How Will They Learn to Handle Hard Things If We Always Let It Go?

It’s one of the most common questions I hear from parents when they start practicing low demand parenting:

“If I keep letting things go… how will they ever learn to deal with hard things?”

I get it. We’re told that childhood is practice for real life. That we’re supposed to prepare our kids by putting the right pressures in place now so that they’ll be ready for what’s coming later. And when we drop demands — when we say “not now” to schoolwork, chores, brushing teeth, playdates, or even just getting off the couch — it can feel like we’re doing the opposite of preparation. Like we’re setting them up to fail.

But here’s what I want you to hear, and maybe even write down and stick to your bathroom mirror:

Your child is already doing hard things. Every day.

For so many of our kids — especially those with PDA profiles, autistic kids, kids with trauma, chronic illness, sensory sensitivities, anxiety, burnout, or any combination of the above — the everyday world is already overwhelming.

• Getting dressed? A sensory minefield.
• Leaving the house? A threat to autonomy.
• Being in the same room as a sibling who chews loudly? A full-blown nervous system overload.

This is hard. This is their practice.

When we “let it go,” we’re not letting them off the hook. We’re letting their nervous system reset. We’re choosing regulation over performance. We’re saying: “I see how hard this is for you. Let’s slow down. Let’s make it doable.”

And yes, eventually, they will need to face challenges. They will need to develop resilience. They will encounter disappointment, discomfort, and even failure.

But they don’t build those skills by being pushed into dysregulation.

They build them when they feel safe, connected, and supported enough to try.

Safety first, always.

Low demand parenting isn’t about avoiding hard things forever. It’s about not forcing them when the cost is too high.

Think of it like physical therapy after a serious injury. You don’t walk on a broken leg the next day and call that “learning to be tough.” You rest. You reduce pressure. You protect the injury. And then, slowly, with care and support, you stretch. You strengthen. You rebuild.

It’s the same here. When we drop a demand, we’re making space for healing.

And here’s something I don’t hear talked about enough:

The transformation doesn’t have to be from “terrible” to “tolerable” to count as growth.

Sometimes the biggest healing comes when our kids move from “meh” to “this is actually kind of awesome.”

From surviving to thriving. From withdrawn and flat to joyful and engaged. From quietly going along with something to bursting out with their own ideas.

Those moments are just as meaningful as going from meltdowns to manageable.

They’re signs of trust, aliveness, curiosity — all the things we want for our kids. And they often only show up when we’ve backed off enough to let safety, rest, and authenticity take the lead.

Yes! Here’s a practical list of ways parents and providers can nurture and celebrate growth from “meh” to “awesome” — specifically attuned to autistic and PDA nervous systems, which thrive on autonomy, safety, novelty on their own terms, and genuine connection.

Practicing “Meh” to “Awesome”

1. Start with safety, then offer spark.
   
   
• Support them when they return to the same show, game, book, or topic again and again.
  
  
• Once they’re regulated in the familiar, offer something adjacent or unexpected — a new mod for their game, a parody of their favorite show, or a surprising twist to their usual routine.
  
  
2. Follow the “huh, that’s interesting” trail.
   
   
• Watch for tiny flickers of curiosity or emotion, even if muted.
  
  
• Ask curious, open-ended questions: “Want to see something weird/funny/cool about that?”
  
  
• Invite them into co-discovery instead of instruction.
  
  
3. Celebrate emotional expression, not outcomes.
   
   
• “I saw your face light up when that happened — I love seeing you enjoy things.”
  
  
• Focus less on finishing a task and more on what made them laugh, sigh, or shout with excitement.
  
  
4. Use sensory joy as a bridge.
   
   
• Introduce silly physical play, satisfying textures, yummy treats, or cozy lighting.
  
  
• Movement and sensory fun can be a powerful path out of flatness and into engagement.
  
  
5. Amplify the power of yes moments.
   
   
• When they say yes to something small (“I’ll come downstairs,” “I want to show you this”), meet it with genuine delight, not pressure to do more.
  
  
• Let those “yeses” expand naturally over time.
  
  
6. Support safe, creative risk-taking.
   
   
• Let them try something new without stakes: “Want to test this out and quit if it sucks?”
  
  
• Make quitting safe — autonomy builds bravery.
  
  
7. Honor the bridge moments.
   
   
• When they move from “I don’t care” to “this is actually kind of fun,” name it gently.
  
  
• “You didn’t seem into it at first, and now look — you’re building a whole thing. That shift was cool.”
  
  
8. Invite storytelling about joy.
   
   
• Ask questions that help them reflect: “What was your favorite part?” “What do you want to remember about that?”
  
  
• Or help them build a collection: a photo log, a list, a voice memo of cool moments.
  
  
9. Model your own “meh to awesome” arc.
   
   
• “I didn’t want to do that Zoom meeting… but it turned out to be kinda great.”
  
  
• Show them it’s okay to start low and end high — and that this is a valid, powerful form of growth.
  
  
10. Let joy count as a sign of progress.
    
    
• You don’t need a worksheet, a badge, or a grade.
  
  
• If they belly-laughed, smiled, got curious, or wanted more — that’s the win.
  
  

Real Resilience

When our kids are ready, they will try. They will stretch.

And when they do, we’ll be there — not saying “finally,” but saying “thank you for trusting me enough to try.”

Real resilience doesn’t come from force. It comes from relationship.

I don’t want my kids to learn that life is hard and you have to just suck it up.

I want them to learn that life can be hard — and they’re not alone. That it’s okay to ask for help. That their feelings matter. That we don’t have to make everything harder just to prove a point.

You can trust your child’s timeline. You can trust their nervous system. You can trust yourself.

Letting go doesn’t mean giving up. It means creating space.

And in that space, healing happens. Capacity grows. Real resilience takes root.

And when the next hard thing comes — the real kind, the ones we don’t get to avoid — they’ll know what to do. Not because we forced them to practice when they weren’t ready.

But because they’ll know they’re safe.

And that makes all the difference.