When my oldest daughter was about 2, she really, really wanted to get on the “big kid” swing at the playground. I have a rule, however, for all my kids: you may play on anything you can get on yourself. If you can climb the tree, you’re allowed to be in it. If you can’t, I won’t put you there. This helps kids explore (and push!) their own boundaries, makes them overall safer and more capable, etc.
But my daughter was crying. “Please Daddy, please help me get on the swing!” I was in agony. I knew the right thing to do, but my resolve was breaking. Somehow, I found the strength to hold fast. I told her that I believed in her, but that if she wanted to get up there, she had to do it herself. I’d put her in the little kid swing and push her all day, but if she wanted to be in the big kid swing, that was for big kids that could get up there all by themselves.
She sobbed. She pleaded. But also, she kept trying. And after about the 30th attempt, she managed to get one little knee up into the saddle and pulled her other leg over, and then she was up there! And immediately – immediately – she turned to me and said:
“See Daddy? I told you I could do it.”
She got in and out of that swing in 2 seconds flat another hundred times that day.
Doing things for other people is a kindness, of course. Helping is virtuous. Small tasks to ease a burden or big tasks to ensure survival – these are good! But when you step in and accomplish someone else’s goals for them, you curse them. You tell them, in a voice that rings loud and clear: “I do not believe you can do this.”
Sometimes you may need to say that. Sometimes your two-year-old wants to climb into a swing, and sometimes she wants to drive the car. Sometimes a person really is about to fail, starve, hurt themselves – and you need to save them from their pride. But if you’re going to do that, be certain. Be certain it’s not your pride motivating the actions. Let someone try and fail. Let them even, perhaps, hurt themselves a little. Because they cannot succeed without trying, and they cannot try without obstacles.
If you remove a cocoon from a butterfly, instead of letting the butterfly struggle and shake it off on its own, the butterfly will never be able to fly – its wings will be stunted and weak, too fragile to take to the air. The butterfly will die.
All people have wings somewhere inside their cocoons. Cheer them, mentor them, but keep your hands off as much as you possibly can. Give them the blessing of raising your expectations of what they’re capable of. Watch them fly.