What Should I Tell My Siblings To Get Them To Work Harder? Practical Tips For Caregivers And Older Siblings
The crumbs of two strawberry Pop-Tarts were scattered across the dining table, half a glass of orange juice sweating through a paper coaster, when the yelling started last Saturday. My oldest, Lila, 16, had volunteered to help her younger brother and sister with homework while I folded laundry upstairs, and her voice carried through the hall: “If you would just put the phone down and work harder, you’d be done already!” Twelve-year-old Jax shot back that it was none of her business, and 9-year-old Mia just went back to chewing the eraser off her pencil, ignoring her reading assignment entirely.
When I walked in, Lila spun around to me, chipped navy nail polish from helping me paint the guest bathroom still on her fingers, and asked the question I’d heard a dozen variations of from her, and from other older siblings in our extended family: “What am I supposed to tell them to get them to work harder? Nothing I say works.”
I get it. I was the oldest, 10 years between me and my youngest brother, and I spent my teen years nagging him to turn in his homework, clean his room, study for his driver’s test. I told him the same thing Lila had been telling Jax and Mia: just work harder. It never worked. He’d just shut his bedroom door and turn up his music, and I’d leave frustrated, wondering why he couldn’t just try. It took me years to figure out that “work harder” isn’t a useful instruction. It’s just a complaint, and all it tells the other person is that you’re disappointed in them, not that you’re helping them.
That Saturday, I pulled a chair up to the table, and pointed to Mia’s book first. I asked Lila to try one thing instead of “work harder”: ask what the hard part is. She sighed, but did it, leaning over to Mia’s side: “What’s the hardest part of this reading right now?” Mia mumbled that half the words were too big, and she didn’t want to ask the teacher for an easier book because the other kids would laugh. That’s the thing, most of the time when kids aren’t working, it’s not laziness. It’s being stuck, or embarrassed, or overwhelmed, and they don’t know how to say it. “Work harder” doesn’t fix that. Naming the hard part does. Lila just told Mia they’d take turns reading, and she’d handle all the long words, and Mia started reading 10 minutes later, no dragging.
Then we moved to Jax. Lila’s go-to had always been promising a reward: if you finish your math, I’ll let you borrow my headphones, if you get a B on this test, I’ll help you save for that new skateboard. That works sometimes, but distant rewards don’t motivate half as much as tying the work to something they already care about right now. I suggested she try that instead of another reward. Instead of “work harder on these decimals,” she said, “Wait, decimals are just how you add up the money you make mowing Mr. Henderson’s lawn, right? You’ve been trying to figure out how much you need for that new skateboard. Let’s practice these problems by calculating how much more you need after this week’s jobs.” Jax, who’d been staring at his notebook for 20 minutes, picked up his pencil immediately. He’d been avoiding the work not because he was lazy, but because he’d missed three days of school with flu the week before and didn’t understand how decimals worked, and he didn’t want Lila to think he was stupid.
The other thing that changes everything is letting them see that you struggle too. Lila has always acted like everything comes easy to her, because she wants to be the “good big sister” who has it all together. That makes Jax and Mia think that if they have to work hard at something, they’re just bad at it. Last month, Lila failed her first written driver’s test, and she didn’t hide it from them. She complained that she’d studied for two hours and still messed up all the right of way questions, and she had to study all over again to retake it. After that, Jax said to her, “Wait, you actually have to study hard for stuff too?” Now when one of them is stuck, Lila will say, “I messed this up so bad when I learned it. Look, I still have all my old worksheets where I got every other question wrong. Want me to show you the silly trick I made up to remember it?” That’s way more effective than any “work harder” speech.
I also suggested she stop hovering. Instead of checking in every two minutes to see if they’re working, she can give them a clear small task and 15 minutes of space. “Go finish the first three problems, and I’ll be in the living room scrolling TikTok if you need me” works a lot better than standing over the table reminding them to work every 30 seconds. Kids push back when they feel watched, even if they know they need to get the work done.
After that Saturday, things didn’t magically change. Last night, I heard Lila yelling at Jax again for putting off his clarinet practice for the school band concert. He still leaves his history projects for the night before they’re due, and Mia still hides her book when she’s stuck on a reading assignment. Lila still forgets and falls back on nagging when she’s in a hurry to get done with homework and go hang out with her friends.
But most weekends now, they finish an hour earlier, with a lot less yelling. Lila keeps a little mental note of the things that work: ask for the hard part first, tie the work to what they care about, admit when you mess up too, and give them a little space. It’s not a fix for everything. Some days, they just don’t want to work, and that’s okay too. We’re all still figuring it out, one homework session at a time.
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