Let Them Climb: Risk, Play & Parenting with Courage

Let Them Climb: Risk, Play & Parenting with Courage

Why letting our kids take risks might be the bravest parenting move we make.

Rhion is a tree climber.

Not just a kid who occasionally scrambles up the lower branches—he’s the kind who scales high, perches on the edge, and sits still among the leaves for nearly an hour, taking in the world from above. On this particular day, he stayed up there for 45 minutes—quiet, contemplative, completely in his element.

He wasn't trying to escape. He wasn't showing off. He was simply being. Still. Peaceful. Observing life from a different perspective. Feeling free.

Parenting in the grey zone of risk and trust

As a parent, this moment triggered my inner alarm system. What if he falls? What if a branch breaks? What if this is the one time it goes wrong?

But what I’ve come to learn—especially with a child like Rhion—is that these moments are necessary. Not just for his physical development, but for his emotional growth, his confidence, and his spirit.

This is what risky play looks like. And it’s not reckless. It’s developmental.

Emotional resilience grows on branches too

When children engage in physical risk, they’re not just testing their strength—they’re learning about limits, courage, recovery, and trust. Every moment in the tree is a negotiation between fear and focus, excitement and control. They are building the exact traits we hope they'll have as adults: emotional regulation, situational awareness, and inner calm.

And sometimes, resilience doesn’t look like a coping strategy or a deep conversation. Sometimes, it looks like a child choosing stillness in the branches.

Letting go of my risk-averse parenting brain

I’m not a climber. His brothers weren’t either. This isn’t a comfort zone for me—but it’s clearly Rhion’s. He thrives through movement, speed, height, and challenge. My job isn’t to change that—it’s to honour it, while making sure we reduce the chances of breaks and bruises along the way.

So my parenting becomes part risk-assessment, part surrender. I don't suppress his need for adventure. I scan the area, watch closely, and learn when to step back.

Freedom, boundaries, and finding perspective

That day in the tree wasn’t just a physical adventure—it was an emotional one. Rhion wasn’t just climbing higher. He was seeing differently. He was developing his sense of independence, spatial awareness, and maybe even something deeper—a sense of who he is when no one is telling him what to do.

And me? I was learning too. Learning to trust. Learning to release control. Learning to let him explore the edges of his world without constantly pulling him back to the center.

Because sometimes, resilience looks like a boy in a tree.

And sometimes, the best thing we can do as parents is to let them climb.