When I was at school, I would never tell the teacher when I had finished the task for the lesson. I’d either slow down and stretch the work to fill the time or just sit quietly. I didn’t fancy getting more of the same. It was much nicer to relax, chat to friends, and just be. Something in my gut told me that was right. I’d done the work. Now it was time for me.
Homework was the same. If I could do it at school, I would. If I couldn’t, it probably wouldn’t get done. Evenings were for recharging: sports, playing outside, gaming. Time where I had full autonomy.
In hindsight, I was incredibly lucky. I did well at school despite being in a very disadvantaged area. Nobody chased me for homework. So I didn’t do it. I now have four degrees.
I remember a moment, years later, as a teacher. A nine-year-old girl had finished her class task and came up to me.
“I’ve finished. What should I do now?”
“Excellent. Anything you like.”
“Really?” She looked stunned. It made me realise how rare that answer must be.
“Yes! You can draw, read, nap — whatever you want.”
A huge smile lit up her face. I didn’t hear from her for the rest of the session. And honestly, I didn’t hear that question much after that, from anyone. Once children realise they have freedom after finishing their work, they use it. Some brought in their own art supplies. Some grabbed laptops to catch up on sports scores. Others read. Some just chatted.
And I started to realise that this was modelling something important. Something essential. That it’s okay to prioritise yourself. To regulate. To rest. That “me time” isn’t a reward. It’s a need.
Modern brain science backs this up. Research on cognitive load shows that the brain can only process a limited amount of information before efficiency drops. Without breaks, learning and being together become harder. Stress rises. Neuroscientists have also found that during periods of rest, especially if it is unstructured, the brain’s default mode network activates. This network is linked to creativity, memory consolidation, emotional processing, and self-reflection. In other words, “doing nothing” is actually doing something vital. Daydreaming is vital. We learn and remember more. We are better able to relate and avoid conflict.
And yet, we continue to overschedule children. From back-to-back lessons to tightly structured after-school activities, many children now go through entire days without a moment that is truly their own. Psychologists like Peter Gray have warned about the consequences of this: rising anxiety, declining creativity, and fewer opportunities to build internal motivation. Children need time when they are unmonitored, unstructured, and in charge of their own choices. It’s in those quiet, autonomous moments that identity forms and emotional regulation grows.
I think about the world we're preparing children for. A world where hustle culture is glorified, where emails are sent well into the night, where rest is mistaken for laziness. But that’s not the world I want to model. I want to show kids that it’s okay to stop. That there’s dignity in doing a task well and then resting. That downtime isn't a luxury. It's a right.
We can model something different. We can show what it looks like to take breaks. To rest. To enjoy the reward of time spent well. To make space for friendships, hobbies, quiet. To treat mental health as a priority. Not an afterthought. To do this with the knowledge that it benefits ourselves and those around us.
I truly believe this is some of the most important work we can do as educators and adults: showing children how to live happily and healthily. Not just how to work.
Comments
Post a Comment