As she made her way toward me, I could see something was wrong. My typically vibrant 11-year-old daughter, Lily, walked off the bus with her head down and tears brimming in her eyes. The school year had just begun, and as usual, it was off to a bumpy start, her shyness making its unwelcome appearance in this new environment. This time, it was the lunchroom that had her in distress.
Though she wasn’t lacking friends, the challenge lay in initiating conversations with her classmates. Once the ice was broken, her true, sparkling personality would shine. This year felt especially tough because the world of preteen girls can be a real minefield. If you don’t fit the mold of the typical bubbly, girly type, making it into a fifth-grade clique can feel nearly impossible. I remembered my own childhood—being the shy, bookish girl and often the new kid in class. As she recounted the struggles of her lonely lunchtime, I felt like I was transported back to that awkward lunchroom.
My immediate instinct? To swoop in and fix things. Who could I call? Was there someone at the school who could help her navigate the tricky landscape of fifth-grade lunch? What could I do to spare her from the humiliation of eating alone, just like I had done so many times?
As these thoughts raced through my mind, I realized I was slipping into the trap of “lawn mower parenting.” Unlike the more familiar “helicopter parents” who hover around their children, lawn mower parents take it a step further. They obsessively clear away obstacles, ensuring their children have a smooth, conflict-free journey. In essence, they’re mowing a perfect path for their kids to follow—one that avoids even the slightest bit of discomfort.
I hated to admit it, but I was guilty of revving up my own lawn mower. And if I’m honest, many of you are likely guilty too. It’s time we put the lawn mowers away, because making life too easy for our kids isn’t helping them at all.
Life is tough, especially during those awkward early teenage years. We all look back at our middle school photos with a cringe—glasses, acne, and questionable fashion choices. We remember those heart-wrenching first crushes and the stinging loneliness that comes after a fallout with a friend. And let’s not even get started on the strange outfits we thought were cool. But we survived it. Our kids will too.
Sure, there will be tears. You might want to have a word with that boy who broke your daughter’s heart. You’ll watch your son struggle with algebra or flunk a French test he could have aced if he’d just put in the effort. You might comfort your child after they don’t make the basketball team, wondering how you made it through high school yourself. And let’s face it, the world of Snapchat harassment is something none of us will ever fully grasp.
But here’s the crux: it’s not about us. It’s about them. Our kids need to endure the same challenges we faced to gain the perspective they need for adulthood. They must experience embarrassment and awkwardness in social situations so they can learn and grow. Yes, we should support them, but not by bulldozing every hurdle out of their way. Instead, we need to equip them with the skills to navigate their own challenges and allow them to stumble every now and then.
Falling isn’t the problem; it’s getting back up, fighting for what’s right, and becoming resilient that truly matters. If we clear every obstacle from their path, we risk raising a generation of entitled individuals, and we certainly don’t need more of those in the world.
So, parents, let’s step back and allow our kids to do the hard work of growing up. As challenging as it may be, we can’t micromanage their childhood. We need to reserve our involvement for the moments when they genuinely require our help, reassuring them that we’ll be there when it counts. After all, it’s far more enjoyable to sit back with a glass of wine while they tackle life’s challenges (life lessons, right?).
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In summary, let’s ditch the lawn mower parenting and empower our kids to navigate their own lives, learning valuable lessons along the way.