.

If I’m in my bedroom and I hear, “Mama, where are you?” I want to be able to answer them. Because I know what it feels like to be physically near someone and still feel like you’re bothering them.

I make sure they know they are welcome.

This might be the biggest one for me.

I want my children to feel like they belong in the whole house. They don’t have to disappear because the adults are talking or retreat to their rooms because they’re upset. They can come find me.

If I’m doing laundry, they can come into the basement. If I’m sitting in the living room, they can climb up next to me. If I’m in my bedroom, they can come up the stairs calling, “Mama, where are you?”

I want them to know that being around us isn’t an inconvenience. Their voices and feelings belong here. They belong here.

Because I spent a lot of my childhood learning that the safest place to be was somewhere no one could find me.

I want my children to grow up knowing that home is the place where they never have to hide.

Christine Giarrizzo is a blogger, podcaster and mama of two, navigating the realities of modern motherhood in real time. Through her writing, she explores the tension between who we were, who we’re expected to be, and who we actually want to become.

Her work focuses on helping millennial moms move out of survival mode and into a life rooted in clarity, creativity and self-expression. Through honest storytelling and research-backed insights, Christine creates space for women to question outdated norms, trust themselves, and build lives that feel aligned and fulfilling – while offering practical tools for moms who feel overwhelmed and ready to reconnect with themselves.

You can find more from Christine at ContemplativeMama.com and on Instagram @ContemplativeMama1.