October 25, 2026

The Right Kind of Hard

One of the most hopeful words in education is yet.

“I can’t do this.”

“You can’t do this yet.”

I believe in the power of that little word. It reminds us that ability isn’t fixed, that learning takes time, and that what feels impossible today may become possible tomorrow.

But lately, I’ve been wondering whether we sometimes reach for yet a little too quickly.

Because “I can’t” can mean several very different things.

Sometimes it means, “I haven’t figured this out.”

Sometimes it means, “I understand more than I can show you.”

Sometimes it means, “I’m overwhelmed, and I don’t know where to begin.”

And sometimes, perhaps, it means, “I’m afraid of finding out what happens when something doesn’t come easily.”

The words sound the same. The learning needs are remarkably different.

What if the most important question isn’t whether something is hard, but whether it’s the right kind of hard?

WHAT

Psychologist Lev Vygotsky described something called the zone of proximal development: the space between what a learner can accomplish independently and what becomes possible with appropriate guidance or collaboration.

I love that idea of a space where something is not quite possible alone, but possible with support.

It’s where an intriguing challenge meets a well-timed question. Where a small nudge can unlock a big discovery. Where the learner still has to do the thinking, but doesn’t have to do it alone.

Educational researchers sometimes call this productive struggle. And that second word matters as much as the first.

Struggle isn’t automatically productive.

SO WHAT

This distinction feels particularly important at Mack, where we serve gifted and twice-exceptional learners whose remarkable strengths and genuine challenges can coexist.

Consider a child capable of sophisticated scientific reasoning who struggles to organize thoughts into writing. Or a student ready for complex mathematical ideas who becomes overwhelmed by multistep directions.

In each case, the question is not simply whether the work is challenging.

What, exactly, are we asking the child to struggle with?

If the goal is deeper scientific thinking, perhaps a different way of expressing understanding opens the door. If the goal is developing writing skills, then writing itself may be precisely the challenge that deserves our attention and support.

Both can be true.

That’s the art of teaching. And parenting.

Knowing when to stretch. When to scaffold. When to wait. When to intervene.

Too little challenge can quietly communicate, “This is all you’re capable of.”

Too much, without the right support, can communicate something equally damaging: “Maybe you’re not capable after all.”

Neither is what we want children to learn about themselves.

NOW WHAT

I wonder how often, with the best of intentions, we confuse removing obstacles with removing challenge. Or confuse insisting on perseverance with providing a meaningful opportunity to grow.

Perhaps the next time a child says, “This is too hard,” we might resist both our impulse to rescue and our impulse to insist.

Instead, we could get curious.

What’s making this hard? Is this a stretch or a wall? What support would make the next step possible without taking the learning away?

These are not easy judgments. The answers change from child to child, task to task, and sometimes moment to moment.

But that’s also why knowing our children so deeply matters.

And I suspect the question extends well beyond school. In our work, our relationships, and our own growth, we encounter difficulties that strengthen us and difficulties that simply deplete us. Wisdom includes learning to recognize the difference.

The view from here: The goal isn’t to make the path easy. It’s to make sure the hard part leads somewhere worth going.

Rooted & Rising,

Bo