As I stood before a cohort of eighth graders recently, ready to talk about resilience, I reflected on something their teachers had shared with me––that any grade less than an A could bring tears and worry. I wanted these students to understand that what matters most isn’t found in their answers on a test or thoughts woven throughout a paper, but in how they respond to setbacks—those moments in which they feel “not good enough.” I wanted them to understand that persistence is the goal.
Thinking about the educational landscape we now inhabit, with parents who are more involved and attentive than ever and a level of oversight that can unintentionally limit children’s opportunities to discover their own capabilities, it occurred to me that schools have established systems that too often shield students from the discomfort that builds resilience.
Partnerships with parents, once rooted in collaboration, have increasingly shifted toward pressure for specific accommodations. These accommodations are often supported by detailed neuropsychological documentation that leaves little space for context or differences between educational settings, such as small independent schools versus large public ones.
In trying to meet every need––and prevent every disappointment––teachers revisit grades, rework assignments, and extend deadlines beyond what is reasonable. What was once a meaningful chance to revise can become unlimited time and repeated edits long after a “final draft.” In these moments, grades no longer reflect what a student can do under defined conditions, but what feels most comfortable for students, parents, and educators alike. The result is a culture where struggle is a sign of failure rather than an essential part of learning.
School is the Place to Learn Resilience
Today, many students arrive at school anxious and overwhelmed for reasons we are still trying to unpack, such as the isolation of the COVID pandemic, increasing academic pressure, the belief that the “right” high school leads to the “right” college, to name just a few. Layered on top is the increased use of social media, where curated images of success and perfection leave little room for struggle or uncertainty.
It seems only natural, then, to wonder: if students are already anxious, won't making them do hard things make their anxiety worse? But I would argue that, when approached thoughtfully, the opposite can be true. Learning to manage anxiety in a safe, low-stakes environment is what prepares students for life beyond school. School is the appropriate place to learn that success lies in effort, engagement, and doing one’s best in a given moment. When students internalize this––rather than the idea that a grade on a middle school English paper or even a course grade itself defines them––disappointment no longer feels like “the end” but like information—guidance for what to try next.
As adults, we encounter this constantly. Outcomes fall short. Expectations shift. Rarely do we get unlimited chances to revise until the result feels “just right.” It is resilience that allows us to reengage, adjust, and try again.
I return to my own experience as a student. In seventh-grade English, I was assigned A Tale of Two Cities. I barely understood Dickens’ language or the French Revolution, and I felt completely lost. Still, I worked through it—rereading passages, asking questions, and piecing together meaning. Slowly, themes of sacrifice, duality, and social injustice emerged. I still remember the satisfaction of making sense of something that once felt far beyond me.
My parents didn’t step in to make it easier. They trusted that I could figure it out, and because of that, I did. I don’t remember every plot detail, but I carry a deeper lesson: Struggle is not something to avoid. It is something to move through.
Resilience-Building and Learning Differentiation Can Work in Tandem
I am not suggesting that all students learn in the same way or that every learner should be taught through a single lens. Classrooms are filled with diverse learner profiles and honoring that diversity is essential. As teaching has grown increasingly complex—with increased attention to learning modalities, engagement, and accessibility—differentiation matters. Thoughtfully considered scaffolding is often what allows students to access learning in the first place.
The development of resilience and the need for differentiation are not in conflict with one another. In fact, they work best together. I often consider this through the lens of my daughter’s gymnastics experience. When she competed, early vaults were not about sticking the landing. They were about learning to send her body up and over the horse, gracefully landing flat-backed on a pile of mats. Those mats made success possible. Over time, as understanding and confidence grew, the mats were removed, and precision became the goal.
Without those early supports, the vault would likely have been a failure, not to mention terrifying. With them, she experienced small successes that built confidence and determination. Differentiation should function the same way. Thoughtful supports that create access and early success are necessary, but they should be temporary.
The goal is not permanent cushioning but growing independence. Scaffolding should not remove effort or guarantee success without challenge. Instead, it should illuminate the space where growth is possible, offering layered supports that are intentionally removed as students demonstrate readiness. There will still be imperfect outcomes. A vault won’t always be clean. Deductions happen. That isn’t failure. It’s life.
Life is full of variables we cannot control. Expectations shift. Rubrics change. Outcomes are influenced not only by our effort and ability, but by circumstance and perspective. Learning to accept these realities, and pivot within them, sits at the core of resilience.
The Balance Between Care and Challenge
Cultivating a shared understanding of the role struggle plays in fostering resilience feels more urgent than ever. If we want students to thrive, we must examine our approach through an adaptive lens. This approach asks educators to build perseverance from the outset rather than reacting after discomfort appears. This requires clarity about our goals and a commitment to practices that prioritize grit and determination. It also requires explaining, again and again, that learning is a process, and reengaging with what is difficult is where the most meaningful learning happens.
Administrators play a significant role in this work. How we message to families matters. How we frame struggle as purposeful rather than problematic matters. Standing behind, and at times defending, the experience of learning over the pursuit of a final grade demands clarity, consistency, and a willingness to engage in uncomfortable conversations.
What are we truly trying to accomplish? Which parts of our practice support that aim, and which might stand in the way? When we invite stakeholders, students, parents, and educators to reflect on these questions together, we strengthen both our systems and our capacity to adapt. In the balance between care and challenge lies the foundation of resilience and the kind of learning that endures far beyond the classroom.