A few years ago, when our dog was still an energetic puppy, I used to take him to the forest to burn off some energy. I liked it because dogs could be off lead. And we rarely saw people. It was a time when our little dog was still learning how to be in the world. This was a safe, quiet place, far from the overstimulation of city parks, where he could do just that.
Towards the end of one morning walk, we were moving towards a man and his two black spaniels. Usually, out of habit, I’d call my dog to me and put him on the lead. I didn’t want him making a bad decision, or stressing out the other dogs.
As I called him, the man, dressed in full tweed hunting attire, raised his hand and called out to me, asking me to wait.
“Wait. Let the dogs make a decision.”
That’s all he said. I listened. Maybe it was his calmness, or the clarity of his voice. There was no panic, no tension. Just stillness.
So I didn’t put my dog on the lead. He bounded over to greet the spaniels. The older dogs lay down quietly while the puppy yelped and bounced around in excitement. After a few moments, they sniffed each other, lost interest, and wandered off in different directions.
I realised then that I had been micromanaging. In trying to stop my dog from making bad decisions, I’d been preventing him from making any decisions at all.
Now, dogs aren’t children, but that moment stayed with me. Because when adults interact with children, we often do the same thing. We intervene. We hover. We correct. We’re desperate to help them get it right, and in doing so, we take away their chance to figure it out. We add pressure. We interrupt learning.
Sometimes we ask a child to do something, but jump in before they’ve had time to process what we’ve said. So we repeat the instruction, maybe a bit louder, or with a hint of frustration. And now the child not only has to start over in processing what we’re saying, they also have to navigate the emotional tone behind it.
As a general rule, young children need around 10 to 15 seconds to process and act on a basic instruction. It feels like a long time. Because it is. They have to hear the words, understand them, work out what they mean, decide if they want to do it, and then physically respond. For some neurodivergent children, particularly those with sensory or language processing differences, this time might be much longer. I’ve waited 30 seconds before for a child to respond. And they did.
Now factor in background noise. A cluttered environment. Emotions. Worries. Sensory overload.
Listening, understanding, and acting all get harder.
So maybe, if we want to give children back some autonomy, and ease some of the pressure, we need a new rule of thumb: say less, speak clearly, and give as long as is needed for a response. Even if it feels like forever.
Just like the man in tweed did for me and the dogs.
Once the dogs had decided what they wanted to do, the man told me I’d hate my dog during the teenage phase, but I’d love him again after that. He was right about that too.
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