We don’t know how we’re growing

Kids these days are able to talk freely about puberty, but it’s still hard to go through it. (British Library)

When my little cousin went to preschool for the first time, she had a wonderful experience.

Nevertheless, as she was leaving at the end of the day, she said loudly to her mother, “I didn’t learn anything.”

Hopefully, that made her teachers (and the school director) laugh. Regardless of what the child’s expectations were, she definitely learned something. It’s just that the things she learned — adapting to unfamiliar surroundings, navigating play with a group of new children, turn-taking, following a routine — were not things she was likely to be looking out for. Ironically, children aren’t experts in child development.

We adults aren’t immune to this phenomenon either. Though we can pinpoint obvious learning and change, we don’t always know how we’re growing in a given season of life. We might not understand what we’ve learned or how we’ve transformed until we look back on the experience later — and even then, we might take it for granted, given that we are now looking through a different lens.

Often, learning brings with it discomfort, uncertainty, and frustration. And even if we’ve undertaken this learning process voluntarily, we might resist it. We want to to do things the way we’ve always done them. We want to move through a predictable sequence, checking off boxes and feeling the satisfaction of accomplishment.

While learning can certainly happen in these safe, easy-to-measure ways, that is not the only way. As a teacher and coach, I’m looking out for another level of engagement. I’m noticing, for instance, a greater willingness to ponder open-ended questions without needing an answer right away. A lessening in the tendency to jump to conclusions (particularly self-blame) when confronting a challenging problem. An openness to questioning assumptions. A deeper tolerance for ambiguity and the persistence to move through it. An enhanced mindfulness, allowing the person to slow down and be present in their own process.

This learning can be ecstatic and joyful, but it can also be painful. While I try to be there and present with the learner, I can’t always be. And I can’t always fix the negative feelings. They aren’t necessarily a sign that something is wrong.

I don’t want to leave anyone hanging out there on a limb for no reason. That said, maybe it will feel like no reason to them. Maybe it will feel like needless cruelty. After all, when a second-grader asks me “How much longer until...?” I will guide them through the process of reading the clock and figuring it out instead of telling them the answer outright.

The thinking they’ll have to do is uncomfortable, and I want them to experience that discomfort. Like a personal trainer, I’m helping them to exercise muscles that wouldn’t otherwise be doing this heavy lifting. The more often they do it, the easier it gets.

Most of us don’t like this process if we don’t understand what’s happening. Sometimes, we hate it even when we do understand what’s happening. However, letting us do our own work — our own thinking, our own heavy lifting — is how teachers and coaches facilitate growth, however sadistic and callous it may seem.

While I try to reflect these signs of growth back to the person I’m working with, they aren’t going to be able to see all of it. They’re in it. We can’t perceive ourselves fully, which is why it’s so beneficial to have a teacher or coach in the first place. We’re hoping that they will be able to see what we can’t see.

Allowing someone else into our process makes us vulnerable. It’s a relationship that requires a great deal of trust — often, despite weak apparent results, as my young cousin discovered. Luckily, she was willing to go back again to give the school another shot. I’ve been grateful, over the years, that my students and clients have stuck around, too.

If you’re experiencing frustration or overwhelm, it’s possible you’re in the middle of a period of growth. It’s also possible that you won’t know exactly what is happening to you and how it is transforming you for quite some time. Despite the temptation you may feel to rush through it as quickly as possible, an alternative is to sit with it, observe it, lean into it.

It’s hard. Painful, even. If it makes you feel any better, I’m over here going through the same thing. I’ll let you know what it means when I figure it out.