I used to get frustrated. "Mom, just click the paperclip icon!" I’d say, my voice rising. She would shut down. Her shoulders would tense. She’d say, "I’m just not tech-smart."

Doing it for them. The Fix: Explain the pain relief . My mother didn't want to learn online banking. She wanted to stop driving 20 minutes to the bank in the rain. Once I framed it as "This app will save you 40 minutes every Tuesday," her contraction eased. Stage 2: Active Labor (The "How" Phase) Symptoms: Panic. Tears. "I'm stupid." "This is impossible."

Taking over the mouse/keyboard. The Fix: Put your hands in your lap. Use verbal only instructions. "Move the cursor to the top left. Click once. Now type your password slowly." Pro tip: Let them press "Enter." That moment of success is the baby crowning. Celebrate it. Stage 3: Transition (The "Let me do it for you" Phase) Symptoms: Begging. "Please, just this once, do it."

When I feel my jaw clench now, I stop the lesson. I say, "Mom, remember when I was five and you spent three hours teaching me to tie my shoes? And I cried? And you just kept tying and untying the laces until I got it?"

Relenting. The Fix: Say, "I am right here. You are safe. You will not break this." (Yes, just like a doula). Let them fail. A failed login is not a tragedy; it is a lesson in recovery. The Epidural You Need: Documentation After three weeks of teaching my mom how to use her new smart TV, I realized we kept having the same fight. She forgot the steps between Wednesday and Friday.

Your impatience is a knife. Your sigh is an earthquake.

When I told my friends the title of this blog post, they laughed. Then they looked confused. "Isn't it... the other way around?"