“Let her struggle…”

 

Shared by Breanne Smedley

Charlee is getting to the point where she is trying to do some things on her own.

Put on her boots.
Brush her teeth.
Pull up her pants.
Put on socks.
Buckle the car seat.

Things that are so simple, they require almost no effort from me when I do them.

But for her, they are struggles.

And sometimes, the struggle turns into tears.

Or a small fit on the ground.

The other day, I watched as she tried to put on her boots.

There’s a little zipper on the side that needs to be down in order for her to put her foot inside.

She hadn’t figured that out yet.

That, combined with trying to put it on the wrong foot, quickly turned into frustration.

She shoved her foot in harder, only to get nowhere.

Whining, and a sad, “Hallllp, pwease?”

I wanted so badly to just go over, unzip the boot and put it on her foot for her.

“Try the zipper,” I told her.

She looked at the zipper and attempted to pull it down, only to have it budge a little bit.

Another whine, and she dropped the boot on the floor.

Immediately after, she dropped to the floor next to it, crying.

“Yes, zippers can be hard!” I said, trying to employ some new phrases I read the night before in a parenting book.

Even though I wanted to tell her to get up, stop acting like a baby, there’s no reason to cry, and try again.

We picked up the boot and unzipped it together.

I put it down on the floor and she used my shoulder as support to wiggle her foot into the boot.

She bent down and struggled as she zipped it up.

Ok, time for boot #2…

I’ve learned a lot about myself through the process of watching Charlee try to do these things on her own.

I don’t like to see her struggle.

I remember thinking the same thing when she was trying to roll over as a baby.

She would get so close.

She would roll up until her body was almost a 90-degree angle to the floor.

But couldn’t quite get all the way to her back before she’d roll back to her tummy.

She’d try again. Same thing.

All she needed was a little push and she would roll to her back.

It took everything within me just to watch, and not to jump in and do it for her.

Just like when I watch her try to put on her shoes.

Or struggle to get the toothpaste on the brush.

Or walk down the stairs at a snail’s pace.

What message am I sending, if I always swoop in and do these things for her?

Take away the struggle.

It’s our nature to want to avoid the struggle.

For myself, but, I’ve discovered even more so when it comes to my child.

I want to alleviate the pain for her.
Solve the problem.

But, in doing so, I rob her of the opportunity to grow.

It’s the difficult times that provide the most worthwhile experiences.

It’s only when we’re stretched that we become better, more capable.

“Let her struggle.” I keep telling myself.

As hard as it is to watch, I know that her struggle today will be her strength tomorrow.

If I allow it to be.

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#DaringlyResilient

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