Last week, Ellie came home from preschool with tears streaming down her face. She’d built an elaborate block tower that toppled over, and when I started to ask if she wanted help rebuilding it, Matt caught my eye and gently shook his head.
“She’s got this,” he mouthed.
And you know what? She did. Twenty minutes later, she’d figured out a sturdier foundation all on her own.
It hit me then how often I want to swoop in and fix things for my kids. But here’s what I’m learning: the best thing I can do for Ellie and Milo isn’t always protecting them from every struggle, it’s stepping back and letting them build their own resilience.
Research backs this up too. Studies have found that overprotective parenting is linked with anxiety, depression, and impaired autonomy in both childhood and adulthood. When we shield our kids from every challenge, we’re actually preventing them from developing the very skills they need to thrive.
I say this as someone who’s still figuring it out myself. Some days I nail it, other days I’m the helicopter parent hovering over the sandbox. But becoming aware of these protective patterns has helped me parent more intentionally.
1) Solving every problem before they can try
Remember when I mentioned Ellie’s block tower? That moment was a wake-up call for me.
I used to pride myself on anticipating problems. Jacket too hard to zip? I’d do it. Toy stuck under the couch? I’d retrieve it before Milo even finished pointing.
But here’s what I didn’t realize: every time I jumped in, I was sending the message that they couldn’t handle it themselves.
Now I pause. I ask, “What do you think you could try?” It’s uncomfortable watching them struggle, especially when I know I could fix it in two seconds. But those moments of frustration? That’s where the learning happens.
Just yesterday, Milo spent ten minutes trying to get his shoes on the right feet. It took everything in me not to correct him. When he finally figured it out, the pride on his face was worth every second of restraint.
2) Shielding them from natural consequences
Last month, Ellie insisted she didn’t need a jacket for the farmers’ market even though it was chilly. My instinct? Pack it anyway, force her to wear it, lecture her about the weather.
Instead, I let her choose. And yes, she was cold. She asked for my sweater halfway through, and I gently reminded her about the jacket she’d left at home.
Was she uncomfortable? Sure. Did she remember her jacket the next cold morning? Absolutely.
Natural consequences are powerful teachers. When we constantly rescue our kids from the outcomes of their choices, we rob them of the chance to connect cause and effect. They need to learn that forgetting their water bottle means being thirsty, that not putting toys away means stepping on them later.
I’m not talking about letting them face harm or danger, that’s different. I’m talking about the everyday stuff that teaches them to think ahead and take responsibility.
3) Doing age-appropriate tasks for them
Here’s something I used to do without even realizing it: I’d set the table while the kids played, make their beds while they watched TV, clear their dishes while they ran off to the next activity.
Why? Because it was faster. Because I thought I was helping. Because honestly, it felt easier than dealing with spilled milk or crooked sheets.
But when I stepped back and really looked at what I was doing, I realized I was treating them like guests in their own home.
Now Ellie sets the table most nights. Are the forks sometimes on the wrong side? Sure. Does it take three times longer? Absolutely. But she beams with pride when dinner’s ready, and she’s learning skills that will serve her for life.
Even Milo has his jobs, putting his dirty clothes in the hamper, helping me sort clean laundry by color. He’s two, and he’s more capable than I ever gave him credit for.
4) Making all their decisions
I’ll be honest—I used to pick out Ellie’s clothes every morning. I’d select activities for the weekend. I’d decide which book we’d read at bedtime.
Not because she couldn’t choose, but because I thought I knew better. I thought I was making life easier for everyone.
What I was actually doing was taking away her chance to develop her own preferences and decision-making skills.
These days, I offer choices within reasonable boundaries. “Do you want to wear your blue dress or your overalls?” “Should we go to the park or the library this afternoon?”
Are there days when she picks stripes with polka dots? Yep. Do I care anymore? Not really. She’s learning to trust herself, to make choices, to live with those choices.
As psychologist Reut Shachnai noted in recent research, “When an adult steps in and completes a task for a young child, it can deprive the child of an opportunity to learn how to complete the task by themselves.”
5) Hovering during play and social interactions
At the playground last week, I watched a mom narrate every moment of her child’s play. “Be careful on the slide!” “Watch out for that rock!” “Don’t go too high on the swing!”
And I got it. I really did. Because I used to be that mom.
I’d hover near Ellie at the sandbox, ready to intervene if another kid took her shovel. I’d stand at the bottom of the climbing structure, arms outstretched, heart racing.
But kids need space to navigate their own social dynamics and physical challenges. When we’re always there directing, correcting, protecting, they don’t develop their own internal sense of safety and capability.
