Earlier this week I spoke with a mother who homeschools her three daughters and is fiercely committed to protecting them from what she sees as a dangerous world. I understand her fear. Many of us feel it. And yet, I also believe that much of childhood’s work is learning how to live among others. To learn to live among others, we have to actually live among them.
I often write about how daunting this is for children with trauma histories. Trust and connection don’t come easily when early experiences have taught you that people aren’t safe and trustworthy. Dr. Bruce Perry reminds us that healing begins with a felt sense of safety: manageable doses of stress, paired with the steady presence of someone who helps a child regulate when stress overwhelms them. That repeated rhythm—stress, support, restoration—lays the groundwork for trust and that elusive sense of safety.
Connection is the real catalyst. Rhythmic, regulating activities—rocking, walking, breathing, playing—create the conditions for relationship. We see this beautifully in toddlers who had secure beginnings: they wander farther and farther from their caregiver, as long as they can glance back and see that steady presence. That backward glance is everything. It’s what makes exploration possible.
Which is why it’s so heartbreaking when young people age out of foster care with no one to “look back” to when life gets hard. Risk grows with age. A skinned knee on the playground is one thing; a risky relationship, a bad job choice, or a legal mistake is another. The stakes rise, but the need for a safe base never disappears.
In medicine, there was once a simple teaching heuristic: “See one, do one, teach one.” The “do one” carries risk. Over time, high-risk professions have moved toward simulation—pilots train in flight simulators, surgeons practice laparoscopic skills through technology, even video games have been shown to sharpen certain procedural abilities. We try to reduce risk before real-world performance.
But what would a simulator look like for a teenager entering the work world? Academic skills like literacy and math are easily digitized. Soft skills are another matter. Lists typically include critical thinking, problem solving, collaboration, public speaking, professional writing, teamwork, digital literacy, leadership, adaptability, work ethic, and intercultural fluency. These are deeply relational capacities. They emerge in the friction and flow of real human interaction.
I can’t help recalling a father who once stood at a school board meeting and declared, “I don’t want you teaching my children critical thinking. I’ll tell them what to think.” His comment captures the tension perfectly. These skills require room for agency, for questioning, for practicing independence within connection.
Some soft skills can certainly be nurtured at home. A thoughtful, self-aware parent can intentionally cultivate work ethic, adaptability, curiosity, even public speaking. But we have to acknowledge the inherent power differential between parent and child. If a child’s agency hasn’t been consistently respected, lessons in collaboration and teamwork may ring hollow. True collaboration requires age peers. Negotiation works best when both parties bring power to the conversation. It is less balanced when a sibling is several years younger. There’s that power differential again.
Digital literacy can be taught at home, but it also brings the wider world directly inside. Caution is warranted, especially for vulnerable children. Protection matters but so does exposure. There is no getting away from the reality of our digital environment. Most employment requires some level of digital literacy.
When I search for “soft skills simulation,” most programs for youth involve groups. There’s a reason for that. You learn about living with people by living with people. No software can fully replicate the complexity of reading a room, resolving conflict, navigating difference, or repairing a misunderstanding.
Ultimately, growth requires risk. But it’s not reckless risk that builds capacity—it’s supported risk. Before a child can venture out, they must trust that someone will help them find their footing again. The goal isn’t to eliminate the world’s dangers. It’s to raise young people who can engage the world with courage because they know they are not alone.
Peace,
Cathy
