As a child I’d sometimes do this thing that my family would call something like ‘playing stupid’, where I’d stubbornly refuse to admit I was capable of the simplest task.

Example: can’t do a challenging homework question, and so a sibling would help me break it down into tiny parts (“first, what’s 2 + 3?”), and I’d rigidly deny I knew the answer.

I’d get more and more worked up at the accusation of pretending/lying, even though I knew the accusation was right.

What was the underlying need/feeling?

Comfort, reassurance. Feeling inferior that I couldn’t complete the task. And so putting this protective barrier up—if I didn’t answer that first part I wouldn’t have to get too close to the risk of reaching an impossible part.

How I wish it went:

Grownup: Are you feeling sad/frustrated/anxious because you can’t do it? Me: Maybe Grownup: It’s good to have those feelings. It’s telling you that completing this is important to you. I often have times where I can’t do something too, and I feel bad. And at the same time, it’s important to remember that if you break it down into really small parts you can always solve it. And then your brain will be smarter than before—struggling at something and breaking it down is the best way to get smarter! Would you be willing to build up the small pieces together with me? I’ll show you how and be here with you all the way.