I often go into schools to speak to groups of kids or teens about anxiety. I’m always so warmed and overjoyed by their openness when they realise it’s safe for them to speak or ask questions.

This is what happens when we make anxiety safe. When we turn a conversation about anxiety into a conversation about courage, when we normalise anxiety and speak to the human-ness of it, we strip away any shame story or deficiency story and we make it easy for young people to show up, to be brave, to grow and stretch themselves at their edges. We strengthen them. 

The two things I hear most from kids and teens about anxiety.

When I speak to kids or teens about anxiety, there are two things I hear almost every time.

The first is, ‘I thought it was just me.’ Anxiety can be so isolating. This in itself will drive more anxiety about the anxiety, and fuel the deficiency story that can often come with anxiety.

If only every young person could know that anxiety is one of the most human of the human experiences. And it happens to all of us. If only that could happen, they’d feel less alone in their symptoms, less broken because of them, and more comforted by the human-ness of them.

The second thing I hear is, ‘I didn’t know who to talk to.’ My response is, ‘Talk to an adult you trust, because I promise you, at some point in their lives – probably many points, maybe even today – they would have felt the way you do. If that adult isn’t sure what to say, that’s okay – we adults don’t always have the words we need to make sense of things – find another adult. We’re there. And we get it. Sometimes the hardest thing is knowing where to start. If this happens, try, ‘I’d like to talk to you but I don’t know what to say,’ – and let the adult help you find the words that come next.’

We’re all in this. Let them feel the human-ness of their symptoms, so they don’t feel the isolation of them. ‘Anxiety can be tough can’t it. I get it. I’ve felt that way too before. I want you to know it’s a sign that you’re doing something hard – not that you can’t do hard things. How can I help?’

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When we have conversations that can change the way they think about courage and the way they expect to feel when it’s time for them to be brave, we open the way for a different response.

‘Let me prove it to you.’

It can be hard for our kids to believe that courage comes with anxiety, so let’s show them …

Ask them, ‘Can you think of something you’ve done that was brave?’

Maybe it’s doing something new, maybe going down the big water slide, going to school, going for a sleepover – if it feels brave, then it’s brave. This will be different for everyone.

Then ask, ‘How did you feel just before that brave thing you did?’

They’ll have their words – scared, anxious, terrified, nervous. Explain to them,

‘These are all words for the feeling of anxiety. This is because your amygdala (the magnificent part of your brain responsible for keeping you safe) can’t tell the difference between things that are scary-dangerous (things that might actually hurt you) and things that are scary-safe (things that feel scary, but which are safe – new, hard, brave, growthful important things, things that matter). It’s why going to school or speaking in front of a group of people can feel like you’re getting barrelled by a wave. It’s great that your brain warns you that there might be something tricky ahead of you, but it’s important that you stay in charge of what happens next. Ask yourself – ‘Is this a time for me to be safe and avoid, or is this a time for me to be brave.”

Let’s be clear about what ‘courage’ is about.

Courage is about handling the discomfort of anxiety while moving towards brave. It’s about reading anxiety as a sign that they’re about to do something hard, important brave, not as something to be avoided.

They don’t need to handle the discomfort well, and they can build their brave in tiny steps. It doesn’t have to happen all at once.

The more experience they have feeling anxious and doing brave, the more they will realise that anxiety isn’t something to be avoided – it’s ‘brave’ in action.

But when they’re struggling so much, all I want to do is bundle them up and protect them.

Of course! This is so normal. My gosh I’ve been there too many times with my own kids. Sometimes I’ve given in and scooped them up – absolutely. This is not about perfection.

What’s important is that there are enough times, that rather than supporting their avoidance of the discomfort of anxiety (and by doing that, their avoidance of whatever safe but brave/new/hard/important thing is triggering their anxiety), we hold the space and the expectation that they can handle the discomfort of anxiety – because they can. 

