No.

There’s something fascinating about children. About all of us, really.

We don’t develop in the same way, or on the same timeline. Not even close. There isn’t a single moment in our development that happens at the exact same time for everyone. We have windows, but even those can stretch by months or years.

Take the prefrontal cortex, for example. This is the part of the brain responsible for self-regulation, decision-making, planning, and working memory. It generally matures last, well into our mid-twenties. But some people reach these milestones years before or after others. It’s the same with first words. Some children are chatting before their first birthday, others don’t speak much until they’re three or four. Walking? Same thing. Some toddlers take off running early; others wait, quite sensibly, until they're ready.

Puberty, too. Hormonal changes that can begin as early as age 8 or as late as 15. That’s a seven-year window that’s still entirely within the bounds of healthy development.

And these differences aren’t just individual. They often show up along gender lines too. For instance, research suggests that, on average, girls might develop language skills a bit earlier, while boys may show early interest in physical tasks. But these are broad trends. Not rules. There’s a huge range within each group, and individual differences often outweigh any pattern.

Now imagine we run a giant, perfectly controlled experiment. Every child eats the same food, gets the same sleep, has the same social interactions, watches the same shows, plays the same games. We control for everything we possibly can.

Would they then develop in the same way?

Nope. Not even close.

There are simply too many things we can’t control. Genetics, hormones, brain wiring, the rate at which synapses form or prune, the timing of growth spurts. Even the way different areas of the brain develop varies. Some kids show early strength in emotional regulation, others in movement or memory. The pace and intensity of development are unique to them.

So Why Does This Matter?

Because our mainstream education system often forgets all of this.

From birth, there’s pressure for children to hit milestones "on time." Sleep schedules, step counts, first words, handwriting, reading levels. Everything gets tracked in apps and compared. If a child seems a bit behind? In come the interventions, the checklists, the expert opinions. Often well-meaning, but fueled by stress.

There’s often quiet peer pressure among parents and caregivers. Unspoken comparisons that can create stress and worry. It’s completely understandable to seek advice or support; we all want to do what’s best for our children. But sometimes, in the rush to “keep up,” we forget just how wide the range of typical really is. We pay money for consultations, for sleep training experts, for extra tuition.

Here’s the truth: there is no single “normal” time for a child to learn something. The windows are wide. And children, in their own delightful way, often defy them.

Then comes school. Some children arrive already carrying labels: behind, delayed, needs support. And the pressure ramps up. The older they get, the narrower the windows become. The system wants them to know the same things, in the same way, by the same age.

Yet we don’t always meet children where they are: physically, emotionally, socially, or cognitively. Instead, we place them into systems that value standardisation. Grouping, sorting, and labelling based on age and output. It’s not that educators don’t care. They do, deeply. But the system itself can unintentionally create pressure that doesn’t always align with what we know about how children grow and learn.

And when they aren’t ready? It affects how they see themselves. Their confidence. Their self-worth.
They may start to believe they’re not enough, when really, they’re just on a different schedule.

A few years ago, I was working in a school where new leadership brought new systems. Interventions were launched. Maths and English, of course. Lists were made. Gaps were identified. As if children’s minds were blank spaces waiting to be filled.

One day, the adult running the intervention came into my classroom with their list.

A child’s name was called.

She didn’t move.

Her name was called again.

Still nothing.

Then came her response: “No.”

The adult looked to me to step in.

But I didn’t.

“She doesn’t want to go,” I said simply.

And that was that. She stayed in the classroom.

In that moment, the young girl went against the grain. It took courage. It is something we can all learn from.