Positive Discomfort: The stress of learning something new or facing a challenge is helpful, not harmful

This blog was inspired by the response to a video I posted on Instagram that went viral. In three days, it has more than 850K views and thousands of likes and shares. The video (which I encourage you to watch—it's a gem) was made by a very close friend who was watching her adorable 7-month-old grandson and caught him making his first attempts at crawling. I asked for permission to share it because it is such a powerful illustration of “positive discomfort," my new favorite concept because it so perfectly captures a critical mindshift: that the discomfort kids experience when facing a challenge is not something to be feared or avoided, but to be expected and embraced. It is muscling through the difficulty or fear that builds skills, competence, resilience and perseverance—attributes we all want for our children.

In the video, even as the baby is making progress, he is crying and at one point collapses, putting his head in his hands as if he just can't go on. But my friend/grandma doesn't swoop in to pick him and comfort him—the knee-jerk reaction most of us might have at seeing our children in distress. Instead, she remains a calm and supportive presence with her tone and words, communicating to him that she believes he can muscle through. And he does! He calms, gets back on all fours, smiles, and perseveres. Had grandma picked him up, that beautiful moment of triumph would have been thwarted. The message to this clearly competent guy would have been that she didn’t believe he had it in him to keep trying and prevail.

To give credit where due, I discovered "positive discomfort" in an article in the Washington Post, "A Winning Mix: High standards, high support," about the approach Emma Hayes, the US Women's Soccer Coach, takes to support her players. The article includes research by David Yeager, a developmental psychologist at the University of Texas at Austin who explains: "Intense stressors are a normal part of performing well, of learning, growing and developing new skills...Our stress response — what’s happening in our bodies and minds when we experience a stressful situation — prepares us to take action....When the mind expects to meet the challenge, breathing increases to send more oxygen to the blood, the heart pumps faster and blood vasculature dilates to spread the blood to the muscles and brain. Motivation and performance go up. The opposite happens when a threat is viewed as insurmountable and the body moves to protect itself. In such cases, the heart may pump fast, but blood vasculature constricts, keeping blood central in the chest cavity, essentially preparing for upcoming defeat." 

In short, it's all about expectations and mindset. When we see challenges through a positive lens, as opportunities for growth and learning that will take hard work to master, we are much more likely to persevere and succeed. The way we instill this mindset in our kids is by holding high expectations while giving them the tools and support they need to stay the course, which is exactly what these stories from the parenting trenches show. 

Archer (4) is a very bright, curious little guy who is highly sensitive and gets overwhelmed in group situations so he avoids them. His PreK teacher reported to his mom, Charlotte, that Archer is fully engaged when they are doing 1:1 structured tasks, but he refuses to participate in group circle time. Charlotte suspects this is because he is afraid to say something wrong. He is a perfectionist, already, and doesn't want to mess up; for example, not know the answer to a question the teacher asks.

I suggest that the teacher not make joining the group optional. When kids have a choice, avoidance almost always wins. Instead, she can explain to Archer that the class rule is that everyone needs to attend circle time—that's a "have-to.” But the great new is, he gets to choose what he’ll do at circle time: he can just observe or he can do a very important job which is to be the class reporter, which means taking notes about the topic of the day, what the class learned about it, what his classmates shared during the discussion, and the like. If he chooses to be the reporter, after circle time he will report back to her about his observations. (Note that while Archer is 4, he is gifted and is, indeed, already writing. If a child doesn't have this skill yet, you can still use this strategy of being a detective or reporter. tell them to use their memory brain to store what they are observing and share that with the teacher at the end of group time. You can still give them paper and a writing utensil. Depending on their age, you can teach them to make hashmarks to denote each time a child makes a contribution, or they can draw pictures of their "findings.")

Here is Charlotte's email to me two days later:

"I just picked Archer up from preschool. He participated in group time! The teacher told him his job was to report on how many kids said something and how many chose not to say anything at all—to show him that it is okay just to be a listener. And he did it! Today the teacher reminded him that he could be the reporter if he wanted, but that it was also possible just to sit at group time and not say anything, which is exactly what he did." Resistance to circle time ended, and within a few weeks he was actively participating. Then, at the end of the semester, the teacher reported to Charlotte: “I think the biggest change in Archer is that he’s now prepared to take a risk. Really everything else comes from that.” 