We don’t have to protect them from the discomfort of anxiety. We’ll want to, but we don’t have to. Anxiety often feels bigger than them, but it isn’t. This is a wisdom that only comes from experience. The more they sit with their anxiety, the more they will see that they can feel anxious and do brave anyway. Sometimes brave means moving forward. Sometimes it means standing still while the feeling washes away.

It’s about sharing the space with anxiety, not getting pushed out by it.

Building their brave.

Our job as their adults isn’t to fix the discomfort of anxiety, but to help them recognise that they can handle that discomfort – because it’s going to be there whenever they do something brave, hard, important. When we move them to avoid anxiety, we potentially, inadvertently, also move them to avoid brave, hard, growthful things.

‘Brave’ rarely feels brave. It will feel jagged and raw. Sometimes fragile and threadbare. Sometimes it will as though it’s breathing fire. But that’s how brave feels sometimes.

The more they sit with the discomfort of anxiety, the more they will see that anxiety isn’t an enemy. They don’t have to be scared of it. It’s a faithful ally, a protector, and it’s telling them, ‘Brave lives here. Stay with me. Let me show you.’

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Anxiety is a completely normal human experience, but it’s being packaged as a disorder, as a deficiency, as something to be avoided. We have to change this. When we present anxiety as something to be avoided, we inadvertently drive avoidance of the safe but challenging things that drive anxiety. This means everything growthful. Everything that matters. Everything new. Everything hard. Everything brave.

Even for kids who have seismic levels of anxiety, pathologising anxiety will not serve them at all. All it will do is add to their need to avoid the thing that’s driving anxiety, which will most often be something brave, hard, important. (Of course if they are in front of an actual danger, we help anxiety do its job and get them out of the way of that danger, but that’s not the anxiety we’re talking about here.) 

The more we talk about anxiety as a deficiency, the more it will pull down anyone who feels anxious when they try to move forward. It will squash their potential, smudge the way they see themselves, and deprive them of the experiences they need to realise that anxiety is just one part of their ‘everythingness’. They can be anxious and strong, anxious and powerful, anxious and okay.

The key to anxiety isn’t in the ‘getting rid of’ anxiety, but in the ‘moving with’ anxiety. This doesn’t mean they will be able to ‘move with’ their anxiety straight away. The point is, the way we talk about anxiety matters.

So what do we do instead?

First, we change its shape – from an intruder to an ally. 

Living bravely with anxiety is about sharing the space with it, rather than being pushed out by it. If we want kids moving with their anxiety – feeling anxious and doing brave – we have to present anxiety as something that feels safe enough to be with. It’s not a bully, or a deficiency, or a pathology. It’s a protector, an ally. It’s there to take care of them but they need to decide what happens next. Do they stay with the discomfort and move gently towards brave, or do they avoid the discomfort by moving away?

What we focus on is what becomes powerful. If we focus on anxiety as something to be fixed or avoided, this becomes the focus. It will keep their bodies unsettled, the minds restless, and it will steer all their resources (and yours) towards avoiding the anxiety and whatever is fuelling it.

On the other hand, if we focus on their capacity to be with their anxiety, without needing to ‘fix’ it, we start to open the way for their brave to flourish, because being brave isn’t about outcome – it’s about process. It’s about being able to sit with the discomfort of anxiety for a little bit longer than last time. 

This doesn’t mean we ignore anxiety. Actually, we do the opposite. We acknowledge it and we let it exist alongside their their courage, their strength, their ‘everythingness’ – not instead of.

Then, we change the story.

We humans crave the stories that will make sense of our feelings. This happens in all of us. Whenever we have a feeling, we instinctively look for a story (a reason) to make make sense of the feeling. We need to understand why we feel the way we do, and any story will feel better than no story at all. The stories we tell ourselves matter. These stories will drive how we respond. The feelings aren’t the problem, but the way we respond can be.

