What's wrong with being confident?

Making room for my daughter's larger-than-life personality.

Let me start this by being clear: I am so proud of my daughter. I am. More about her seven-year-old life is different this year than the same. She approached these changes with bravery, buckling under pressure only in the discretion of her own quiet moments. She plays wise beyond her years. Her confidence sings.

I stood in awe of her performance at the ice cream social right before first grade started. As I nervously texted the few parents of kids she knew starting school with her, she was already off. With some version of “Mom, don’t come any closer,” she took to the playground to wrangle up new friends for a game of gaga. She made the swim team this year, too, in the youngest age group. Watching her absorb the tension of a state championship backstroke race surrounded by hundreds of spectators and older kids and yelling coaches, I almost couldn’t believe it.

In my mind, I characterize all these new achievements as performances, because inside, she must have some degree of doubt. Uncertainty breeds doubt—how could she not doubt? I am deliberate in the ways I empower her through my words and behavior, but I am no expert. As she transcends from a little person with a big personality into a She Hulk, I’m at more of a loss than ever before.

With more frequency, she comes in too hot. She crosses lines. I don’t know which lines, because I’m not sure anyone can fairly categorize a child’s confidence as overstepping to the point of arrogance, but she’s overstepping to the point of something. At times, her certainty exceeds reality. She believes she’s above receiving feedback. Her desire to take charge leaves people hurt, or at least, makes them less interested in competing in whatever game she believes she’ll beat them at. I don’t know how to react to the largeness of her as a person.  

Are we responsible? My husband and I are not low key people. Maybe she absorbed our intensity in utero or from the years of being raised in the peanut gallery of our perpetual state of creating, building, and climbing. For god’s sake, we debated our thesis on the student loan crisis over her bassinet as a newborn. Maybe she came into the world hot because we were on fire.

Dr. Andrea Lieberman is a child psychologist and dear friend, who I asked to weigh in on what feels like a pivotal stage in my daughter’s life and mine as a parent. “We start to see glimpses of personality from birth!” she says. “Even from birth, we see their awareness of others and their ability to navigate their needs in relationships.” Eventually, children realize they can influence caregivers and peers through their actions. This could result in power struggles, because kids know what their own personal wants and needs are, and that often conflicts with others around them.

This feels familiar. A couple of weeks ago, my daughter told me about an incident where a boy “punched” her on the playground. The lead of this story captured my concern and attention, so I pressed her for more information. Turns out, she was trying to make all the girls play a “dance competition” game, and they wanted to stop. Instead of letting another friend decide what game to play next, she left them, found some boys seeing who could hit each other the hardest, and lost. I could tell the incident startled her a bit. But instead of focusing on her feelings, I said she should’ve known that game wasn’t right for her, she grew defensive, then disrespectful, then she got in trouble, and the cycle goes round and round.

Generationally, I was not raised with much care around building my inner strength as a young woman. Most of us weren’t. The notion of confidence focused more on our physical appearance—about whether we believed we looked nice in a dress—than how we carry ourselves as people. Much has changed since then.

“I think there has been a huge shift in the way that we help our daughters to develop confidence and feel comfortable owning their space,” says Dr. Lieberman. One prevalent example is teaching them about bodily autonomy. “We teach our kids that they own their bodies, that they get to decide who does what to their bodies, and that they have control over what happens.” While parents may brush up against conflict around tasks their children must do, like brushing their teeth or visiting a doctor, the overarching lesson far outweighs any negative inference that could be drawn from it.

A more controversial lesson deals with apologies. Even adult women struggle to stop saying sorry for unwarranted reasons. Unlearning this emotional response makes us even more intentional in teaching our daughters how “I’m sorry” has a particular meaning meant only for certain circumstances. Saving our sorry’s exudes confidence. But that can cause some wrinkles, too.

We are living them right now.  

It's a hard place to exist as a mother. I am not sure where my confidence ends and hers begins. I know I play a crucial role in how tall she stands. But I am a little afraid for the first time she realizes that a girl’s confidence does not exist in a vacuum—it is constantly challenged and called into question. Maybe it is not my place to intervene. Maybe I am projecting my experience from a different childhood onto hers. Yet, how do I not feel like I’ve wound her up like a little car toy and let her go, knowing she’ll most likely crash into something?

“Our role is to stand by them and support them as they begin to discover and be faced with their own limits,” says Dr. Lieberman. “We absolutely model appropriateness, narrate graciousness, and should be ‘curious’ when they present us with the difficulties they face, but ultimately we can’t tell them what to do or who to be.”

Today’s parents are fixers by design. We seek solutions, support, consultants, and answers—real answers, not subjective experiments we don’t have the patience to watch play out from the sidelines. With smaller children, we are accustomed to stepping in and helping them draw conclusions and find their resolutions faster. But this is a delicate dance now. This is something I risk causing her more harm in meddling in than if I go against every fiber of my being and sit on my hands. It’s not my job to knock her down a peg or to even create subtle uncertainty in her choices.

She does not need me to teach her humility. Life will humble her enough.

Dr. Lieberman suggests we limit setting clear boundaries to issues of health and safety. Meaning, if my daughter wants to walk up to her morning school line alone, I should let her, even if other parents are allowed to stay. But that doesn’t mean she gets to jet across the street by herself, and I should allow space for her anger if that bothers her. Dimming a child’s light doesn’t typically come from health and safety rules. It comes from the should’s, which are often just passed down messages of control, respect, and social standards.

I believe my daughter should know she’s not Katie Ledecky in the pool (yet), and she should know that other friends are allowed to take charge. She should know she still has a lot to learn. But right here, right now, she is the least of an imposter she will ever be. And she deserves to just be.

Any other parents have a hard time watching from the sidelines? Email me: averagejoelle3@gmail.com.

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The little things

I love nothing more than telling my student loan survival story. I’ll take any opportunity to help a young person make more thoughtful financial decisions than I did in my early Twenties, so I was thrilled to share my story once again with Insider. I hope you’ll check it out. Unrelated pic to commemorate the fleeting Spring Blazer Season, which exists from mid-March to mid-April in the Northeast. Mine is from Generation Love.

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Also

I read:

• How to Practice – The New Yorker

• The Lemon-Up Stand – This Is The Top

• My Marriage Was Never the Same After That – New York Magazine

• Ditching Perfect for Joy – Memoir Monday

I planned:

• For a full week off. Spring Break, baby! That means no new Our Tiny Rebellions next Friday, but I will be back the following week!

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Your wins

This isn’t a tiny win—it’s a huge one. My close friend Natalie rang the bell this week, signifying the end of this phase of her treatment for brain cancer. I am awestruck by her strength throughout this journey and want to wrap her and her family in as much positive energy and love as I can. Natalie, you’re an inspiration. And fuck cancer.