You Owe Them the Armor of Resilience

When you’re a child, your parents sometimes tell you truths that you can’t stand to hear–but you need to. One of those truths came from my mother, who used to tell me far more than I would have liked, “Life isn’t fair.” I’m not complaining–she was right. But it does shape everything about how a child sees the world when they’re given a less idealistic lens by which to see.

Most of us aren’t rightly prepared to deal with the level of unfairness we’ll eventually experience, like the death of loved ones, being cheated out of money, or witnessing immoral people gain fortune and stature while you struggle along playing by the rules.

Parents must occasionally shake us into reality, because it’s better to be confused during our adolescent years than to be ill-equipped to handle life's curveballs as an adult. That’s a parent’s responsibility.

When my son was very young, about 3 years old, he would play these simple handheld games and I would watch his demeanor while he played. I noticed how determined he was to complete a task in the game and how excited he’d get when he was able to win. Unfortunately, his behavior would change dramatically when he lost.

As the parent, it was less about him being a sore loser or an overexcited winner and more about the vast gap between those two versions of the same little person. He was so overly eager to win, it wasn’t about enjoying the game, so losing hit extra hard. 

Whereas my mother told me on repeat, and with incredible bluntness, that life wasn’t fair, I wanted to demonstrate it to him without him realizing he was being instructed. You might call it setting an example. I set out to provide an environment of occasional “losses” that weren’t monumental and were easy for him to understand.

One day my son came to me in the kitchen and asked me if he could have one of the cookies I had in the house. I could have said, “Yes.” He wasn’t being punished and was generally a good kid, but I did the opposite and said, “No.”

His excited little face, anticipating a sugary snack, turned into a lip-protruding pout and his shoulders slouched due to the sudden weight of disappointment. He was on the edge. 

With no cookie in hand, he took his sad walk of shame back into the other room, and it was then that I knew this would be a necessity for securing my son’s future. He primarily lived with his mother at the time, so our weekends together served as a miniature experiment in training my boy to be resilient and to manage his expectations accordingly.

Every time I denied him something I could easily give, the pouting became less and less prevalent, until one day, he stood there and gave me the response I’d been looking for… “Okay.” Acceptance. Less pain and scorn. 

His reaction–acceptance of my decision to deny him–wasn't a fluke either. I kept this going for weeks longer and his requests became a nonissue after they weren’t fulfilled. He was learning. 

There came a point when I made it known (in a small way) what I was doing and how proud of him I was for this improvement. He asked me for a cookie, and I still told him no. Once again, he handled it like a champ. After five minutes, much to his surprise, I gave it to him anyway and verbalized the reason: because he did so well in accepting my no for a no. 

This exercise was simple and effective because I addressed the problem by nipping it in the bud. We too often label certain misbehaviors as normal or excuse them due to our children’s ripe age, in hopes that they’ll grow out of it. 

This is not the way. It is a trap. 

You’re not raising children; you're raising future adults, citizens, neighbors, colleagues... and part of raising them is to ingrain healthy social responses to disappointment. 

Somewhere along the line, your child will be denied good grades, honor roll, a spot on the team, a kiss, a date, a promotion, election results…

Would you be proud if this was your kid? 

My strategic plan to introduce age-appropriate disappointment for my son showed him that he can’t get everything he wants when he wants it and that life is unfair no matter how good a person you are.

What he didn’t learn was to give up asking me for that cookie. Ask away! 

Today my boy is 18 and prepared for both the abundance of life and its moments of poverty. He might not always get what he wants, but he knows he has a dad who will be there to give counsel and encouragement on life's obstacles. 

He earned the armor of resilience–one cookie at a time.

Adam B. Coleman is an author and founder of Wrong Speak Publishing. He writes on Substack at Speaking Wrong At The Right Time.