When anxiety happens, our children (all of us) will tend to make sense of the feeling with one of two types of stories – either a story of disaster: ‘I feel like something bad is going to happen, so something bad must be going to happen,’ or a story of deficiency: ‘I can’t do this. I’m not brave enough, smart enough, strong enough.’ 

The story they (or we) put to their anxiety will determine their response. ‘You have anxiety. We need to fix it or avoid the thing that’s causing it,’ will drive a different response to, ‘Of course you have anxiety. You’re about to do something brave. What’s one little step you can take towards it?’

When we change the story, we make way for a different response. This might sound something like, ‘It’s okay to feel anxious. You don’t feel like this because there’s something wrong with you, or because something bad is about to happen. You feel like this because you’re doing some big things at the moment. How can I help?’

We don’t want them to be scared of anxiety, because we don’t want them to be scared of the brave, important, new, hard things that drive anxiety. Instead, we want to validate and normalise their anxiety, and attach it to a story that opens the way for brave:

‘Yes you feel anxious – that’s because you’re about to do something brave. Sometimes it feels like it happens for no reason at all. That’s because we don’t always know what your brain is thinking. Maybe it’s thinking about doing something brave. Maybe it’s thinking about something that happened last week or last year. We don’t always know, and that’s okay. It can feel scary, and you’re safe. I would never let you do something unsafe, or something I didn’t think you could handle. Yes you feel anxious, and yes you can do this. You mightn’t feel brave, but you can do brave. What can I do to help you be brave right now?’

It’s like getting into a cold pool …

Think of the move through anxiety like getting into a cold pool. When we take the first teeny step into a cold pool, our brain will register pain and will want us out of the pool. But we know we can handle it and we know we’re safe, so we stay with it. As we stay with it, our brains and bodies adjust and it starts to feel okay. Then we go a little deeper. The same thing happens. Then a little deeper, until eventually, we’re all in and loving it. We can’t even remember what it was like when we were standing on the edge of the pool, wondering whether to get it or stay out. It’s the same for anxiety – the more we stay with it, the more familiar the brain becomes with the situation, and the safer it will feel – but first, it might feel super uncomfortable. Maybe even awful.

We can believe them, and believe in them.

First, we validate. Validation doesn’t mean we agree with them, it means we believe them. ‘Yes, I believe you when you say this feels big.’ ‘Yes, I believe it feels awful.’ Without this validation, anxiety will continue to do its job and drive big feelings to recruit the safety of another human. Validation is a way to make sure they don’t feel alone in their distress. 

Then, we let them know we believe in them. We speak to their brave. We know it’s there, so we usher it into the light: ‘Yes I know this is big. It’s hard [being away from the people you love] isn’t it. And I know you can handle this. We can do hard things, can’t we.’

We’re not saying they’ll handle it well, and we’re not dismissing their anxiety. What we’re doing is supporting them (when it’s safe) in the experience of discovering that they can handle the discomfort of anxiety. This will take time, and it won’t feel okay at first. It will feel like getting into a cold pool. Our job as their adults isn’t to remove them from the discomfort of anxiety, but to give them the experiences to help them discover that they can handle the discomfort of anxiety. This is important because there will always be anxiety when they do something brave, new, important, growthful. 

So often though, their courage to believe in what they are capable of will start with ours. ‘Yes, I believe you (that this feels bad), and yes, I believe in you (that you can handle the discomfort of anxiety).’ 

‘You are one of the bravest, strongest people I know. Being brave feels scary and hard sometimes doesn’t it. It feels like brave isn’t there, but it’s always there. Always. And you know what else I know? It gets easier every time. I know this because I’ve seen you do hard things and because I’ve felt like this too, so many times. I know that you and I, even when we feel anxious, we can do brave. It’s always in you. I know that for certain.’

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When we meet their big feelings with frustration or anger, it doubles the already unbearable emotional temperature of the room and drives the brain into bigger distress (fight or flight).

They will either catch the emotional heat and go bigger (fight), or escape it by shutting down (flight).

