Have you ever watched your child struggle with something and immediately felt the urge to step in?
Maybe they couldn’t find the right words in a conversation.
Maybe they were frustrated by homework.
Maybe they forgot something important.
Maybe they felt nervous before an event.
Maybe they were disappointed by a friendship.
Or maybe they were standing on a stool trying to fill up their own water bottle, taking twice as long as it would take you.
Maybe they were struggling to zip their jacket.
Order their own meal.
Ask the question themselves.
Carry the bag.
Tie the shoe.
And before they even had a chance to work through it, you were already reaching for a solution.
Explaining. Fixing. Helping. Rescuing.
If you’re a parent, you know exactly what I’m talking about. Chances are, when it’s happening in real time, you don’t even realize you’re doing it.
Because watching our children struggle is uncomfortable.
Personally, I think it’s often harder to watch your child struggle than it is to face your own struggles.We love them. We want to protect them. We want to spare them unnecessary pain. We want to make things easier when we can.
Sometimes we see the obstacle before they do. Sometimes we see their potential and all the possibilities that lie ahead, and because we can spot the roadblock coming, we want to clear it before they ever reach it.
The motivation is beautiful. It’s love.
We love them so much that we want to spare them heartache. Frustration. Disappointment. Embarrassment. Failure. We want to cushion the fall before it ever happens.And honestly, this is something I think about all the time with Sledge.
As a special-needs parent, this question carries an extra layer for me. There are moments when helping is absolutely necessary.
Moments when support, advocacy, therapy, and intervention matter deeply.
But there are also moments when I find myself asking:
Am I helping because he truly needs help?
Or am I helping because I’m uncomfortable watching him struggle?
Because if I’m honest, there are times when Sledge has proven himself far more capable than I expected.
He adapts.
He perseveres.
He figures things out.He keeps trying.And over and over again, he reminds me that capability is often built in the very moments we’re tempted to step in.
Lately I’ve been wondering something.
What if, in our effort to help, we occasionally step in too soon?
What if some of the very experiences we’re trying to save our children from are the experiences that would help them discover what they’re capable of?
What if every time we rush in before they actually need us, we unintentionally communicate a message we never meant to send?Not, “I’ve got you.”
But, “I don’t think you’ve got this.”What if our constant rescuing quietly teaches them to doubt their own resilience?
To question their ability to problem-solve?
To believe that discomfort is something to escape rather than something they can move through?
Because confidence isn’t built when someone else always does it for us.
Confidence is built when we discover that we can do hard things.That we can recover.
That we can adapt.
That we can try again.That we can survive disappointment.
That we can face challenges and keep moving forward.
That God has equipped us for more than we realize.Even if we fall.
Even if it’s messy.
Even if it takes longer than we’d like.
Even if the water bottle spills all over the floor.
That’s why I was so excited to sit down with my friends Sissy Goff and David Thomas to discuss their new book, Capable: How to Teach Your Kids the Strengths, Skills, and Strategies to Build Resilience.
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