Last week at the park, I watched my five-year-old struggle to climb a rope ladder while every fiber in my body screamed to help her. My hands literally twitched toward her. I had to physically turn away and pretend to check on my two-year-old just to stop myself from swooping in.
That’s when it hit me: maybe I’m more of a helicopter parent than I’d like to admit.
We all want to protect our kids from pain, disappointment, and struggle. But somewhere along the way, many of us have started protecting them from normal, everyday discomforts that are actually crucial for their development.
These aren’t dangers we’re shielding them from—they’re opportunities for growth that we’re stealing.
After years of teaching kindergarten before having my own kids, I’ve seen both sides of this coin. The kids who never experienced small discomforts in preschool? They fell apart at the smallest challenges in kindergarten. Meanwhile, the ones whose parents let them work through age-appropriate struggles were the problem-solvers, the resilient ones.
So here are seven normal discomforts that, if you can’t bear to watch your child experience them, might mean you’re hovering a bit too close.
1. Physical discomfort from weather
“Mom, I’m cold!”
How many times have you heard this and immediately rushed to bundle your child in another layer? I catch myself doing this constantly. My kid mentions being chilly, and suddenly I’m chasing them around with a jacket they don’t want to wear.
But here’s the thing: kids need to learn to recognize and respond to their own body signals. When we constantly monitor their comfort and adjust before they even ask, we’re teaching them they can’t trust their own sensations.
I’ve started asking questions instead: “What do you think would help you feel warmer?” Sometimes they surprise me—they’ll run around to warm up instead of putting on a coat. Other times they’ll ask for that jacket themselves. Either way, they’re learning to problem-solve their own comfort.
2. The frustration of not being immediately understood
Remember when your toddler would point and grunt, and you’d frantically guess what they wanted? “Apple? Water? Your bear?” We become expert interpreters, don’t we?
But kids need to experience the mild frustration of not being immediately understood. It pushes them to develop better communication skills.
When my two-year-old points at the counter now, I sometimes play dumb (even when I know exactly what he wants). “I’m not sure what you’re asking for. Can you use your words or show me?”
Yes, there might be whining. Yes, it takes longer. But watching him work to communicate, whether through words, gestures, or leading me to what he wants, that’s growth happening in real time.
3. Boredom
“I’m bored!”
These two words used to send me into activity-planning overdrive. Craft supplies would appear, screens would turn on, or I’d become a one-woman entertainment show.
Growing up, my mother always had something for us to do. She made everything from scratch and kept us constantly busy. Maybe that’s why stillness makes me anxious even now. I still double-check locks and overthink everything, always needing to be doing something.
But boredom isn’t an emergency that needs fixing. It’s the birthplace of creativity. When kids sit with that uncomfortable feeling of having nothing to do, magic happens. Suddenly couch cushions become forts, sticks become wands, and imaginary worlds spring to life.
4. Social rejection or conflict
This one cuts deep, doesn’t it? When another child says “I don’t want to play with you” to your kid, it feels like someone just punched YOU in the gut.
Recently, I watched a YouTube video titled “Why the ‘Best’ Parents Are Raising the Most Fragile Kids,” and one line stopped me cold: “We solve the problem before they really touch it. We smooth the edges before they feel the friction. We make sure things don’t get too uncomfortable. And it feels like love. Because it is love.”
That’s exactly what I want to do when my daughter faces social rejection—smooth those edges, fix it, make it better. But kids need to learn that not everyone will like them, and that’s okay. They need to develop their own strategies for handling conflict and rejection.
Now when my kids face social struggles, I sit with them in their big feelings without rushing them to “fine.” We talk about what happened, how it felt, and what they might do differently next time. But I don’t fix it for them.
5. The disappointment of not getting what they want
At the farmers’ market last week, my daughter desperately wanted honey sticks. We already had three jars of honey at home. I said no.
The disappointment on her face was real. She didn’t tantrum (we’re past that stage, thankfully), but her shoulders slumped and she was quiet for a while.
Old me would have caved or distracted her with something else special. But disappointment is a normal part of life. Kids who never experience it as children are devastated by it as adults.
So I let her feel it. I acknowledged it: “You’re disappointed. You really wanted those honey sticks.” But I didn’t fix it.
6. Natural consequences of their choices
Your kid refuses to wear a coat and then gets cold. They don’t put their toys away and can’t find their favorite one later. They procrastinate on a project and feel stressed about finishing it.
These natural consequences are powerful teachers, but only if we let them happen. When we constantly save our kids from the results of their choices, we rob them of crucial learning experiences.
Processing how my own strict upbringing affects my current parenting, I realize I swing between extremes. Either I jump in too quickly to prevent any discomfort, or worry I’m being too harsh. Finding that middle ground where natural consequences can teach without being punitive? That’s the sweet spot I’m still seeking.
7. Physical challenges and minor failures
That rope ladder at the park I mentioned? My daughter didn’t make it to the top that day. She tried three times, got about halfway up, and gave up.
Every instinct said to coach her through it, to stand underneath and guide her feet to the next rung. Instead, I watched from a bench. She was safe. She was capable. She just needed to figure it out or decide it wasn’t worth it to her right now.
Next week, she tried again and made it one rung higher. The week after that, she conquered the whole thing. The pride on her face was hers alone, earned through her own persistence, not my assistance.
Finding the balance
Looking back at my years teaching kindergarten, the most capable, confident kids weren’t the ones who never struggled. They were the ones who knew struggle was temporary and survivable because they’d experienced it in small, manageable doses.
So I’m working on stepping back, on sitting with my own discomfort as I watch my kids navigate theirs. Some days I fail spectacularly — just yesterday I definitely helped with a puzzle that didn’t need my help. Still, awareness is the first step, right?
Our kids are tougher than we think. They can handle being cold for a few minutes, bored for an afternoon, or disappointed about honey sticks. These small discomforts are preparing them for bigger challenges ahead.
The question isn’t whether our kids will face discomfort in life. They absolutely will. The question is whether they’ll have had enough practice with small discomforts to handle the big ones when they come.
