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Your 12-year-old granddaughter, Lily, has always loved drawing. For years, she filled notebooks with animals, funny characters, and little comic strips. You have always admired her imagination.
Lately, though, something has changed.
When you visit one afternoon, you notice her sketchbook sitting unopened on the kitchen table. You ask if she has been drawing anything new.
She shrugs.
“Not really. There’s no point. Everyone online is way better than me.”
Then she tells you that another student in her class recently won an art competition. Lily had considered entering too, but now she says she is giving up.
“I’m just not talented enough.”
Your grandmotherly instinct immediately wants to lift her spirits. You can see that she needs encouragement—but you also know that the wrong kind of encouragement can sometimes sound like pressure.
B. Suggest entering her in another art competition right away so she has a goal to work toward and can prove to herself how talented she is.
C. Ask what she used to enjoy most about drawing, listen to what has discouraged her, and gently encourage her to make one small drawing just for herself, with no competition, comparison, or expectation attached.
D. Tell her about someone famous who struggled for years before becoming successful and explain that she should never give up on her dreams.
There are moments in a grandchild’s life when a grandmother desperately wishes she could hand over a little bundle of courage.
We have lived long enough to know that confidence rises and falls. We know one disappointing moment does not determine a person’s future. But a child—or even a teenager—may not yet have that perspective.
When Lily says, “I’m just not talented enough,” the temptation is to immediately convince her otherwise.
But inspiration is rarely something we can simply give through a rousing speech. More often, we help a child rediscover something that has temporarily been buried under disappointment, comparison, or fear.
Option A: “That’s nonsense! You’re incredibly talented.”
This response comes straight from love.
A grandmother hearing her grandchild criticize herself may instinctively rush to defend her.
“You’re wonderful!”
“You’re talented!”
“Don’t talk about yourself that way!”
There is nothing wrong with reassuring a child. The difficulty comes when reassurance unintentionally dismisses the feeling underneath the words.
Lily is not really asking, “Grandma, am I talented?”
She is telling you, “I feel discouraged.”
If we immediately contradict her, she may feel that she has to defend her disappointment.
And the phrase “if you tried harder” can accidentally turn encouragement into pressure. Instead of feeling inspired, Lily might hear, “Grandma thinks I’m not trying hard enough.”
Sometimes a grandchild needs understanding before encouragement.
Option B: Give her a new goal.
A competition might eventually be wonderful for Lily.
Goals can motivate children, and accomplishment can certainly rebuild confidence.
But timing matters.
Right now, comparison is part of what has discouraged her. Entering another competition immediately could reinforce the very idea causing the problem—that drawing only matters if she can prove she is good at it.
When children lose enthusiasm for something they once loved, pushing them toward achievement can sometimes make the activity feel even heavier.
Before Lily needs another goal, she may need to remember why she enjoyed drawing in the first place.
Option C: Help her reconnect with the joy she had before comparison took over.
This is the best response.
You might sit beside her and say something like, “What did you used to love drawing most?”
Perhaps she will remember the funny dogs she used to sketch.
Maybe she loved inventing cartoon characters.
Maybe she enjoyed drawing quietly because it helped her relax.
Then you can listen.
If she talks about the classmate who won the competition or the artists she sees online, you do not have to immediately correct her thinking.
You can simply acknowledge it.
“It sounds like seeing all of that made you wonder whether your drawings were good enough.”
That kind of response tells a grandchild, I understand why you feel this way.
Then comes the gentle invitation.
“How about drawing something tonight that nobody has to see? No contest. No grades. Just something silly for yourself.”
This works because inspiration often grows more easily when pressure becomes smaller.
Child development research consistently reminds us that children benefit when adults emphasize effort, curiosity, practice, and enjoyment rather than fixed ideas about talent.
Instead of teaching Lily that she must prove she is “a talented artist,” Grandma can help her understand something much healthier:
She is allowed to enjoy being an artist while she is still learning.
She does not have to be the best.
She does not even have to be good yet.
She simply has to remain curious enough to keep going.
Option D: Tell her an inspiring success story.
There is certainly a place for stories about perseverance.
Children can benefit from knowing that talented people experience disappointment and failure too.
But a story about a famous artist may not be what Lily needs first.
When someone feels discouraged, even a wonderful inspirational story can occasionally sound like a lecture: “See? They kept going, so you should too.”
The message is admirable, but it may skip over Lily’s immediate emotion.
Later, after she feels understood, Grandma might share such a story gently.
But connection should usually come before inspiration.
Inspiration Does Not Always Look Like a Pep Talk
One of the lovely privileges of being a grandmother is that we do not always have to push children toward the next accomplishment.
Sometimes we can simply remind them of the joy they have forgotten.
A grandchild who says, “I’m not good enough,” may not need a speech about greatness.
She may need someone safe enough to tell the truth to.
Someone who will listen without rushing.
Someone who can say, in her own grandmotherly way:
“You don’t have to prove anything to me. I just loved seeing how happy drawing made you.”
Then perhaps you sit at the table together.
She draws a ridiculous cat.
You attempt one too, and yours looks more like a potato with whiskers.
She laughs.
And without anyone announcing it, inspiration quietly returns.
That is something grandparents can offer beautifully: not pressure to become extraordinary, but a warm place where a child feels safe enough to keep discovering who she might become.
