Steady

For parents in hard moments.

Steady is a quiet iOS app you open when the moment is loud — a meltdown, a sick night, the edge of your own patience. Tap a category. Get something grounded back. Close it. Get on with the moment.

Open it at 9:47 p.m. Close it again at 9:48.

Download on the App Store

Free to download. No account needed.

A parent kneeling on a living-room rug at night, forehead resting against her crying toddler's, one hand on his chest.

12categories

Whatever is happening, it has a card.

No blank box to describe your night in. You pick the one that fits and read what comes back.

Illustration of a scowling young child standing in a doorway.

Tantrum or hitting

It's escalating. You're losing patience.

Illustration of a wide-awake child sitting up in bed at night, lamp lit.

Won't sleep

Bedtime stalling, night waking, fear of the dark.

Illustration of a child resting under a blanket on the sofa.

Sick again

Fever, cold, ear pain. Another missed day.

Illustration of two siblings mid-argument over a toy.

Sibling fight

Hitting, won't share, picking on each other.

Illustration of a child clinging at a classroom door during drop-off.

Drop-off meltdown

School or daycare, and you have to go.

Illustration of a parent sitting alone at the kitchen table, head in hand.

I'm overwhelmed

It's not really about them. It's you.

6:41p.m.

One dinner, from the top.

Ten drawings and one ordinary Tuesday. Somewhere in the middle of it are the ten seconds Steady is actually for.

  1. A small boy sitting alone at a round kitchen table in the early evening, bare feet swinging well above the floor, an empty placemat in front of him.
    He was fine ten minutes ago.
  2. His mother leaning in to set a plate of chicken, rice and broccoli down in front of him, thin wisps of steam rising off it.
    You made the one he liked last week.
  3. The boy with both arms folded hard across his chest and his chin tucked down, the plate shoved away from him, a broccoli floret rolled off onto the table.
    He pushes it one inch away. That inch is the whole war.
  4. The boy standing up on the table mid-yell with a fork held aloft like a sword, a broccoli floret in flight, a cup of milk tipping over the edge, the dog delighted underneath, his mother frozen mid-reach.
    Then it stops being about dinner.
  5. His mother standing perfectly still beside the wrecked table, a grey pencil-sketch thought bubble above her head running from a thin child, to a height chart, to a clipboard, to herself sitting alone with her head in her hands.
    And your head does the thing your head does.
  6. A close view of her hand gripping the top rail of a chair, knuckles pale, jaw set, eyes squeezed shut, the whole picture flooded hot orange.
    This is the second you’d want back.
  7. Her bare feet planted flat and square on the kitchen floorboards, a phone held low and loose at her side, its screen glowing a soft warm amber.
    Feet on the floor. Notice your feet for three seconds. Then read.
  8. She has pulled out a chair and sat down at the table at the boy’s own eye level, eating her own dinner and looking at her own plate. He watches her, arms no longer folded.
    Your only job right now is to stay sturdy. You don’t have to make him eat.
  9. The same kitchen at night, the same camera. She eats and gazes out of the window, not watching him at all; unwatched, back in his own chair, he lifts a single piece of broccoli towards his mouth. The dog is asleep under the table.
    Nobody won. The evening just kept going.
  10. Later the same evening. The boy has climbed off his chair and into her lap and is leaning back against her, half asleep; she has one arm round him and is looking out at nothing. The plates are still on the table. The dog is asleep underneath.
    Later, he leans on her. Neither of them mentions dinner.

9:47p.m.

A hundred and forty-seven illustrations ship inside the app. The card for a sleepless night looks different for a two-year-old than for a twelve-year-old, so the picture on the screen looks like the child actually in the room.

This is the whole thing.

One screen. A search box for when you'd rather type it than scan for it, and the cards underneath. Nothing to set up, nothing to keep up with, nothing waiting for you when you come back.

It follows your phone into dark mode, because most of the hard moments happen after the lights are off.

The Steady home screen in dark mode: the heading 'How can I help right now?', a search field, and illustrated cards for Crying inconsolably, Tantrum or hitting, and Won't sleep.
A Steady response in dark mode. A terracotta panel reads 'Feet on the floor. Notice your feet for three seconds. Then read.' Below it, in italics: 'Your only job right now is to stay sturdy. You don't have to make the feeling stop.'

Feet on the floor. Notice your feet for three seconds. Then read.

It starts with your body, not your kid's behaviour. Every response leads with something you can do in three seconds while you're still shaking, then the sturdy line to hold, then — last — any words for your child.

That order is the whole method. A parent who is still flooded cannot use a script, so nothing here hands you one until you've landed.

What it isn't

  • Steady never sends push notifications. The only reminder is a single, optional one you schedule yourself — it stays on your device.
  • It doesn't read or store what you type about your kid.
  • It doesn't sell, share, or monetize your data.
  • It doesn't replace medical advice, therapy, or a crisis line.

What it does

  • Gives you something to read in 10 seconds when you can't think.
  • Surfaces the right crisis lines for your locale when things go past the edge.
  • Lets you save the responses that actually helped, so they're there next time.
  • Has a separate path for repair after you snapped, and a tier built for when it's you who's overwhelmed — not the kid.
  • A local-only drawer for the small good moments (glimmers) and a separate one for the thoughts you'd never say out loud. Neither ever leaves your phone.

"I'm a parent of three boys. I built Steady because I needed it for the first two and didn't have it then. If something here helps you in a hard moment, that's the whole point. If something doesn't, please tell me — I read every email."

— The Maker

Ten seconds from now

Get on with the moment.

Download on the App Store

Questions, feedback, anything: hello@steadyforparents.com