Our job is to bring the temperature down by meeting their distress with an anchor presence -steady, attached, grounded.

The problem with traditional ‘discipline’.

Traditional discipline (time-out, punishment, shouty voices, shame) uses emotional or physical separation as a way to bring children back to calm. But here’s the rub: Children can’t come back to calm on their own. It also squanders an opportunity for us to build their capacity to self-regulate in healthy ways.

These strategies might look like they work, but we have to not confuse a quiet child for a calm child.

From co-regulation to self-regulation.

It takes lots of time and experience to build the neural pathways that will support self-regulation. Those pathways build through co-regulation. This provides children with the actual experience of coming back to calm safely, without having to shut their feelings down or put themselves away.

When we leave them to come back to calm on their own, we’re leaving them to do the work that adults are best placed to do. We might not be able to do this all the time – we’re human too – and that’s okay, but it’s important we do it whenever we can.

Every time a child goes into distress, their young brain is calling to the adult in the room to lead it back to calm. It’s as though the brain is saying, ‘Can you show me how to do this regulation thing. I’ll need to practice lots with you before I can do it on my own.’

Big feelings are not an interruption (though it can certainly feel that way!) and they absolutely not a bad child or bad parenting. Big feelings are the training ground for self-regulation, and co-regulation IS the work that will build this.

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An anxious brain can’t learn. The thinking brain (the prefrontal cortex) can only be ‘on’ when the whole brain feels safe: physically safe (free from hunger, pain, exhaustion, sensory overload/ underload) and relationally safe (seen, welcome, cared for, connected to).

Of course we want to support academic progression, but if we shortcut the opportunity or time for teachers to be able to build relational safety in the classroom, learning won’t happen. Without relational safety, there will be anxiety. It can be easy to overlook these kids or assume that they are giving everything they have to give, but too often, they will fall short of their potential.

Let’s not make the mistake of thinking we’ve seen everything these kids have to give or that we know what they’re capable of. They don’t even know what they’re capable of yet, but we know they can do hard things and surprising things – they just need to feel safe enough first. They need us to stay curious about their potential until they feel safe enough to let us uncover that potential.

Children can only learn when they feel relationally safe: when they feel cared for, connected to, and noticed by their teacher. When we talk about ‘safety’, we’re talking about what the brain perceives. Being safe doesn’t mean feeling safe. Children can have the world’s warmest, most loving teacher, and be a part of the safest, most caring school, but this doesn’t mean the brain will feel safe.

Relationships take time, and learning can’t happen without them. Yet, our teachers are under more pressure than ever (as are our children!) to show academic results. Some kids will excel no matter what’s happening in the room, but too many won’t. This isn’t because they aren’t capable, but because they don’t feel safe enough – yet.

Until children feel safe enough, we will only see the fringes of what they can do. We don’t need to change them – there is nothing wrong with them. What’s wrong is the world that thinks all children should feel safe with all adults, even ones they don’t know yet. This idea is ridiculous.

These kids don’t want to be ‘indulged’. They want to feel safe. We all need that, so we need to be kind to our teachers too. We need to give teachers more time and opportunity to build the relationships that let them do their jobs. Building relationships isn’t a distraction from teaching. It’s the vital foundation of teaching.

The teachers that get the importance of relationship are magic-makers – they change lives – but learning might take longer at first, while the relationship is building. When the relationship is there, these teachers have the most profound capacity to lead even the most anxious kids into learning, brave behaviour and discovering their rich potential.

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When anxiety hits, our children will look to us for signs of safety. They’ll be needing to know, ‘Do you think I’m safe?’ ‘Do you think I can do this?’ ‘Do you think I’m brave enough, strong enough, capable enough?’

What we decide, they will follow. They might be achingly unwilling for a while, but eventually, they will follow. If only making the decision wasn’t so entangled, so often, with our own anxiety, their distress, and the smudgy, uncertain line that often comes before brave.