Now I sit on the bench. I watch, but from a distance. And you know what? Ellie works out most conflicts on her own. She’s learned to negotiate, to share, to stand up for herself when needed.
6) Dismissing or rushing through difficult emotions
When Milo threw a massive tantrum in the grocery store last month—I’m talking full-body-on-the-floor meltdown—my first instinct was to make it stop.
“You’re okay,” I started to say. “It’s not that bad. Let’s just—”
Then I stopped myself. Because he wasn’t okay in that moment. And telling him he was fine was essentially telling him his feelings didn’t matter.
Instead, I got down on his level and said, “You’re really upset. I see you.” I didn’t try to fix it or rush him through it. I just let him feel what he needed to feel.
Research shows that when children learn to identify and process their emotions, they develop better emotional regulation skills. But when we constantly dismiss their feelings with phrases like “don’t cry” or “you’re fine,” we teach them that certain emotions are unacceptable.
These days, I try to name what I see: “You seem frustrated.” “That made you angry, didn’t it?” It’s not about wallowing in every feeling, but about acknowledging that all emotions are valid and temporary.
7) Never letting them experience boredom
A few months ago, Ellie complained she was bored. And instead of immediately suggesting an activity or turning on a show, I said something revolutionary: “Boredom is when your brain gets creative. I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”
She looked at me like I’d lost my mind.
Twenty minutes later, she’d built an elaborate “restaurant” out of couch cushions and was serving me “soup” made from leaves and water from our mud kitchen.
We live in a culture that treats boredom like an emergency. But boredom is actually a gift, it’s the space where creativity and independent play flourish.
When we constantly entertain our kids or schedule every moment, we’re preventing them from developing their own internal resources. They need to learn to sit with discomfort, to generate their own ideas, to discover what interests them without our constant input.
8) Fighting all their battles
When Ellie came home upset because a friend said her drawing was “weird,” every maternal instinct screamed at me to call the other mom, to march into that preschool, to fix it.
But here’s what I’m learning: not every problem is mine to solve.
Instead of jumping in, I asked her questions. “How did that make you feel?” “What do you think you could say next time?” “Do you want to keep drawing the way you like, or change it?”
She decided she liked her drawing just fine, thank you very much. And the next day, she told that friend, “I like my art the way it is.”
When we fight all their battles, we send the message that they can’t handle conflict. We prevent them from developing problem-solving skills and resilience in the face of social challenges.
Our job isn’t to eliminate every difficulty from their path, it’s to equip them with the tools to handle difficulties themselves.
9) Prioritizing safety over all other considerations
This one’s hard for me. Really hard.
Last summer, I watched Matt encourage Ellie to climb higher in the tree in our backyard than I was comfortable with. My whole body tensed. But I bit my tongue.
And she was fine. More than fine, she was ecstatic.
I’m not saying we should let our kids do reckless things. But there’s a difference between actual danger and perceived risk. When we eliminate all risk from their lives, we’re preventing them from developing crucial skills like risk assessment, physical confidence, and resilience.
Emergency room doctors and nurses interviewed about children’s play emphasized that kids who are exposed to challenging and exciting play during childhood are better equipped emotionally and physically to cope with stressful situations throughout their lives.
Sometimes the safest thing we can do is let them take calculated risks in our presence, so they learn their capabilities and limits while we’re still there to catch them if needed.
Closing thoughts
Here’s the truth: I still struggle with this every single day.
Yesterday, I caught myself reaching to tie Ellie’s shoes when she was perfectly capable of doing it herself. This morning, I almost packed Milo’s forgotten snack and brought it to him at the community center.
Old habits die hard, especially when they’re rooted in love.
But I keep reminding myself that real love isn’t just about protecting them from every struggle—it’s about preparing them for the inevitable struggles ahead. It’s about trusting that the temporary discomfort they feel now is building the resilience they’ll need later.
Recently, I started reading Rudá Iandê’s book “Laughing in the Face of Chaos”, and one insight has really stuck with me: “You have both the right and responsibility to explore and try until you know yourself deeply.” That applies to our kids too. They need the space to try, to fail, to figure out who they are.
The garden teaches me this every spring. I used to hover over my seedlings, adjusting everything, worried they wouldn’t make it. But plants grow stronger when they’re challenged, when wind strengthens their stems, when they have to push through soil, when they learn to seek water on their own.
Our kids are the same way.
So I’m practicing stepping back. I’m biting my tongue when I want to intervene. I’m sitting on my hands when I want to fix. And slowly, I’m watching my kids become more confident, more capable, more resilient than I ever imagined.
They don’t need perfect parents who prevent every scrape and solve every problem. They need present parents who believe in their ability to handle hard things, even when it’s uncomfortable to watch.
