Messy, Low-Effort Stuff I’ve Been Doing With My 7-Year-Old Niece That Might Actually Be Building Confidence
My sister had to jet out for a two-week work training in another state, and since my brother-in-law’s got a new job that can’t give him two weeks off, I got Lila. I don’t have kids of my own, so I immediately panicked. Everyone I mentioned it to went, “Oh, that’s such a great chance to do some confidence building with her! She’s at that age!” And I was like… okay? What does that even mean? I ran to the dollar store the day before she arrived and grabbed one of those cringey self-esteem sticker books that says “I AM AMAZING” all over the cover. Lila flipped through it in the car, drew a mustache on every single illustrated kid on the front and back, and then left it under my coffee table. It’s still there. I haven’t had the heart to throw it away, but it’s pretty clear planned “confidence activities” were not gonna work here.
I’d signed us up for a little kids’ rock climbing class too, because that’s what all the casual mom posts online say builds confidence, right? It got rained out the first week, and Lila looked so relieved when I told her we didn’t have to go that I just canceled the whole thing. She’s scared of heights, anyway, I forgot she told me that at Christmas last year. So instead of doing all the stuff I planned, we just… fumbled around, did whatever dumb thing she asked for. And weirdly, a lot of that dumb stuff feels like it’s done more than any structured class ever could.
I’ve had a stack of junk by my front door for months, stuff I’ve been meaning to bring to Goodwill: a mug I got at a work retreat that says “WORLD’S OKAYEST PROJECT MANAGER” that I hate, a bunch of expired glow sticks from last year’s Fourth of July, a bag of plastic keychains I got at a conference for some reason, old children’s books I don’t need. Lila said we should sell them. I said sure, why not. I told her she could be in charge of everything. She priced the mug at $10, which is absolutely ridiculous, and wrote all the signs in sparkly marker and misspelled “glow sticks” as “glo sticks” and I didn’t correct her. The first 20 minutes, she hid behind my leg every time someone walked by. I didn’t push her to talk, just sat on my porch step drinking sweet tea. Then an old lady who lives three houses down came over to look, and Lila blurted out the price of the mug before I could say anything. The lady played along, haggled her down to $8, and paid up. Lila put the money in her little unicorn purse and vibrated with excitement for like 10 minutes after. After that, she’d lean over the fence and quietly advertise to people walking their dogs. Once a guy stopped and asked for directions to the library, and Lila answered before I could. She told him it was two blocks left when it’s actually two blocks right. I opened my mouth to correct her, and then closed it. He laughed, thanked her, and figured it out. When he left, Lila just shrugged and said “I always mix up those streets” and went back to sorting her keychains. No big deal, no embarrassment. That’s when I thought… oh. That’s the thing, right? I’m always jumping in to fix her mistakes before she even has time to react to them.
Another thing I just let her take charge of is all the snacks. I don’t care if she burns the toast or puts too much peanut butter in the smoothie. Last week she wanted to make green smoothies, and I just pulled everything out and stepped back. She put three whole bananas, an entire bag of spinach, half a jar of peanut butter, and six M&Ms “for extra green magic.” It was so thick you could stand a spoon up in it. It wasn’t good. But we drank it anyway, and I didn’t tell her she did it wrong. She called her mom that night and bragged that she made “a whole meal” all by herself. The next day she tried to make toast and burned it so bad the smoke alarm went off. I didn’t yell, didn’t take the toaster away from her. I just opened all the windows, fanned the alarm, and said “Wanna try another one? I’ll sit with you this time.” She laughed and said “Yeah, that one was too toasty. Next one will be better.” And it was. I used to think confidence was being good at big, hard stuff. But it seems like it’s more like knowing if you mess up a piece of toast, the world doesn’t end, right?
We went to the park last Saturday, and there was a group of seven-year-olds playing fairy princess. Lila stood by the slide for five minutes twisting her hands, wanting to join. I was already standing up to go ask the other kids if she could play, and then she walked over by herself. The lead girl said they already had all the princesses they needed. I was two steps away, ready to intervene, and Lila just said “Okay, well. Do you need a dragon to guard the castle? I’m very good at roaring.” The other kids thought that was the best idea ever. I sat back down on the bench and ate my granola bar and just watched. I almost messed that up, just because I didn’t want her to feel sad. But she solved it herself. That’s way better than me fixing it for her.
My sister comes to get her in three days. I don’t know if any of this stuff is actually “building confidence” that’s gonna stick. Maybe when she goes back home, she’ll go back to being shy about ordering her own food at restaurants, or hiding behind my sister when new people talk to her. That’s okay. I was so worried I’d do this wrong, that I had to check all the boxes for some good aunt confidence building thing. Turns out all the good stuff was just me getting out of the way, mostly. We didn’t do anything fancy. We drew chalk murals on the sidewalk where all the princesses have six arms so they can hold more ice cream. We built a fort out of my old winter blankets that collapsed in the middle of the night, so we slept on the couch and ate cold popcorn for breakfast. We made $17 off the junk sale and she bought a beat-up stuffed sloth from the thrift store that she named Gary, and he’s sitting on my couch right now. It’s not some big amazing transformation. But I’ve seen her go from hiding behind me when people talk to roaring at a group of strangers to get a spot in their game. That’s something, right? I don’t have a neat wrap-up for this. I’m still figuring it out. But if you’re also panicking about doing confidence stuff with your 7-year-old niece? Maybe just skip the sticker books and the expensive classes. Let her price your old mug for $10, let her burn the toast, and don’t step in unless she asks you to. That’s probably enough. (Word count: ~1120)
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