Whose Problem Are You Fixing?

“We keep choosing efficiency over formation.  We keep choosing control over growth.  We keep choosing what calms the moment over what builds the person.” 

-Kevin Stinehart, The Inputs Children Need 

I follow Kevin Stinehart on Substack as I appreciate his framework for understanding how children grow into resilient, functioning adults. His writing centers on the idea that many challenges seen in children today are better understood as the result of missing developmental experiences rather than inherent deficits.  As an educator, he has witnessed the changing structure of society, schools, and families and has a front row seat to what happens when children aren’t allowed to be... children.  

One of his recent articles, Stop Doing What Works. Start Doing What Helps really landed with me because I absolutely believe in the premise:   As adults, we often choose the momentary fix over the long term gain.   Schools insist on quiet cafeterias because it maintains order, but limits children’s opportunities to practice social skills and conflict resolution.   Adults hand over ipads in a restaurant because it stops the whining and allows parents to eat in (relative) peace, but our children have no idea how to entertain themselves or be bored.   Parents put a child’s shoes on because they are in a hurry  to leave the house, and children lose out on the opportunity to practice self help and fine motor skills.  

As a parent and former educator, I can recall dozens of examples of taking the quick fix rather than allowing children to struggle.

And although I know I am not alone in the “hand over the ipad” strategy, guilt can sometimes creep in that I have “ruined” my kids and they will be helpless adults who can’t sit through a meal or put on shoes.  

Instead of staying stuck in guilty mom mode, I've decided to do something that feels a little radical: forgive myself.

I can't undo the years of quick fixes, but I can recognize that those choices helped me survive. Three kids in five years meant living in survival mode. Working outside the home while raising them sometimes meant choosing the easiest path. Parenting neurodivergent kids often meant wanting immediate calm when dysregulation took over. Those choices weren't made because I didn't care—they were made because I was doing the best I could with what I had.

Now, with the gift of time and the perspective to see those years more clearly, I can ask myself a different question: Are those same choices still necessary?

Sometimes, the answer is yes.

When I'm stretched thin by the demands of life, sidelined by a migraine that requires a dark room, or focused on helping one child through a genuine crisis, I may still choose peace over the teachable moment. And that's okay.

But there are other times—when I have the bandwidth, the patience, and the emotional space—when I'll ask my kids to put down their phones, have the uncomfortable conversation with a teacher, or sit with the difficult feelings that life inevitably brings. I'll choose the harder path when I can walk alongside them and help them solve their problems, and I’ll forgive myself when I need the quick fix.