When a Child Won't Do the Work, Have We Asked Why?

Over the last couple of days, I've had two conversations that have really got me thinking about the expectations we place on children.

One involved a child who was coming home from school incredibly upset.

During a lesson, the children had been asked to write their answers on their whiteboards. Unfortunately, his whiteboard pen wasn't working.

Now, as adults, we'd probably think nothing of putting our hand up and asking for another pen.

Problem solved.

But this little boy didn't feel confident enough to ask.

He wasn't sure whether he was allowed to.

So something that, to us, seems like a tiny problem became something much bigger.

He became upset, struggled with his emotions and spent the rest of the school day trying to hold everything together.

Then he got home.

And all those emotions he'd been holding in came pouring out.

His parent was left trying to manage the aftermath of a day that had been far more difficult for him than anybody perhaps realised.

And it made me think.

How often do we expect children to do things that we, as adults, would struggle to do ourselves?

We tell children that if they don't understand something, they should ask.

And of course, in principle, that's absolutely right.

But knowing that you should ask for help and having the confidence to actually do it are two completely different things.

Think about the last time you were in a situation where everybody else seemed to understand something and you didn't.

Perhaps you were in a meeting, on a training course or trying to learn something new.

Did you always put your hand up and admit you were struggling?

Or did you sometimes sit quietly, hoping it would eventually make sense?

I know I've certainly done the latter!

Yet we expect children, who are still developing their confidence and communication skills, to do something that many adults find uncomfortable.

And sometimes the consequences are far greater than we realise.

When struggling looks like refusing

Imagine a child sitting in a classroom.

The teacher explains the task and asks everyone to get started.

Most children begin working.

But one child doesn't.

Perhaps they don't understand the instructions.

Perhaps they've missed a step.

Perhaps they're worried about getting the answer wrong.

Perhaps something that happened earlier in the day has left them feeling overwhelmed.

But they don't say anything.

They don't ask for help.

Instead, they stop trying.

They might start chatting, being silly, distracting somebody else or getting frustrated.

From the teacher's perspective, what does that look like?

A child who isn't doing the work they've been asked to do.

And that's understandable.

The teacher has a classroom full of children, a lesson to deliver and numerous different needs to manage.

They can't possibly know what's happening inside every child's head.

So they encourage the child to get on with the task.

The child becomes more frustrated.

The teacher becomes more frustrated.

And before long, a situation that began with a child not understanding something has become a behavioural issue.

The child is struggling, but the struggle isn't necessarily being recognised for what it is.

Of course, not every child who refuses work is confused or anxious. There can be lots of reasons.

But shouldn't understanding why be one of the first things we consider?

The advantage we have as tutors

I want to be very clear here.

This isn't a criticism of teachers.

If anything, it's an acknowledgement of the enormous responsibility they have.

A teacher working with 30 children simply doesn't have the same opportunities as a tutor working with one.

As tutors, we have a privilege.

We can notice when a child's expression changes.

We can recognise when they've suddenly gone quiet.

We can spot when something that was going well five minutes ago has become difficult.

And, perhaps most importantly, we have the opportunity to change direction.

If a child is struggling with a worksheet, we don't necessarily have to keep pushing through that worksheet.

We can put it to one side.

We can approach the same concept through a game, a conversation, a practical activity or something that relates to the child's interests.

We can ask them to explain what they think is happening.

We can work through the problem together and listen to their reasoning.

Sometimes a child will explain the first three steps perfectly and then get completely stuck on the fourth.

Brilliant!

We've now got a much better idea of where the difficulty lies.

Other times, we discover that they understood the concept perfectly well but didn't understand what the question was asking.

And occasionally, we discover that the child simply isn't in a place where they're ready to tackle that particular activity at that moment.

That information matters too.

It's not always about finding a different worksheet

I talk a lot about adapting lessons to suit individual children.

But adapting doesn't necessarily mean finding a more colourful worksheet or turning every activity into a game.

Sometimes it means recognising that the problem isn't the maths or English at all.

It might be confidence.

It might be communication.

It might be a fear of getting things wrong.

It might be something that happened before the child even arrived.

And sometimes, the most productive thing we can do is stop trying to get through the planned activity and spend a few minutes understanding what's actually happening.

That doesn't mean abandoning expectations or deciding that children never need to do things they find difficult.

Quite the opposite.

It means giving them a better opportunity to succeed.

Because once we understand the obstacle, we're in a much stronger position to help them overcome it.

Looking beyond what we can see

The little boy with the whiteboard pen wasn't necessarily struggling with the subject.

He was struggling with knowing what to do when something went wrong.

And that difficulty affected far more than one classroom activity.

It's a reminder that what we see isn't always the whole story.

A child who isn't writing might not know how to begin.

A child who keeps talking might be trying to avoid something they find difficult.

A child who becomes upset over something seemingly insignificant might already have spent hours trying to hold everything together.

We won't always get it right.

We won't always immediately understand.

And we certainly can't expect teachers, parents or tutors to recognise every difficulty every time.

But we can try to remain curious.

Instead of immediately asking, "Why won't this child do the work?"

Perhaps we could sometimes ask:

"What's making it difficult for this child to do the work?"

It's a small change in the question.

But it could make an enormous difference to the answer.

And ultimately, that's something I believe very strongly at Clara James Tutoring.

Sometimes the lesson needs to change, not the child.