Why Some Lessons Can't Be Taught

One of the greatest privileges of spending years alongside children is watching them surprise themselves.

I say surprise themselves because, if I'm honest, I was rarely surprised.

Proud?

Absolutely.

Impressed?

Constantly.

But surprised?

Not very often.

Whether it was the child who struggled with reading but stood up and delivered a speaking part in a church service, or the young person who had been labelled as "lower ability" yet went on to make remarkable progress because they finally felt safe enough to make mistakes, ask questions and learn in a way that suited them, I usually believed they were capable long before they did.

I still see it today in my work with young people who, for a whole range of reasons, can't currently access the education system. Time and time again, they achieve things they never thought possible.

Not because they suddenly became capable.

Because they finally began to believe they were.

That has made me wonder whether there are some of life's most important lessons that simply can't be taught.

Not in a classroom.

Not through a worksheet.

Not because somebody explained them well.

Some lessons can only be discovered through experience.

You can't teach a child that they're brave.

You can give them opportunities to do brave things.

You can't teach resilience.

You can support them as they recover from disappointment.

You can't teach confidence.

You can create opportunities for them to discover they're capable.

I wonder whether, because we love children so much, we sometimes become a little too eager to remove those opportunities.

We rush to solve the friendship problem.

We tie the shoelaces because it's quicker.

We answer the question before they've had time to think.

We step in because watching children struggle is uncomfortable.

And I understand why.

When we love someone, our instinct is often to protect them from difficult feelings.

But I also wonder what children miss out on when they never discover what they were capable of.

Please don't misunderstand me.

I'm not suggesting children should face challenges alone.

Far from it.

Support matters enormously.

But I've come to believe there's an important difference between supporting a child and rescuing them.

Support says, "Let's think about this together."

Support asks, "What have you tried already?"

Support stays calm while a child works things through, offering guidance without taking over.

Rescue is different.

Rescue often comes from a place of love, but it can unintentionally communicate something we never meant to say.

"I don't think you can do this without me."

The reality is that there are very few situations in life with only one right answer.

As adults, we know that.

There are countless ways to solve a problem, repair a friendship, approach a challenge or recover from a mistake.

Children deserve the opportunity to discover that too.

Because every time they navigate a challenge, they're collecting something incredibly valuable.

Evidence.

Evidence that says:

"I didn't think I could do that... but I did."

"That was difficult, but I found another way."

"I made a mistake, and I recovered."

"I asked for help, and that didn't make me weak."

The more I think about it, the more convinced I become that so much of our mindset is built from the evidence we gather over time.

If children only collect evidence that adults fix everything, they may begin to believe the world is something they can't navigate without someone else stepping in.

But if they collect evidence that life can be difficult and that they can cope with difficult things, something much more powerful begins to grow.

Not the belief that life will always be easy.

The belief that they'll be okay even when it isn't.

That's a very different kind of confidence.

It's also why I think we need to be careful about what we celebrate.

Of course we should celebrate success.

But let's also celebrate perseverance.

Thoughtfulness.

Problem-solving.

Kindness.

Trying again.

Having another go after something didn't work the first time.

As adults, it's easy to focus on outcomes because they're visible.

Children, however, are quietly becoming people.

And that's a much bigger piece of work.

Ultimately, I don't think our job is to make childhood as easy as possible.

I think our job is to make sure children never have to face difficult things alone.

Those are two very different things.

One removes the challenge.

The other helps children discover that they're stronger than they realised.

And perhaps that's one of the greatest gifts we can give them.

Not a childhood free from struggle.

A childhood filled with enough love, guidance and opportunity that they leave believing:

"Life won't always be easy."

"But I can cope."

Something to think about...

The next time your child faces something difficult, pause for a moment before stepping in.

Ask yourself:

"Do they need me to solve this?"

Or...

"Do they need me to stay beside them while they discover that they can?"

One day, your child will face challenges you can't fix.

My hope is that, when they do, the voice in their head quietly says:

"This is tough... but so are you."