One of the hardest things as a parent can be deciding when to protect our kids and when to support them into brave. For them, brave, hard, new things (scary-safe) will often feel like dangerous things (scary-dangerous). Their anxiety around this will drive anxiety in us. It’s why their brave things will often feel scary for us too.

There’s a good reason for this. As their important adults, we’re designed to feel distress at their distress. This is how we keep them safe. It’s normal, necessary, and the thing that makes us loving, beautiful, available parents. But – it’s also why their anxiety will often drive anxiety in us, and a powerful drive to protect them from whatever is causing their distress.

Their distress will drive distress in us … exactly as it’s meant to.

When our children are truly in danger, their distress (fight or flight) will drive distress (fight or flight) in us to give us the strength, the will, the everything to keep them safe. Fight or flight in them will raise fight or flight in us – to give us the physiological resources to fight for them or flee with them if we need to.

We’re meant to feel distress at their distress – but those distress signals can also run interference on brave behaviour. Anxiety can make safe, brave, important things feel like dangerous things – for them and for us. This is normal and healthy. What matters is our response.

Sometimes making the decision, ‘Do I step back into safety or forward into brave?’ is too much for our kids and teens, so we have to make the decision for them. What we decide, they will follow. 

You will see evidence of this everywhere in your home: Do I need to brush my teeth? Is it okay if I hit? Do I need to be kind? Do I matter? Is my voice important? And the big one to strengthen them against anxiety … Can I feel anxious and do brave? The decision on most of these is an easy ‘yes’. We decide. They follow (eventually).

With anxiety, the line can be blurry. Sometimes your concerns might be valid, in which case their fight or flight (anxiety) will be doing its job. Sometimes though, our enormous drive to protect them isn’t so much about needing to protect them from the situation, but about wanting to protect them from the distress of their anxiety. This is so normal! It’s what makes us loving, responsive parents. It’s also why we have an incredible capacity to respond to their anxiety in ways that can widen the space for brave behaviour to happen.

They will follow our concern, or they will follow our confidence – eventually. It doesn’t matter how long the move towards brave takes. What matters is opening them up to the possibilities for brave behaviour that are already in them, and have been all along. They can feel anxious, and do brave. So can we.

This is why we have to ask the question, ‘Do they feel like this because they’re in danger, or because they’re about to do something brave/ hard/ important?’ ‘Am I reacting to the situation, or to their distress?‘

And what if I feel uncertain?

If you do feel uncertain, what do you need to feel safer?  More information? More conversation? Smaller steps towards brave? If you don’t believe they’re safe – at school, swimming lessons, with the person taking care of them in your absence – they won’t either. Do you need more information or conversation to feel more certain that they are safe?

What information do you need to be able to position yourself to respond the way your young person needs you to – either by protecting them, or by giving plenty of signals of safety so they can feel bigger and safer as they move forward into brave. Until we make the decision, they won’t either.

So I’ve made the decision. This is a time for brave. What now?

If you’ve decided that this is a time for brave behaviour, now they will need you to love and lead. It’s not about one or the other, but both. See their anxiety and make space for it, and also see their brave and make space for that too.

This might sound like, ‘Yeah, this is big isn’t it. It’s okay to be worried. Of course you feel like this! You’re about to do something brave. I know you can do this. If you can’t do (the whole brave thing), what will you do – and don’t say ‘nothing’, because ‘nothing’ isn’t an option.’

The posture to take here is, ‘I believe you, and I believe in you.’ I believe you that this is big for you, and I believe you that you feel worried or scared or threadbare – and I know you can do this. I know it with everything in me.

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Nothing can calm big behaviour and open up learning like relationship. Here’s how it works. As soon as the brain registers threat, the thinking brain (the prefrontal cortex) shuts down, and the impulsive, instinctive part of the brain takes over.

The thinking brain is the part of the brain that can calm big feelings, think through consequences, make good decisions, plan, learn, and retrieve learned information. When it’s offline, there is massively reduced capacity to learn, and a greater potential for big behaviour.

