“People are more likely to become deeply engaged and perform at their best when they are motivated by interest, enjoyment, satisfaction, and a sense of challenge rather than by external prods, pressures, or rewards.” — Edward Deci
Every parent knows the scene: the homework sits untouched until you promise extra screen time. The bedroom only gets tidied when you dangle the lure of pocket money. The bribe works, at least in the short term. But what happens when the reward is withdrawn? Too often, the motivation evaporates. The child who might once have taken pride in finishing their homework now shrugs: “What do I get for it?”
This shift is not just a quirk of behaviour. Developmental psychology and cognitive neuroscience reveal a deeper process at play: external rewards can erode a child’s intrinsic motivation, their natural curiosity, drive to explore, and joy in mastery. In brain terms, overuse of rewards can recalibrate dopamine pathways so that the activity itself no longer produces the same motivational “spark.” It’s called the “Over justification Effect” and it can chart the balance between when rewards outweigh natural or intrinsic motivation to deliver (Bing Nursery School, Stanford University - Greene & Lepper 1975)
Before we get started with our article, if you want to read a detailed and more insightful version, click below and get it on my Substack;
Dopamine is the neurotransmitter most closely associated with motivation. Contrary to the popular myth of it being a “pleasure chemical,” dopamine is better understood as the signal of anticipation: it fires when the brain predicts a rewarding outcome. For children, building a tower of blocks or cracking a new word in a book sparks dopamine release, reinforcing the sense that effort leads to satisfaction.
Murayama et al. (2010) used fMRI to show that intrinsically motivated tasks activate the striatum and prefrontal cortex, areas rich in dopamine receptors, even without any external prize. The brain itself recognises mastery, novelty, and exploration as rewarding. This is why young children can play, experiment, and learn for hours without anyone offering stickers or stars.
But when external rewards are layered on top, the story changes. A study from Stanford University’s Bing Nursery school (Lepper, 2003) found that once participants started receiving monetary rewards for an activity they initially enjoyed, activation in those brain regions dropped when the rewards were later removed. In other words, the brain “learned” to expect the external cue, and stopped releasing the same dopamine for the activity itself. And if you remember from my previous post on Dopamine in all of us (children and adults alike), you need to do more to return to the same levels of dopamine base-load to maintain that sense of reward and drive. So think of the external reward as a synthetic boost to the dopamine output that elevates your expectations for next time in a way that the intrinsic reward you felt might not be able to achieve.
Book Online TourBook A VisitThis phenomenon, known as the over-justification effect, occurs when external incentives undermine intrinsic interest. In the classic experiment by Lepper, Greene, and Nisbett (1973), children who loved drawing were divided into three groups: one promised a reward, one given an unexpected reward, and one given no reward. Weeks later, the children who had been promised a reward showed significantly less interest in drawing than the others. Their joy in the activity had been replaced by an expectation of payoff.
Meta-analyses back this up. Deci, Koestner & Ryan (1999) reviewed more than 100 studies and found that tangible rewards (stickers, money, toys) consistently reduced intrinsic motivation, particularly for tasks that were initially interesting. Verbal rewards (praise) could enhance motivation, but only when delivered as informational feedback (“you worked hard”) rather than controlling evaluation (“do it this way or else”). This latter point will be at least part of the focus of my work and study of Marshall Rosenberg’s Compassionate Communication theory - in which non-judgemental or evaluative praise appears to motivate people (children and workers) more, over the long-term, than praise in which the recipient begins to see a manipulative subtext (“well done” because I need you to do this for me) for that praise…
Rosenberg identifies patterns of communication that alienate us from empathy:
Words like “lazy,” “selfish,” or “bad” attack identity, not behaviour. They elicit shame and defensiveness, not growth.
“Why can’t you be like your sister?” breeds resentment and erodes self-worth. Neuroscience shows social comparison triggers the same brain regions as physical pain.
Phrases like “I have to,” “You made me,” or “That’s just the rule” avoid ownership and foster blame. As Sartre argued, pretending we have no choice is a denial of our freedom.
Coercion, whether through punishment or rewards, may produce short-term obedience but damages intrinsic motivation (Deci & Ryan, Self-Determination Theory). Children may comply to avoid punishment, but they don't internalise values.
These habits also become internal. Many of us carry an inner critic that echoes the same judgmental language we heard growing up. Research shows that self-criticism increases anxiety, while self-compassion fosters resilience and emotional health (Neff).
NVC invites us to pause and speak from clarity and care:
“There are clothes on the floor,” not “You’re messy.”
Neutral, fact-based observations engage the brain’s reasoning centres and reduce defensiveness.
“I feel frustrated,” not “You’re annoying me.”
Naming feelings reduces amygdala activation and builds emotional self-awareness.
“I need rest and quiet,” not “You never give me space.”
Recognising universal needs, like safety, belonging, respect, shifts the focus from blame to shared humanity.
“Would you be willing to put the toys away before dinner?”
Clear, specific, and open-ended requests foster cooperation rather than control.
Each step builds on the last. Observation creates safety. Feelings humanise. Needs connect. Requests empower.
Instead of:
“You’re being naughty, go to bed now!”
Try:
“It’s 8:30. I feel concerned because I want you to have enough rest for school. Would you be willing to pick one more story before lights out?”
The second version names facts, feelings, and needs, then makes a respectful request. The result? Less resistance, more collaboration.
In school settings, instead of:
“Stop being disruptive!”
Try:
“I’ve heard three conversations while giving instructions. I feel frustrated because I need everyone to understand the task. Can we save questions for after?”
This turns discipline into dialogue. Students hear what’s needed and why, without being shamed.
Research supports this: autonomy-supportive teaching boosts engagement, trust, and wellbeing (Mageau et al., 2015). Similarly, emotion-coaching parents raise children with stronger emotional regulation and fewer behavioural problems (Gottman).
Compassionate communication starts with ourselves. Many parents operate under pressure and guilt. Thoughts like “I should be more patient” or “I’m a bad parent” are common, but harmful.
Instead, we can ask:
“What am I feeling?”
“What need is unmet?”
“What can I ask of myself or someone else?”
Example:
“I feel overwhelmed because I need rest. I’m going to ask my partner to take over bedtime tonight.”
Self-compassion, acknowledging our own needs with kindness, reduces anxiety and fosters resilience (Neff). And when we model self-empathy, children learn that emotions are not problems to fix, but signals to understand.
This six-part blog series will unpack each step of Rosenberg’s framework:
For parents, this series offers strategies to reduce conflict and foster emotional intelligence. For educators, it provides tools to create classrooms rooted in respect and trust. For everyone, it’s a reminder: compassionate communication isn’t about being “nice”, it’s about getting needs met through connection, not coercion.
Philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre wrote: “We are our choices.” Rosenberg builds on that: how we speak reflects how we live.
Instead of:
“I have to take the kids to school,”
try:
“I choose to take them because I want them to be safe and learning.”
This reframing replaces guilt with purpose. Children raised with this language learn that they are active participants in life, not passive recipients of commands.
This work is hard. I’ve had to build visual aids (a downloadable set will be shared at the end of this series), create vocabulary flashcards for my kids (and myself), and attend NVC trainings to shift old habits. And still, I mess up.
But I’m learning that it’s not about perfection. It’s about practicing a language that fosters growth, not punishment.
In a world full of adversarial speech, in politics, on social media, even at home, learning to speak with compassion is a quiet rebellion. And a powerful one.
Let’s begin.
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References for Further Reading