Many years ago, when my daughter Amelia was in second grade, she came home deeply upset. Through tears, she told me she had been excluded from the games other kids were playing during recess. Her sadness was palpable—it wasn’t just about one moment of exclusion; it had clearly touched something deeper inside her.

If I hadn’t taken a moment to pause, my default reaction might have been to “fix” her situation. I might have jumped in with suggestions: “Try playing with other friends,” or, “Make up your own game.” Perhaps I’d try to reassure her, “Don’t worry, it will get better tomorrow.” Or, worse, I might have implied that she could have avoided the situation altogether: “Why didn’t you stand up for yourself?”

These responses come from a place of love but deny children the chance to process their emotions and think for themselves. They can inadvertently teach our kids to look to us for all the answers instead of discovering their own.

Instead of trying to fix things for Amelia, I decided to take a different approach. I sat down with her and said, “Oh wow, it sounds like you’re really upset and hurt.”

“Yes,” she said, and her tears continued to flow.

“What else are you feeling?” I asked.

Her words spilled out as she began describing her feelings. (Kids are incredibly good at this if we give them the space to share.)

When she was ready, I asked, “What do you need right now?”

She told me she needed to cry. So she climbed onto my lap, and I held her while she let it all out. After a while, her tears slowed, and she let out a deep sigh. I could see something had shifted inside her.