My son fell off his scooter the other night. He did not get badly injured, but he scraped his hand and he kept saying how much it hurt. I had the sense it was one of those injuries where you have that constant stinging feeling for a while, and since he hadn’t experienced a scrape like this before, it really bothered him. After some tears, he looked up at me and desperately asked, “Mommy, can you fix it?” 

In that moment I was taken by how it must be such a comforting thought for a small child to think that their caretaker can just magically fix things for them, how as a parent we want to fix things for our children, and how it is a hard and disappointing lesson for our kids (and us caretakers!) to realize that we can’t, and shouldn’t, always fix things. 

As my kids get older and have more hours away from me, it is terrifying to think of all of the things that can go wrong and are out of my control. Whether it’s the idea of them falling off the monkey bars, another peer teasing them, or something even scarier, when I think of these things all I want to do is keep my kids close to me forever or, failing that, put them in their own little protective bubbles before I send them out into the world. Unfortunately, I realize I can’t prevent or fix every problem for them, and even if I could, it would not prepare them for life. As cliche as it may sound, these bumps and bruises along the way really do help our kids to grow. Whether it is a physical injury they experience and their bodies learn how to heal themselves, or a conflict between siblings or peers in which they learn how to better navigate relationship challenges, kids, just like adults, use their hurts and pains to learn, grow, and be better able to handle future challenges. Of course our children need our support and guidance through this process, but I have often found that when I step back and don’t try to fix things, my kids gain a lot more by using their own problem solving skills to work through their own solutions.

As my son asked me, “Mommy, can you fix it?” I got down to his level and with a soft voice I said, “I’m sorry sweetie, I know it must really hurt. I can definitely help, but I can’t fix it and make it go away.” It was amazing how, even though he was a little disappointed, he was able to take a few moments and then ask for an ice pack. I could see how proud he was of himself too for coming up with his own idea for something that could help. I offered lots of hugs and a bandaid, and he gladly accepted, and then moved on with his night. I didn’t fix anything, and that was okay. My son fixed it, and got stronger in doing so.