Struggle, struggle, struggle … click

It’s not that I enjoy watching my kids struggle — I really don’t. All the motherly instinct in me wants to run in, sweep them up in my arms, and rescue them from pain, frustration, embarrassment, or fear. But I learned a long time ago that you can’t wrap your children in bubble wrap; the more we hover around them and try to catch them before they fall, the less likely they’ll know how to get up again by themselves.

In matters of parenting, this seems to be true: less is more. For years I’ve practiced tamping down an insufferable desire to clear any and all obstacles from my children’s path. Stepping back and allowing them to struggle — to think, and to figure things out — is a birthright. Watch a baby figure out how to fit a square block through a square hole. His brow will furrow, and you’ll practically see the gears in his brain spinning. He’ll turn the block this way and that, pushing on it and getting increasingly annoyed that the block won’t go through. He might growl in frustration. But the look of determination on that baby is the beginning of something magical: curiosity and grit. That kid will turn the block in his chubby hands, study it, and Ta-Da! The block will fit through eventually. His whole demeanor changes when he realizes he’s cracked the code. He is wired, even as a baby, to solve problems. From now on, he has a better understanding of how this puzzle works.

I came across a quote the other day from physician and educator Maria Montessori. “The greatest sign of success for a teacher is to be able to say, ‘The children are now working as if I did not exist.’ But this holds true for leadership in general — give people space and they flourish.”

Montessori wrote those words in 1912, laying out her philosophy that gives shape to Montessori schools today, emphasizing independence, hands-on learning, and real-life skills. 

“Give people space and they flourish.” I read the passage over and over again. Of the things that I’ve learned as an adult over the years, I rarely got it right on the first try. When I first learned to drive a stick shift, I killed the engine a hundred times. Either the car lurched when I let up on the clutch too quickly, or the motor revved when I didn’t let up enough. I shed a few tears of frustration at the side of the road before trying yet again. The first loaf of bread I baked came out flat and hard. I burnt so many meals when I was a newlywed that it’s amazing we both weren’t emaciated from lack of food. For the first few years of being a freelance reporter for an Ohio newspaper, I stared at my phone for hours, trying to get the nerve up to dial the phone and initiate an interview. I was terrified.

My husband, a high school band teacher, has developed a program of small ensembles that are entirely student-led. The students choose their own music, rehearse it outside of regular class time, and perform together, often at nursing homes or the local library. He told me, “I’ll stick my head into the practice room to check on them, and I can tell they don’t want me there. This is their thing, and they like the autonomy of doing it themselves. It’s one of the best things I’ve done as a teacher, and ironically, it’s mainly because I stay out of their way. If they have a question, they know where to find me.”

The summer after my freshman year at college, I agonized over a choice I had to make: Whether to spend the summer back at home with my parents, rent-free, or stay in my college town, rent a house with three friends, and get a job. I called my Dad for advice, expecting him to exert his will. I was certain he’d say, “Come home. You’re only 18.” He didn’t. Instead, he told me, “I’m sure you’ll make the right decision.”

Dad gave me the room to flourish. I felt the responsibility of weighing my options. Ultimately, I rented the house, learned how to budget my meager summer wages, cook meals, and get to work on time. I learned 1,000 things that summer through trial and error. 

What a crazy paradigm shift it would be if we began to celebrate mistakes. We’d say, “Congratulations! You didn’t get it this time, but you will. Keep going — you’re on the right track.”

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