Trying to figure out fun confidence-boosting stuff for my 7-year-old niece, here’s what actually worked (and what flopped hard)
I got asked this by my sister’s friend the other day, and it made me think because I’ve been fumbling through this for six months now. Lila’s always been shy, but after her parents split, she got even quieter—used to belt out Taylor Swift covers in the Target parking lot, now she tucks herself behind my back if a stranger says hi. I get her every other weekend, so I wanted to do more than just order pizza and rewatch Bluey for the hundredth time, y’know? Everyone says “build her confidence” like it’s a box you check off, so I tried the fancy rec center confidence class first. Total disaster. The leader made every kid stand up and announce their favorite thing about themselves to the whole room. Lila just stood there, squeezing my hand so hard her stick-on birthday acrylic popped off, and she wouldn’t say a word. We left early, she cried into her chicken nuggets in the car, I felt like an idiot for signing us up.
After that I stopped looking for “intentional confidence activities” and just started doing dumb stuff that let her call the shots, and weirdly that’s where the good stuff happened. First thing that surprised me was the cookie stand we did back in July. I suggested it as a dumb way to get rid of the extra flour I had sitting in my pantry, I didn’t think it would be anything. She insisted we add crushed sour cream and onion chips to half the batch, said “salty and sweet is trendy.” I argued for five minutes, then let her do it. She made the sign herself, misspelled cookies as “COOKES” and drew a lopsided purple cat in the corner. We set up a folding table on my porch. I was fully ready to do all the talking, but the first guy that stopped was Mr. Henderson from down the street, who gardens all day and always waves. He asked what kind of cookies we had, and before I could open my mouth, Lila said “the chip ones are my favorite, you should get that one.” She even gave him an extra chip cookie for free. He bought two, said it was the best thing he’d eaten all summer, and I swear she walked a little taller when he left. It wasn’t all perfect—when a group of bike kids stopped, she hid behind the porch column and made me handle it. But that night when we counted the money, she had four dollars and seventy five cents in her sparkly piggy bank, and she told her mom on the phone “I ran the whole cookie stand.” I didn’t have to teach her anything, she just figured out she could do it.
Another thing we do is the backyard talent show, just the two of us. I made the mistake of inviting my neighbor’s kid once, and Lila wouldn’t go on, so now it’s just us. I’m always the opening act. I do a terrible magic trick where I try to get a quarter from behind her ear and drop it, then I trip over the patio rug on my way off. She laughs so hard she snorts, which is the best sound in the world. Then she’s the headliner. She does dances to whatever Disney song is stuck in her head that week, or she reads me the comic she drew in school, or she shows me how she can do a cartwheel (she still can’t land it without falling on her butt, but that’s the point). Once I did that thing all adults do, where I said “you’re the best dancer ever!” and she just frowned and went back to playing. The next time I said “I loved how you stuck your tongue out when you spin— I do that too when I’m concentrating” and her whole face lit up. I realized I’d been doing that empty praise thing this whole time, y’know? It doesn’t mean anything to her. Noticing the tiny, dorky stuff she does matters way more.
I tried that indoor rock climbing place for kids a month ago, that everyone said was great for confidence. Total flop, or so I thought. She got halfway up the easiest wall, froze, and wouldn’t move an inch. I kept saying “you got it!” which just made her more upset. Finally I told the instructor to lower her down. I was beating myself up the whole drive home, like why did I push her to do something that scared her that bad? Then we stopped for slushies on the way home, and she was sucking on her blue raspberry one and said “that was fun, even though I didn’t get to the top. I didn’t think I’d even get that high, right?” So it wasn’t the big win I wanted, but it was her win, I guess.
The other day I let her plan the whole day, every single decision. She wanted McDonald’s for breakfast (against her mom’s “no fast food before noon” rule, I’m a cool aunt, whatever), then dollar store for three cheap slimes and a plastic tiara, then the park in the rain even though I was wearing brand new white sneakers. A little kid ran up and grabbed a piece of her duck bread out of her hand, and normally she would’ve run to me crying. This time she stood there, hands on her hips, and said “that’s my bread. If you ask nicely, I’ll give you a piece. You can’t just take it.” The kid’s mom made him say sorry and he asked, and she gave him a piece. I just stood there and didn’t say anything. It was so small, but it felt like a big thing.
I don’t have any neat advice, honestly. She still hides behind me when the barista asks her what she wants. She still says “I can’t do it” before she even tries to tie her shoes. I still get it wrong sometimes, push her when I shouldn’t, check my phone when I’m supposed to be paying attention. But I think that’s okay. Confidence isn’t making her never be scared anymore, right? It’s just letting her know that if she wants to try something, she can, and if she doesn’t, that’s okay too. Last week at the ice cream shop, she mumbled her order to me instead of the kid behind the counter. I didn’t make her repeat it. When we left, she grabbed my hand and said “next time I’ll say it myself.” And I believe her. That’s enough for me, right now.
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