When a mom saw her son miss the game-tying shot at his basketball match, she didn’t leap to tell him how great he played anyway. She didn’t offer a forced smile or a trophy for trying. She walked beside him in silence until he spoke first. And when he did, she was ready to not to fix it and spin it into a win, she was there to listen.
This is the difference between cheering from the sidelines and being there, truly there. Between applause and presence. One fades when the music stops. The other builds something deeper.
In a culture obsessed with affirmation, and where everyone gets a participation trophy, praise has become the default parenting tool. Stickers, stars, “You’re amazing!”. They’re handed out like candy. But research like Carol Dweck’s shows that the way children are praised can impact how they learn, how they’re demotivated and how they ultimately perform. Praising effort and strategies allow for growth, where as praising intelligence can crate a fixed mindset. What this means is overpraising can actually undermine motivation, shrink resilience, and erode a child’s ability to assess their own performance. Presence, on the other hand, is quiet, enduring, and foundational. It tells your child, “You’re not alone in this. I see you. I’m here.”
The Problem with Praise Overload
Praise isn’t inherently bad. But like sugar, too much of the wrong kind can rot the system. When kids hear, “You’re so smart!” or “You’re the best!” after every effort, they start chasing the compliment instead of the growth.
Carol Dweck’s research at Stanford on growth mindset illustrates this beautifully. Her studies show that children praised for intelligence become more likely to avoid difficult tasks, while those praised for effort are more resilient and curious. Over time, kids can develop what psychologists call “praise dependence,” needing external validation to feel good about themselves. That’s a risky foundation for a future filled with feedback, competition, and real-world disappointment.
Too much praise also hijacks self-awareness. If every performance is “incredible,” kids lose the ability to distinguish between good, great, and just okay. Instead of developing internal standards, they lean on others to tell them how they’re doing.
This isn’t about withholding affirmation. It’s about moving from reflexive cheerleading to intentional connection.
Why Parental Presence Outperforms Parental Praise
Presence is a different kind of feedback. It says, “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.” It allows space for failure, for questions, for complexity. It helps a child build their internal compass.
Psychologist Dr. Dan Siegel, author of The Whole-Brain Child, emphasizes the power of “attunement” - the process of deeply understanding and connecting with your child’s emotional state. He writes that when parents respond with presence rather than performance assessment, children develop stronger emotional regulation and more secure attachment. This, in turn, lays the groundwork for higher resilience and stronger relationships later in life.
In our home, this looked like letting our daughter sit in silence after being excluded from a friend group. No advice. No “They don’t deserve you.” Just presence. Eventually, she asked what to do. We didn’t have a perfect answer, but we had something better: a conversation about boundaries, self-worth, and how it’s okay not to be liked by everyone. That moment taught her far more than a dozen “you’re amazing” stickers ever could.
When it's Best for a Parent to Show Up Instead of Speak Up
Presence works best in uncomfortable moments. When a child fails a test, when they cry after being benched or when they bomb the audition, these are the places where praise feels hollow and presence feels powerful.
In a study published in Child Development, researchers found that children whose parents offered empathic responses during disappointment showed more emotional regulation and problem-solving capacity. Instead of rushing in to praise or distract, these parents created space. That space builds muscle.
This isn’t silence for silence’s sake. It’s engaged attention. You can be fully present with a single nod, with the question, “Want to talk about it?” or even with just a hand on the back during the ride home. It’s about showing them they’re seen, without requiring them to perform.
Timing matters. Right after a meltdown isn’t the time for a pep talk. But later, when the intensity has cooled, your presence in unpacking the experience helps them build their own narrative. That story becomes part of their identity: not “I failed,” but “I got through something hard, and someone was there.”
How to Practice Parental Presence at Every Age
With toddlers, it’s sitting beside them during a tantrum, saying little more than “I’m here.” That grounding presence, according to Dr. Tina Payne Bryson, co-author of The Power of Showing Up, teaches emotional safety and co-regulation.
With school-age children, presence means staying engaged during the messy middle—not just showing up for the award ceremony, but for the failed science project. When they look for cues on how bad something really is, your calm presence tells them, “This moment is survivable.”
With tweens and early teens, presence often looks like restraint. No lectures after a rough day. No immediate solutions. Just being in the same room, available. Dr. Lisa Damour, author of Untangled, calls this “non-intrusive availability,” and says it’s one of the most powerful forms of support for adolescents navigating complex emotions and social terrain.
In our house, it means watching our middle-schooler scroll through her phone after a rough day, and waiting for the moment she wants to share. She knows we’re not going to demand a download. She knows we’re here. That knowing is everything.
Redefining Success: Less Applause, More Anchoring
Here’s what’s ironic: the more we praise kids for being great, the more we distract them from becoming great. Real growth happens in the effort, the reflection and the recovery. It does not happen with the applause.
Presence doesn’t erase fear or failure. But it gives it context. It says, “You can feel this. You can learn from it. And you don’t have to go through it alone.” That’s what builds grit. That’s what teaches them to be their own biggest supporter. This will last long after we stop showing up to every game.
This approach doesn’t mean we stop celebrating our kids. It means we celebrate with intention. We witness, we engage, we sit in the mess with them. We stop offering praise as a placeholder for connection.
Because in the end, presence is the greatest vote of confidence you can offer your child. It says: You are enough. You don’t need to earn my love with success. I’m not here for the performance. I’m here for you.
And that quiet, unwavering, powerful moment is what puts a child on the path to becoming who they’re meant to be.