7 Fun Confidence-Building Activities to Do With Your 7-Year-Old Niece (That Don’t Feel Like Chores)
I pulled up to my sister’s house last month, and Lila, my 7-year-old niece, was leaning against the porch rail kicking a loose brick, her soccer jersey still crumpled in her hand. She’d lost her tournament game that morning, tripping over her own feet on the breakaway that would have tied the score. When I asked if she was ready for our planned trampoline park trip, she just stared at her sneakers and mumbled “I don’t want to jump. I’m bad at jumping.”
I told her that was fine, we could scrap the trampoline park and do whatever she wanted. She just shrugged, said she didn’t know. I’d been noticing for a while that she’s been shrinking a little lately—refusing to raise her hand in class, turning down a part in the school play, saying she “can’t” before she even tries something. My sister says it’s just 7-year-old social self-consciousness kicking in, but I wanted to do something that didn’t feel like a big awkward talk about “being confident.” Kids smell that forced, well-meaning stuff a mile away.
We ended up staying at my place that day, and I pulled together a handful of low-effort activities that ended up working so well, we’ve kept them as our regular go-tos. First up that day was an adult treasure hunt, where she made all the clues for me. I told her I was too old and slow to make good clues, so she had full control, and the treasure could be whatever she wanted from my pantry. She hesitated at first, said she couldn’t spell right. I told her that was fine, I’d just guess, and if I got it wrong, that meant she’d done a good job hiding it.
She ended up writing clues with half the letters backwards, drawing little stick figures instead of words for each location. The treasure ended up being a pack of sour gummy worms she’d been begging for. When I went to the fridge instead of the couch like her clue hinted, she grabbed my hand and pulled me the right way, laughing so hard she snort-laughed for the first time all day. By the end of it, she’d forgotten she was supposed to be upset about the game. It hit me then that most of the time we do activities with kids where they’re the one being taught, or the one following the rules. Turning that on its head, letting her be the expert even at something silly, gave her a small win that felt entirely hers. No scoring, no criticism, just getting to call the shots. That’s way better than telling her “you’re great at soccer” when she just feels like she messed up.
Another regular activity we do is the bad talent show. I started that after she froze up during her piano recital last spring and refused to finish her song. The rule is simple: every person has to do a talent they’re intentionally bad at. I do a cartwheel I can’t land (I always end up in a heap on the living room floor), my sister sings nursery rhymes off-key, Lila makes up a rap about our family dog that has no rhythm or actual words. We give out construction paper awards for “Worst Act” and “Silliest Mistake,” and Lila usually wins. Last time she brought her award to show and tell, and told her whole class how bad her rap was. 7-year-olds get the message really early that they have to be good at everything to be worth doing. If you mess up, you get embarrassed, so why try? Doing bad on purpose strips all that pressure away. She doesn’t have to be perfect to be the center of attention, and it’s okay for people to laugh at your act—when it’s supposed to be bad, the laugh feels good instead of scary.
A third favorite is our failed baking experiment. Last month we tried to make rainbow sugar cookies, and we totally forgot the baking powder. They came out of the oven flat as frisbees, pale and weird. I almost threw them out and started over, but then I stopped and asked Lila what we should do with them. She thought for a minute, then said we could cut them into shapes anyway and call them “flat rainbow cookies.” We spread peanut butter on them and covered them in sprinkles, and they were actually pretty good. That night she told her dad at dinner that she invented a new recipe. I used to always jump in and fix things for her. If her block tower fell, I’d help her build it back sturdier. If she colored outside the line, I’d gently suggest she stay in. But fixing every mistake sends the message that she can’t handle it when things go wrong. Letting the mistake stand, and letting her figure out what to do next, teaches her that mistakes aren’t disasters—they’re just opportunities to do something weird and fun.
The other four go-tos are just as low-effort: a photo walk where she picks all the subjects (she got a cheap disposable camera for her birthday, and we just wander the block, stopping whenever she wants to take a picture, no comments about what’s “good” or “bad”), letting her plan the entire day from breakfast to bedtime (the only rule is no dangerous stuff, so she once picked oatmeal three days in a row just because she could), a “build the silliest sculpture” challenge out of recycled boxes and tape, and a story-writing game where she makes up all the characters and I just write down what she says.
I tried one of those kids’ confidence workbooks once, with all the worksheets about “naming your good qualities.” She looked at it, said it was homework, and went to watch Bluey. None of these activities require fancy supplies or hours of planning. They just require stepping back a little and letting her lead.
Lila still has bad days. Last week she called me crying because she messed up her art project for the school fair and thought everyone would laugh. She still says “I can’t” before she tries new things half the time. It’s not like a few treasure hunts and bad talent shows fixed all her self-consciousness. That stuff takes time, right? But last night she sent me a photo (through my sister’s phone) of the clues she already wrote for our next treasure hunt this weekend. She even drew a little dragon on the last clue to guard the gummy worms. I don’t know if it’s building confidence or just having fun, but right now, that’s enough.
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