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Vivek Ramaswamy, a key member of President-elect Trump’s team, recently reignited the debate around tiger parenting, equating it with “tough love” and framing it as a surefire path to success. His comments painted tiger parenting as a deliberate strategy for raising high-achieving, resilient children, but they overlooked the deeper roots of this parenting style.

Every time “Tiger Moms” enter the cultural discourse, I chuckle. I remember reading Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother as a young mom, and laughing as I imagined telling my deceased father that these practices are supposed to be reserved for Asian kids.

My reaction to that book seemed so much less judgmental than that of my friends—I read it as Amy Chua’s sincere desire to raise strong, healthy children. I thought her observations that nothing is fun until you attain mastery and that parents shouldn’t assume fragility in healthy children were particularly astute.

My friends seemed to see her as a one-dimensional figure: the demanding mom with her arms folded, demanding endless hours of violin practice. But I read a funny, conflicted mom who is truly struggling to figure out what her parenting practices should be in the face of a culture that believes otherwise.

Not having gotten the memo that these practices are only for Asian women, my father demanded academic excellence. He expected me to write book reports on books I had read for pleasure. If I brought home a grade that was less than 100 percent, my father wanted to know where the other two points went.

His higher education had been cut short by economic circumstances, and his chronic illness meant we relied on my mother’s job as a guidance counselor for our income. He always praised my mother’s master’s degree and stated his foregone conclusion that I’d attain a Ph.D. “Imagine…” he’d muse. “You get to write a thesis. And a dissertation.” His tone of voice made these sound like treats. (They weren’t, mostly.)

Even on his sickbed, my father expected me to write a detailed error analysis of my mistakes on tests. I protested in vain that the test was over, I got an A, even if two points were “missing,” and I really didn’t want to. He told me that disciplined scholars faced their mistakes, and he was right.

I felt loved by my father, if frustrated by him, and I read Chua’s book in the same light. I knew that he was afraid of poverty and that he saw higher education as a buffer against that fate. He also knew that he was dying. He was trying to protect—and prepare—me.

Now, Vivek Ramaswamy has brought high-demand parenting back into cultural discourse.

As someone who works with parents navigating their own post-traumatic experiences, I’d argue that tiger parenting is, at its core, a trauma response. It’s not just about wanting your kids to succeed; it’s about needing them to. And that distinction matters because it tells us something profound about how trauma shapes our parenting.

What Is Tiger Parenting?

Amy Chua described tiger parenting as a style that demands excellence. Kids are pushed to master difficult skills, often at the expense of leisure or emotional validation. While this approach can foster resilience, discipline, and achievement, it can also come with significant emotional costs—for both child and parent.

But why would a parent adopt such a rigid, high-pressure approach in the first place? Let’s explore how trauma influences parenting styles.

Trauma and the Fear of Failure

Trauma leaves an indelible mark on the way we view the world. For parents with unhealed trauma, especially trauma related to scarcity, poverty, or persecution, the stakes of “failure” can feel unbearably high. If you’ve experienced a world where not being the best meant losing opportunities—or worse, safety—it makes perfect sense that you’d do everything in your power to prevent your child from ever facing that reality.

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