In this situation, setting the limit that circle time was a "have-to," not a choice, was the high expectation. It conveyed to Archer that his teacher had confidence in him. Importantly, it also created the opportunity for Archer to overcome his fear. Absent that limit, if history is any guide, Archer would  almost certainly have chosen avoidance. Giving him options for how he participated was the high support, as it made him feel in control. This was the key to helping him feel comfortable and less stressed, which ultimately freed him to engage.

The next hurdle was swimming. Archer had graduated from lessons in the kiddie pool. The next step up was a class that took place in the big pool, which Archer refused to do. He doesn't like change. He was also anxious about being able to do the more advanced skills. Charlotte had asked the program to let him continue where he was comfortable—in the class he had already completed. But after the success at school, she wanted to implement a similar approach to help Archer work through his anxiety about the new swim class, since he was physically ready for this next step and she was pretty certain that he would love it once he experienced it.

Accordingly, Charlotte explained to Archer that repeating the same class was no longer an option; that the rule is kids move on to the next level (the high expectation). She validated his fears and said that she was going to help him overcome them. The first step would be to have him do two private lessons with the new swim teacher, so he could get to know her, she could preview the new skills they would be working on in the class, and he would have a chance to practice them in the big pool (the high support.) Archer thrived in the one-on-ones. Then it was time to start the group class. Archer's choices were to get in the pool and participate, or be the class reporter, like he was at school. He could document the proceedings of the class: count how many kids were present, what exercises the teacher had them do and what the kids were learning by doing them. At the end of class, he would report back to the teacher what he had discovered. For the first two weeks, Archer chose to be the journalist. But at the third class, he started to join in and was ecstatic about it. He told his mom: “I know why you want me to report, mum, but you don’t have to worry this time. I’m going to be fine.” (That gave her a chuckle-he was totally onto her!)

And here's a story from my own annals of parenting
When my son, Sam, was 8, his dad and I had agreed that going to sleepaway camp would be a good experience for him. The two of them went to a dad/son weekend at the camp in the spring and Sam LOVED it and could not wait to go for the one-month session. But when it came time for drop-off, he panicked and was hysterical, begging us not to leave. It was excruciating for us, but we knew this was to be expected. I sobbed the entire two hours home, but hoped we would hear happy reports within a few days. Alas, all we received were desperate letters from Sam, begging us to come pick him up. One I will never forget included an apology for "this tear-stained page."

Every bone in my body wanted to hop in the car and rescue him. (I was a rescuer—one of my greatest regrets, in hindsight.) But instead, I called the director of the camp to seek an objective assessment. He reported that Sam was very happy and thriving at camp. He was engaged, enjoying the activities, and was making friends. But as expected, at rest hour—when the kids are not distracted—they think about home and that’s the time the letter-writing happens.

This helped me get a grip. I took a step back and asked myself what I would tell another parent in this situation: that Sam could be thriving at camp AND miss home; that these two truths could co-exist. Further, having him stay and work this through would be a tremendous growth experience. Conversely, if we picked him up, we would be sending the message that he was, indeed, not okay without us, and he would be missing an experience that we knew was very fortifying and fulfilling for him.

At the start of week three, the letters took on a different tone. There were no more demands for us to pick him up and he started regaling us with stories of all the adventures and activities he was enjoying. When we arrived to retrieve him at the end of the session, there were sobs once again, but this time they were because he was so sad to leave camp. He begged us to let him stay for the next session. To this day, Sam (now 34), still sees sleepaway camp as one of the most joyful, rewarding and important growth experiences of his life. My ability to tolerate his distress, and trust the process, enabled him to have this experience. It still stands as one of my proudest moments as a mom.

The take home: Get comfortable with your child's discomfort. What feels mean or harmful—allowing your child to experience the stress (of facing a new situation or challenge, not, of course, of something actually detrimental to your child)—is one of the greatest and most loving gifts you give. 

My upcoming book, Big Reactors (fall 2025), features many stories of kids who have overcome these kinds of challenges that led, not just to incredible personal growth, but also stronger parent-child relationships.