I Watched My 7-Year-Old Niece For 4 Days And Tried To Sneak In Some Confidence Building. Here’s What Actually Happened.
My sister had a last minute work conference out of state last month, and Lila, her 7-year-old, ended up staying with me. I’m the cool aunt, right? I’m the one who brings extra candy on holidays and lets her watch an extra episode of Bluey after bedtime. So I was fine with it, until my sister texted me the night before she left, all awkward: “She’s been really quiet at school lately, won’t raise her hand even when she knows the answer. Got any ideas to… I don’t know, help her feel a little braver?”
Cool aunt status just got a little more pressure, right? I don’t know anything about confidence building. I still get nervous ordering coffee over the phone if it’s a new place. But I figured I’d give it a shot, no big formal therapy stuff, just stuff that might let her feel like she’s in charge for once. First thing I tried was that sidewalk chalk obstacle course I saw someone do on Instagram. I drew all these neat little lines for hopping, balancing, spinning. I even set up a little cone jump. I showed Lila, and she just stood there, scuffing her foot on the concrete, and said it was too hard. I was about to redo it, when I just thought, wait. What if you make it for me?
Oh my god, that’s the best thing I could’ve said. She lit up immediately. Grabbed the chalk out of my hand and started drawing all over the driveway, no rules. She made me crawl under the lawn chair, step on every single yellow dandelion, do three cartwheels in a row, and sing the Bluey theme song at the top of my lungs at the end. I can’t do cartwheels. I tried, and I fell straight back onto my butt into a patch of clover. She laughed so hard she snort-laughed, and then she had to get down and show me how to do it properly. She didn’t even notice she was teaching me something, standing there in her sparkly rain boots, correcting my form. We did that course three times, her as the coach every time. By the end, the whole thing was smudged from our feet, and we were both sweaty, but she wouldn’t stop talking about how I got better at the cartwheel by the third try.
The next day we went to the local Goodwill for the outfit swap challenge I made up on the spot. Five dollars each, pick an outfit for the other person, and you have to wear it out for the rest of the day. She was nervous at first, kept holding up different shirts and asking if I’d like it. I just told her I’d wear anything she picked, no complaints. She ended up putting me in a neon pink fanny pack, a sequined baseball cap that says “World’s Best Fisherman”, and a tiny kids’ unicorn t-shirt that cut off at my waist. It was ridiculous. I looked like a walking birthday party that got lost on a fishing boat. But I put it on, and we went to get ice cream at the place down the street. Halfway through our cones, I saw her spot a boy from her class across the shop. She ducked behind me for half a second, then popped out, grabbed my hand, and dragged me over to show him her creation. She was so proud. I got her a huge purple sparkly raincoat that’s two sizes too big, and she wears it around my place as a princess cape every time she comes over now.
I tried one thing that was a total flop, for the record. I saw this confidence journal idea where you write down three good things you did every day. I got a cheap notebook from the dollar store, set it out after dinner, and asked her to write hers. She just drew a picture of a fart, labeled it “my good thing”, and closed the book. We never touched it again. Some stuff just doesn’t land, that’s okay.
The community center near my place does a beginner aunt-kid pottery class on Wednesdays, so I signed us up. I was worried it’d be too much, all those people and a teacher asking questions. She hid behind my leg when the teacher came over to ask what we were making. I was about to say we can leave, when the teacher turned around and knocked a whole bucket of wet clay right onto the floor. It made this huge splat, and Lila burst out laughing. She couldn’t stop, actually, and then she told the teacher how she spilled an entire jar of silver glitter all over her mom’s carpet last month, and no one has found all of it yet. Next thing I know, she’s showing the whole table her lopsided bowl she’s making for my gummy bears. She told everyone how I love sour gummy bears, and the bowl is just the right size. It came out of the kiln perfect, actually, way better than my lopsided mug that cracked down the middle. I keep that bowl on my desk at work.
I went into this whole week thinking I needed to fix her shyness, like confidence is a thing you can build with a few fun activities and boom, she’s raising her hand every class. That’s not what happened. When her mom came back, Lila still said she doesn’t want to raise her hand too much because what if she gets the answer wrong. Last week, her mom texted me that she raised her hand once, to tell the class about the penguin story we made up on the rainy day when we couldn’t go outside. (We made up a whole story about a penguin who lived in a lemon tree and became an art teacher, she got to write the ending.) That’s it. One hand raise. That’s not a big dramatic win, but it’s something.
I don’t have any fancy advice, honestly. I thought confidence building would be all positive affirmations and worksheets and stuff. But it was just letting her be the boss sometimes, letting me look silly so she can feel strong, not making fun of her ideas even if they’re weird. It’s okay that it’s not fixed. She’s 7. She gets to be shy sometimes. We’re just gonna keep doing dumb stuff, falling off cartwheels, wearing ugly outfits, and making penguin stories. That’s enough for me, anyway.
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