Getting over the fear of not measuring up

How nuts are you, exactly? (Image by andreas N from Pixabay)

How nuts are you, exactly? (Image by andreas N from Pixabay)

The human obsession with measurement is everywhere, and starts from our earliest moments. Our height and weight and Apgar scores are recorded when we are born. We are measured repeatedly throughout our childhoods, tracked for every developmental milestone and compared to others according to percentiles in every attribute.

A parent can become fearful about a child’s future if the child appears to be “behind” in some way. However, the truth is that we are all very different, and these measurements only go so far in helping us to identify potential problems caused by those differences.

If one child learns to sit up at five months of age and another is delayed until seven months, the child who sat at five months is not ultimately a better sitter than the other. If one child speaks in full sentences at eleven months and the other isn’t speaking full sentences until 24 months, it doesn’t mean that, twelve years later, the one is better at speaking than the other.

Sure, we all have our strengths, and some people go on to achieve far more than their peers in a given area. But if a basic competency is needed in a skill (like learning to not pee in your pants), the eventual competency is what matters. My mom used to say about my brother, “I figure he’s not going to be wearing a diaper at his wedding.” As far as I know, he was not. A delay does not necessarily indicate that this competency will not be met.

Unfortunately, delays are interpreted this way all the time. I have spoken with so many parents who believe that their children are “tone deaf” because they haven’t developed a strong sense of pitch (that is, being able to sing a melody accurately) by the age of four. Worse, parents use this as justification for not pursuing any music instruction, which means that the child won’t have the opportunity to learn. The reality is that the timeline of learning to sing, like any other skill, is variable among humans, and all is not lost if the kid isn’t ready for America’s Got Talent by kindergarten.

All of this measuring and assessing places pressure on children, who are susceptible to suggestion and whose reality can be fundamentally altered by the repeated statements and beliefs of those around them. These days, it would be unthinkable for most of the parents and teachers I know to call a child stupid, hopeless, or weak; we’ve at least come that far. However, these same adults think nothing of calling a child smart, talented, brave, or strong — and these “positive” labels are also harmful. According to Carol Dweck, these labels reinforce the idea that our traits are static and unchanging (a “fixed mindset”), leading children to avoid doing anything that might prove the label to be false.

The solution to all of these problems is to focus on process instead of product. Where are the bright spots? Where is progress being made? Where is effort evident?

Your sixteen-month-old was interested in a picture in the book and let you read two pages before he ran away.

A third-grader only whined for ten minutes about a homework assignment — down 50% from last week!

The choir maintained a warm, full-bodied sound for a whole phrase of music — and after the cutoff, they didn’t all start talking.

The dog in her picture looks more like a centipede, but she’s drawing a new one every day.

A soccer team still isn’t winning, but their dribbling and passing is improving.

The baby isn’t sitting up yet, but she’s babbling up a storm and waving her arms and legs around.

If we praise the bright spots, progress, and effort we see, we will see more of it. There will be more of it as people respond to the attention and positive reinforcement; we will also be able to discern more of it with practice, as we let go of the labels and outcomes that take us away from the moment.

We’ll be able to approach external measurements with less fear and more perspective. It’s more data, but it’s not the only data we care about. Charts, test scores — they don’t scare us.

The things we most value — joy, connection, beauty, love — exist beyond measure.