by Rebecca Fox
What does it take to raise resilient children? This post explores the role of nature, discomfort, and early freedom in shaping inner strength—from scraped knees to carrying their own water.
Keywords: resilience, risk-taking, early childhood, nature-based learning, play, the continuum concept, parenting, child development, grit, Teacher Tom
Most parents I know want their children to grow into resilient, grounded human beings—capable of facing challenges, bouncing back from setbacks, and meeting the world with confidence and strength. These are nearly universal aspirations. We speak of grit, perseverance, emotional regulation. We want them to be adaptable. Brave. Capable.
But what many don’t realize is this: resilience isn’t taught through lectures or modeled in conversation. It is not the fruit of protection or praise. It grows only through experience—often uncomfortable, often messy, often outside.
Nature is one of the last places left where children can meet real thresholds. Where they can get wet, cold, frustrated, scared—and find their way through. It’s not punishment. It’s not neglect. It’s a birthright. And every time we over-manage it—carry their water bottle, warn them to be careful, pave the path—they lose a chance to grow stronger.
To build resilience, children need friction. Not trauma, not danger—but meaningful discomfort. The heat of the sun. The sting of a scrape. The mystery of a bug they’ve never seen. The freedom to say, “I want to go back,” and the encouragement to go just a little farther.
In many families, care has become synonymous with doing things for children. We carry their water bottles. We pack the snacks. We watch for danger so they won’t have to. But what if true care sometimes means not stepping in? What if love looks like letting them sweat, struggle, and still succeed?
When a four-year-old carries their own pack—even if it’s awkward or heavy—they’re not just carrying objects. They’re carrying responsibility. When they trip and decide to get back up on their own, they’re building self-trust. And when they walk through heat, or bugs, or boredom without a grown-up fixing it, they begin to form a quiet, lasting belief: I can handle this.
This is what Jean Liedloff described in The Continuum Concept—that children grow best when they are not the center of attention, but the witnesses of real life. When they are alongside adults doing meaningful work, and when they are trusted to be capable, not coddled. Nature gives us this exact setting—rich, unpredictable, demanding. But only if we resist the urge to manage it out of existence.
Children are built to take risks. Their play—when left unstructured—is full of climbing, balancing, testing, and experimenting. This isn’t recklessness. It’s research. And nature is the perfect laboratory. A fallen log becomes a balance beam. A hill becomes a challenge. A puddle becomes a question: Will I get wet? Do I mind?
But too often, we interrupt this learning. We say “Be careful” before they’ve even tried. We lift them down before they’ve tested the edge. We call it safety, but what we’re really teaching is doubt—doubt in their bodies, doubt in their judgment, doubt in their capacity.
Real risk—the kind that builds character—isn’t about danger. It’s about discernment. When children are given room to fall, to climb, to assess for themselves, they’re also given the gift of knowing themselves. They learn where their limits are—and when to push them.
Teacher Tom has inspired me in many ways, but one of the most profound things I read as an educator was his post on The Right Number of Bloody Owies. It became a mantra in my early childhood classrooms and in my own parenting—a reminder that risk is necessary, and that the absence of injury is not always a sign of safety.
“If you have no bloody owies, then you are being too careful. If you have three or more bloody owies then you’re not being careful enough. The right number of bloody owies is one or two. That means you’re not being too careful or too careless.”
It’s a vivid reminder: children learn to navigate risk by living it. They need space to scrape, to stumble, to recalibrate. It’s not the absence of injury that shapes strength—it’s how we meet it.
In the years I’ve spent guiding children through forests, creeks, and wild spaces, I’ve watched a quiet transformation unfold again and again. The child who once froze at the sight of a beetle becomes the one gently scooping it onto a leaf. The one who clung to comfort learns to laugh with mud on their knees. And it never comes through explanation. It comes through being there—long enough, often enough, with enough trust.
We do not build endurance by talking about it. We build it by walking farther than we thought we could, by carrying our own pack, by choosing not to turn back at the first discomfort. We build resilience not through protection, but through presence—staying with the experience, even when it’s hot, or itchy, or boring.
If we want our children to develop inner strength, we must stop cushioning every edge. Stop doing for them what they can do for themselves. Let them feel weather. Let them scrape a knee. Let them solve small problems before we step in. Let them learn, from the very beginning, that they can handle life.
So start small. Let your four-year-old carry their own water. Resist the urge to say “Be careful.” Stay a little longer in the woods, even if they complain. Trust that boredom is not an enemy—it’s the gateway to curiosity.
Let nature be the teacher. Let struggle be part of the story. Let your child rise.
We all want resilient children. But resilience isn’t something you can start teaching at six—or at ten—when life begins to feel hard. It’s something that grows from birth, in the quiet ways a child watches us meet the world. Do we carry our own weight? Do we adapt with grace? Do we let them struggle, fall, and rise again? Nature offers the perfect stage for this kind of learning. But only if we let go—of comfort, of control, and of the belief that protecting a child means preventing every hardship.
Let them walk the trail. Let them carry their pack. Let them become who they already have the strength to be.
Keywords
resilience, risk-taking, early childhood, nature-based learning, forest school, the continuum concept, parenting, child development, outdoor play, grit, Teacher Tom
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