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Why Do Girls Struggle More With Failure Than Boys?
I have a 5-year-old son named Max who often gets frustrated. He loves to build things, whether it’s with blocks, Legos, or train tracks, dreaming up grand designs that twist and turn through our living room. I usually take a backseat in his engineering endeavors, focusing more on story time and ice cream. However, within about 10 or 15 minutes, I often hear him whining about his creation, and sometimes, there’s an explosive crash followed by him storming off in frustration. A few tears might be involved, and that’s just a regular day of bridge-building for us.
But here’s the kicker: he nearly always returns to his projects. He copes with failure much like my partner does—there’s a quick outburst of anger, some stomping, and then a little break from the task. My partner tends to vent to me about how if he’d only known he needed some extra support for that shelf installation, he could have picked it up at the local hardware store. Regardless, they always come back to what they were working on, whether it’s later that same day or even a few weeks down the line. Sure, they might be annoyed, but they don’t seem to take it to heart. It’s just a project; it doesn’t define them.
It makes me wonder how things would play out if I had a daughter. Personally, I’ve always been quick to give up, even at the smallest setbacks. When a project goes south, it feels like a blow to my self-worth. If my bridge collapses, I might conclude I simply don’t have the knack for engineering—or worse, that I’m just not smart enough. The fear of looking foolish often keeps me from trying again; I’d probably just retreat to reading, which feels a lot safer.
Rachel Simmons, writing for Time, points out that this reaction to failure is pretty common along gender lines. Jessica Lahey’s book, The Gift of Failure: How the Best Parents Learn to Let Go So Their Children Can Succeed, illustrates that kids thrive when parents resist the urge to swoop in and fix every little issue, whether it’s a broken train track or a math mistake. Interestingly, facing failure is essential for building resilience and grit.
Simmons suggests that girls may find failure more difficult to handle than boys. For instance, when girls stumble, they’re often more inclined to see it as a sign of lacking ability—a belief that can be much tougher for them to change. Boys typically chalk up their failures to factors they feel they can control. This tendency is partly influenced by the kind of feedback girls receive in school, which often highlights innate abilities rather than specific actions.
Another point Simmons raises is that girls are often socialized to seek approval, making any failure feel more personal, especially if it disappoints a teacher or parent. True success, for everyone, comes from internal motivation rather than external validation. This concept has been well-researched; I first learned about it through Alfie Kohn’s work. Kids need to feel driven by their own desires rather than chasing after praise or prizes.
Girls might be more attuned to the reactions of others, which can cloud their sense of what they truly want to achieve. Boys, on the other hand, might feel freer to dive into their projects without that nagging self-criticism.
I do my best to praise Max for his effort—“You worked really hard!” instead of “You’re so smart!”—because research shows that this kind of encouragement fosters motivation. Watching his determination has made me reconsider my own tendency to give up easily. I could certainly benefit from tapping into my intrinsic motivation, which I plan to do as soon as I finish my book!
In summary, boys and girls often respond differently to failure due to socialization and the types of feedback they receive. While boys may see setbacks as external challenges, girls can internalize failures, making them feel less capable. Encouraging children to embrace failure and focus on their efforts can help them develop resilience.