‘Threat’ isn’t about what is actually safe or not safe, but about what the brain perceives. This can come from feeling disconnected from their important adult, fear of humiliation, judgement, not feeling seen, heard, validated, welcome, or cared for, missing out on something important, stress – so many things!

When the brain registers threat, we will potentially see big behaviour and reduced learning because of the shutdown of the thinking brain.

We can direct behaviour support and learning support at this, but first we have to provide ‘felt sense of safety’ support. All the behaviour and learning support won’t be able to do its job if we don’t have access to the thinking brain.

Here’s the key. We have to bring the brain back to felt safety, so the thinking brain can come back on board and work its magic.

The antidote to a felt sense of threat is a felt sense of safety. The most powerful way to bring this is through relationship. Not just any relationship, but one where children feel and believe the caretaking and leadership of their adult. When children feel safe, they will be calm and in the very best position to learn.

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For sure, anxiety can really intrude into a young person’s life, but the more we talk about anxiety in terms of breakage or deficiency, the more this will become a part of their experience. Especially for young people with intrusive anxiety, there is nothing to be served in pathologising anxiety.

What we focus on is what becomes powerful – so let’s shift the focus. Let’s stop talking about anxiety as a ‘disorder’, breakage, or deficiency, and towards normalising it. We won’t get rid of it, so let’s turn it from a scary beast of a thing, to an ally. This starts with the way we talk about it.

Anxiety does not come from a broken brain. It comes from a strong, powerful brain that is doing its job – protecting them from danger. All brains sometimes work too hard sometimes, and instead of protecting, they overprotect.

Brains can’t tell the difference between things that are scary dangerous, and things that are scary safe (new, hard, brave, important things).

Let them know: Anxiety is a ‘just in case’ response. Just in case you need to run away or fight, I’m getting your body ready – just in case – but you decide: ‘Is this a time to be safe? Sometimes it will be. Or is this a time to be brave?’

Anxiety shows up to check that you’re okay, not to tell you that you’re not. It’s your brain’s way of saying, ‘Not sure – there might be some trouble here, but there might not be, but just in case you should be ready for it if it comes, which it might not – but just in case you’d better be ready to run or fight – but it might be totally fine.’ Brains can be so confusing sometimes!

All young people need to know …

Your anxiety is there to check that you’re okay, not to tell you that you’re not.

You have a brain that is strong, healthy and hardworking. It’s magnificent and it’s doing a brilliant job of doing exactly what brains are meant to do – keep you alive.

Your brain is fabulous, but it needs you to be the boss. Here’s how. When you feel anxious, ask yourself two questions:

– ‘Do I feel like this because I’m in danger or because there’s something brave or important I need to do?’

– Then, ‘Is this a time for me to be safe (sometimes it might be) or is this a time for me to be brave?‘

And remember, you will always have ‘brave’ in you, and anxiety doesn’t change that a bit.

And finally.

Words are powerful. They drive thoughts, feelings, responses. The more sting the words have, the more sting the experience will have. The way we talk about anxiety won’t be the whole story, but it matters. It has to be part of any response.

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In those moments, needs might disguise themselves as snaps, demands, or big behaviour. Emotion is energy in motion (e-motion). This energy can be dressed up as disrespect, and it might have the urgency and force of a meteor. It might be unpolished, brash, hard, but imagine what it’s like from their side, as the ones who are being barrelled by this energy.

When they struggle to understand or say what’s happening for them, they will show you. The showing might be awkward and messy and hard to read, but the clue is there in the feeling – angry, frustrated, irritated, sad, stressed.

‘I hate you!’

Sometimes finding the right words is hard. When their words are angry and out of control, it’s because that’s how they feel.

Eventually we want to grow them into people who can feel all their feelings and lasso them into words that won’t break people, but this will take time.

