I wish I hadn’t been praised so much as a child

In childhood, I felt I had to succeed or I would let my dad down (Picture: Nicky Bamber Photography)

Growing up, I was often praised for my memory.  

‘You never forget anything,’ my dad would say, proudly pointing it out to teachers, family friends, and other adults we met. I remember their faces lighting up, as if I was doing something remarkable simply by being myself. 

I was described as bright, quick, observant.  

On my seventh birthday, I was given The Memory Book, a guide to further improving your memory. 

I tried to memorise the order of a shuffled deck of cards. I struggled, but I kept practicing. I wanted to impress. I felt I had to succeed or I would let my dad down.  

The praise I received never sat easily. It felt disconnected from who I actually was. I began to sense I was being admired for a version of myself I did not fully recognise.  

I’m now a psychotherapist and divorce coach, and I see this habitual praise in the parents I work with. 

In my opinion, praising children constantly isn’t necessarily a good thing (Picture: Eve Stanway)

Many of these parents are doing their best to raise their children differently – more gently, more consciously, more attentively – than they were raised themselves. They want their children to feel confident, and I can hardly blame them for that. 

But in my opinion, praising children constantly isn’t necessarily a good thing. In fact, it can be quite the opposite. 

I was also complimented for being a confident reader. I read adult books by authors like Dick Francis and Frederick Forsyth at eight years old, but no one ever asked what I thought about the stories or whether I understood them. 

I was praised for being helpful, which I was, but mostly because I was frightened of making a mistake. I helped to avoid trouble and disapproval. I stayed quiet. I listened more than I spoke. 

I became the good girl. The clever girl. The one who tried hard, always – and the one with the astonishing memory.  

But what no one saw was that my memory was not a gift. It was a defence. 

My childhood was marked by instability and relentless movement. My parents bought a boat, and we lived on it, sailing oceans, docking in unfamiliar harbours. I changed schools at least 11 times before I turned 11. 

I had no fixed address, no reliable friendships, no place that felt consistent.

In that context, remembering things became my way of surviving. I paid close attention because I had to. If I could remember the rules and expectations, and if I got things right, maybe I would be accepted in each new place and by each new teacher. 

No one realised this. 

What they saw was a child doing well. A child who seemed capable, thoughtful, helpful. I was praised for traits that were, in truth, survival strategies. 

The effect was quiet but deep. I learned to confuse approval with connection, performance with safety. I disappeared into the person adults seemed to want me to be.  

That early life of careful observation made training as a psychotherapist, and later as a divorce and breakup coach, feel like a natural step. 

For more than 25 years, I have worked with individuals and families, many of them navigating separation, grief, and the complexities of parenting – and I see this pattern often.

I disappeared into the person adults seemed to want me to be (Picture: Naomi Koji-Paton of Koji Cam)

Children praised for being clever stop asking questions for fear of sounding foolish. Children praised for being creative become afraid to take risks. In some families, one child receives so much praise that a quieter sibling learns to shrink.  

Often, this begins with love. Most parents want to do better than their own parents did. Many say, ‘I never heard a kind word growing up. I want my child to feel celebrated.’ 

That instinct is understandable. Yet praise, especially when constant or misplaced, can create pressure. Children internalise that they must keep performing, even when they feel tired, confused, or sad. 

I work with many parents who want to raise emotionally secure children (Picture: Nicky Bamber Photography)

This was my experience. 

When children link their sense of self to achievement, failure feels like falling out of favour with your parents, or worse, losing some of their love.  

This pressure becomes more acute in families facing divorce or conflict. Children in these situations already carry more than they should. If they believe that love is conditional – earned through being clever, helpful or impressive – they may stop expressing how they truly feel. 

They learn to over-function. To over-perform. They grow up too soon, just as I did.  

So what can we do instead?  

We can shift from praise to presence. Instead of saying, ‘You are amazing,’ we can say, ‘I noticed how focused you were.’ Instead of ‘You are so clever,’ we can ask, ‘What part did you enjoy?’ or ‘Was there anything that felt difficult?’ 

This kind of curiosity builds connection without pressure. It gives children space to grow into who they really are, not who we believe or hope they might become. 

It lets them experiment, take risks, get things wrong, and rest.  

I work with many parents who want to raise emotionally secure children. This is one of the ways we do that – by helping them feel seen, rather than scored. We frame failure as feedback. We celebrate the courage to try. 

Our children do not need us to tell them who they are. They need us to walk beside them, gently, as they begin to find out for themselves.  

Do you have a story you’d like to share? Get in touch by emailing [email protected]. 

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