“Why You Should Spend Less Time With Your Kids.” That’s the title of my TED talk that just came out — and here it is.

In it, I try to explain the terrible lie that has been driving children and parents crazy for at least a generation: The idea that tots can’t handle almost ANYTHING on their own. That any time they are unsupervised, they are in DANGER of being hurt or falling behind.

That’s why, gradually, helicopter parenting became the new norm — even for parents who HATE helicoptering. It’s also why children started missing out on all the confidence that comes from crowing: “I did it MYSELF.”

Happily, I explain, I’ve got some solutions up my (sequined) sleeve. Several are the free independence-building programs for schools, counselors and parents offered at the nonprofit I helm, LetGrow.org. They’re easy to find. So let me take the rest of this column to tell you what it’s like to GIVE a TED talk.

It. Is. Overwhelming.

About four months before the talk — mine was recorded at the big TED conference in Vancouver in April — you write your first draft. You read it out loud to the TED team through Zoom. They listen, make suggestions and, long story short, by draft No. 14, we were getting somewhere.

Then they tell you to practice it as much as you can, because you have to memorize it. Yet they also say to be loose and spontaneous when you GIVE it. Also precise enough, though, not to go over your allotted time by more than, oh, 15 seconds.

There will be no teleprompter. No podium with your notes.

So I practiced my talk in front of friends, friends of friends, people on the subway, and basically everyone except my husband, who wasn’t allowed to see it till I was back home. (He is also not allowed to read any of my columns without exclaiming, “This is the best thing you’ve ever done.” I am a husband-support junkie.)

Finally, you get to TED — the coolest conference in the world, filled with free food, fancy swag and audience members who have all started their own companies, saved a species or cured their own incurable disease (for real).

And then it’s the day of your talk, and you are slurping “throat coat” tea so you won’t squeak, eating cough drops so you won’t cough, and pretending that it feels very natural to talk to author/genius Steven Pinker about your earrings as you both wait to go on.

My stomach is clenching just remembering this.

Then, 10 minutes before showtime, backstage, the team has you sit in a dark, quiet area to “relax” (ha ha). And pretty soon author/genius John McWhorter introduces you, and then … you’re on that big red dot in front of 1,500 people.

And it is exhilarating. You’re in the flow. The audience is smiling, nodding, laughing — it’s just GREAT. And then … and then … you KNOW you have more to say. You KNOW it’s something about children or Let Grow or … WHAT COMES NEXT???

No idea.

You have a cheat sheet in your pocket. You take it out as the audience members — those entrepreneurs and PhDs and even the lady who played the American spa owner on “The White Lotus” — all clap as hard as they can to show you THEY ARE ON YOUR SIDE. 

That you’re gonna be OK. They’re clapping like crazy, and it’s like being in a 1,500-person rave (even though I’ve never been to a rave). They are ALL HOLDING YOU UP.

And then — you continue. You finish, you are on a total high, and the audience members, bless them, leap to their feet for a standing O. 

And because you’re done and SO HAPPY — and because the speaker before you gave a talk about using artificial intelligence to decode wolf language (ho hum) — you let out a giant howl of joy: AWOOOOOOO.

And, frankly, “AWOOOOOOO” pretty much sums it all up.

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