In the meantime, they’ll need us to model the words and hold the boundaries firmly and lovingly. This might sound like:

‘It’s okay to be angry, and it’s okay not to like my decision. It’s not okay to speak to me like that. I know you know that. My answer is still no.’

Then, when they’re back to calm, have the conversation:

‘I wonder if sometimes when you say you don’t like me, what you really mean is that you don’t like what I’ve done. It’s okay to be angry at me. It’s okay to tell me you’re angry at me. It’s not okay to be disrespectful.

What’s important is that you don’t let what someone has done turn you into someone you’re not. You’re such a great kid. You’re fun, funny, kind, honest, respectful. I know you know that yelling mean things isn’t okay. What might be a better way to tell me that you’re angry, or annoyed at what I’ve said?’

Emotional-regulation takes time and experience … and it starts with us.

For sure, we want our children to be able to communicate respectfully, but this will take time and experience.

The best experience is from us. Nothing will be more powerful than how we behave when we’re stressed. Do we speak to them gently and respectfully? Or do we shout, and get demanding and insistent?

There is a time for teaching, but not when their stress tanks are full. They just don’t have the capacity to hear, register, and store the information in a meaningful way. None of us do.

Hold the boundary and attend to relationship (through validation) until they come back to calm. Then, have the conversations that will grow them.

Consequences? Maybe, but maybe not.

There might be a need for consequences if they’ve caused harm, otherwise, they might be pointless. Remember the whole point of consequences is to put things right, or to teach them a different way to respond when they feel big. They’ll learn more by talking with you than any other way. ‘What happened?’ ‘What can you do differently next time,’ How can I help?’ ‘How can we put things right?’ ‘Do you need a hand with that?’

The idea of needing consequences to motivate them to do better is outdated and assuming they aren’t already motivated to do better. The problem isn’t the want. It’s the how. Preserving our connection and seeing through the behaviour to the feelings and needs underneath is key. It keeps their path to us well-lit and wide open.

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So often though, the ‘shoulds’ and ‘should nots’ we inhale in childhood and as we grow, lead us to abandon some of those precious, needed parts of us. ‘Don’t be angry/ selfish/ shy/ rude. ‘Don’t argue.’ Ugh.

Children will see themselves through our eyes, and live into the role accordingly – the brave one, the anxious one, the good girl, the troublemaker, the quiet one, the wilful one, the strong one, the soft one, the sporty one, maths isn’t his thing, she’s not a reader. The more narrowly we define them, the less space we leave for the undiscovered parts of their ‘everythingness’ to grow.

Let’s make sure our children don’t cancel parts of themselves. They are everything, but not always all at once. They can be anxious and brave. Strong and soft. Angry and calm. Big and small. Generous and self-ish. Some things they will find hard, and they can do hard things. None of these are wrong ways to be. What trips us up is rigidity, and only ever responding from one side of who we can be.

We all have extremes or parts we favour. This is what makes up the beautiful, complex, individuality of us. We don’t need to change this, but the more we can open our children to the possibility in them, the more options they will have in responding to challenges, the everyday, people, and the world.

We can do this by validating their ‘is’ without needing them to be different for a while in the moment, and also speaking to the other parts of them when we can.

‘Yes maths is hard, and I know you can do hard things. How can I help?’

‘I can see how anxious you feel. That’s so okay. I also know you have brave in you.’

‘I love your ‘big’ and the way you make us laugh. You light up the room.’ And then at other times: ‘It can be hard being in a room with new people can’t it. It’s okay to be quiet. I could see you taking it all in.’

‘It’s okay to want space from people. Sometimes you just want your things and yourself for yourself, hey. I feel like that sometimes too. I love the way you know when you need this.’ And then at other times, ‘You looked like you loved being with your friends today. I loved watching you share.’

The are everything, but not all at once. Our job is to help them live flexibly and more deliberately between the full range of who they are and who they can be: anxious/brave; kind/self-ish; focussed inward/outward; angry/calm. This will take time, and there is no hurry.

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