Listen, I get it. Watching your kid struggle is like watching a sloth try to cross a freeway. It’s slow. It’s painful. Every instinct in you screams, “Just let me do it for you!” Trust me, I’ve been there. With my fast-paced, get it done personality I have gotten caught in the swoop in and fix everything trap. After all, it would make life easier for everyone. But as it turns out, that’s not my job. Actually, it turns out none of us are doing our kids any favors with the “lawnmower parent” routine, where when we don’t step back, but instead we eliminate obstacles before our kids even know they’re there.
Sure, it feels good in the short term. Forgot their lunch? No problem; we’re already on the way to school. Didn’t get invited to the sleepover? That’s okay; we’ve planned a craft-tastic party instead (well, that’s not my strong suit, but other moms are amazing at this). But the more I reflected, the more I realized that when we do this we aren’t just clearing the path. We are unintentionally sending the message, You can’t handle the hard stuff, so I’ll do it for you. And that was a narrative I didn’t want my kids internalizing.
The Turning Point
By saving the day, and our kids, from obstacles big and small, we begin to stunt their confidence (and in turn, increase our own stress in the process). It took conscious decisions and a strong growth mindset to push through the pivotal moments where I told myself, This isn’t helping them long-term. Step back. Breathe. Trust them. And, not surprisingly, it got easier over time—for them and for me.
For instance, in mid to late elementary school, I made the intentional decision to stop checking my kids’ folders every night. It was so tempting to dig in there for missing worksheets or crumpled permission slips, but I resisted. Instead, I asked them to show me their planners and walk me through their assignments when they needed help. What happened? They started taking responsibility for their own organization. (Sure, there were some rocky moments with forgotten homework and late library books. But hey, that’s how they learned.)
By third or fourth grade, I was teaching them to email their teachers. “Don’t understand an assignment? Ask for clarification.” “Need an extension? Politely explain why.” These weren’t big, long, formal speeches. They were two-sentence emails that taught my kids the vital skill of advocating for themselves.
It didn’t stop there. I emphasized asking questions and seeking clarity in every area of their lives. Whether they were navigating friend drama, school concerns, or extracurricular responsibilities, the mantra became, Speak up. Use your voice. You are capable.
The Hard Part (For Parents)
Here’s the thing no one tells you when you decide to stop mowing over your kid’s problems: it’s actually really hard to not jump in. When my daughter was frustrated with math homework problems she would get teary and want to give up. I wanted to jump in and help her solve it or tell her she didn’t need to work on it anymore.
But instead, I paused. Pause before you pounce became my parenting mantra. I helped her take some deep breaths, take a 5 minute break then encouraged her to look at her workbook and find the first step and examples. She broke the problems into smaller parts with guiding questions, like, “What do you think the next step might be?”
Although it took a bit longer, she eventually figured it out. She proudly shared her completed homework and felt more confident about tackling difficult problems in the future. By supporting rather than take over she began to develop critical thinking skills and the self-assurance to face challenges head-on.
That moment, like so many others, taught me that letting them struggle a little wasn’t harmful. It was a gift. They were building resilience. And, to be honest, so was I.
Start Early (Because This Stuff Snowballs)
Looking back, I’m so grateful I started handing over the reins when my kids were young. They took accountability for missed assignments and dealt with natural consequences if they forgot their gym sneakers.
If you wait until they’re teenagers to suddenly back off and expect them to self-advocate, it’s like throwing them into the deep end when they’ve only dog-paddled. But if you start small and early, those moments of struggle turn into stepping stones of confidence and they learn from their accountability to develop intrinsic pride.
By the time my kids hit middle school and high school, they were capable young adults. They made their own appointments. They emailed teachers. Prioritized. Planned. I heard them settle conflicts with friends without me stepping in to play referee.
It didn’t happen overnight, but it happened little by little, one conversation and one mistake at a time.
Lessons I’ve Learned
Here’s what I’ve come to realize about parenting in all this:
- It’s okay to pause. Sometimes the best thing you can do is nothing. Wait. Take a breath. Trust your child to problem-solve.
- Struggle is the birthplace of growth. It’s uncomfortable to watch them fail (and sometimes downright agonizing). But those small missteps are where resilience and confidence are born.
- Model what you want to see. I started narrating my own advocacy moments. I’d share an example of a mistake during my day and the fix. It showed them that speaking up doesn’t have to be dramatic or scary.
- Cheer for the wins. Whether it was a two-sentence email to the art teacher or a clear conversation with a coach, I celebrated every small step my kids took. Encouragement was fuel for their confidence.
- Your issue might not be their issue. I had to learn to separate my anxiety from theirs. A situation that I worried could spiral often turned out to be a non-event in their minds.
Parenting is humbling. It’s a daily exercise in letting go, in trusting, in reining in your need to control every detail. And while it’s not always easy to resist the urge to swoop in, the payoff is incredible. Watching your child grow into a competent, confident problem-solver who knows how to speak up? That’s the real win.
Your job isn’t to mow over their problems. It’s to walk beside them, planting seeds of resilience as they figure things out for themselves. And hey, if the grass gets a little long or the path looks messy along the way, that’s okay. Confidence, like wildflowers, grows best when you just give it a little room.
