My son was four. He and I were navigating a massive indoor inflatable obstacle course, living our best lives. 

Until we got to the end. 

There was a drop. It was only a couple of metres, but to a four-year-old, it probably looked like twenty. 

‘You can do this,’ I said. 

‘I’m scared,’ said my son. 

We stood at the top for five minutes, letting other participants overtake and launch themselves over the ledge, landing safely on the inflated crash mat below. 

‘Look,’ I said. ‘It’s completely safe. You just have to jump.’ 

‘I don’t want to.’ 

My wife intervened and told me I was pushing him too hard. 

I shut her out. 

‘Listen,’ I said to him, ‘If you really don’t want to jump, you don’t have to. But I believe you can do it. And I think you’ll be gutted if you don’t. I promise, promise, promise you’ll be OK.’ 

He looked at me. Then he looked down again. Then he looked at me again. And then back down.  

And then he jumped. 

It paid off. He was elated – incredibly proud of his achievement. And so was I. 

In this instance, I was justified in pushing him. My wife admitted as much afterwards. It felt great to see my son level up in his confidence – something I find more rewarding than any of my personal achievements. 

Now let me share another story. 

My son and I were playing a computer game. He was trying to complete what you’d call a ‘hard bit’. He wanted my help. I said no. Instead, I encouraged him to try it himself.  

And he did. He tried so hard, and he came so close. But in the end, he was defeated. He was so disappointed that he burst into tears and ran to his mother, not because the game was challenging, but because I pushed him too hard. 

That time I got it wrong. I applied too much pressure. I should have accepted that playing the game was our time to hang out, rather than insisting on imposing my personal development agenda on him.  

I felt awful. 

So, what’s the answer? 

There isn’t one. Not one I have, anyway. 

Because it’s incredibly hard for us to know when to push our children and when to cut them some slack. Because not everything is a teachable moment, even though teachable moments exist all around us. Because often we get it wrong. 

But it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. We should never stop believing in our children, who are capable of the most amazing things.  

Our belief in them begets their belief in themselves.  

That means encouraging them to exist in uncomfortable and often scary spaces – fertile lands for true potential discovery. 

And it means apologising when our judgment is off, and we’ve pushed them too hard. 

It took a while for my son to return to the game and try again. But when he was ready, he did. And this time, on his terms. 

Guess what? 

He succeeded.