In the early 1990s, an ambitious scientific project called Biosphere 2 was launched in the Arizona desert. The goal was to create a self-sustaining ecosystem inside a massive glass-and-steel dome, simulating the conditions of life on another planet. Inside, scientists planted trees, crops, and other vegetation to study how life might adapt in a controlled environment.
However, as the trees inside the dome began to grow, an unexpected problem emerged. Many of them toppled over before reaching full maturity. The environment, though carefully regulated for ideal temperature, light, and humidity, lacked one crucial element: wind.
Without the push and pull of natural forces, the trees didn’t develop the structural strength needed to support themselves. In nature, wind stress prompts trees to grow stronger trunks and deeper root systems. It turns out, hardship is not a flaw in the design of growth — it’s part of what makes growth possible.
Today’s parents are often inundated with advice — from books, blogs, social media, and well-meaning experts — sometimes urging us to protect, cushion, and curate every element of our children’s lives. We are told to validate every emotion, correct any belief or thought that does not align with ours, to prevent discomfort, and to optimize every bite of food and minute of play.
This well-intentioned striving for the “perfect” environment may inadvertently produce the same result as the biosphere: children who struggle to stand strong in the face of adversity.
To be clear, this is not a call to embrace neglect or to abandon emotional support. Nor is it a critique of gentle, mindful, or responsive parenting. Rather, it’s a reminder that resilience is not built in the absence of stress — but in response to it.
Like trees, children need rich soil — love, safety, guidance, and stability. But they also need the wind — challenges, frustration, failure, and risk. Both are essential.
Too much chaos, and the soil is stripped bare. But too much control, and roots remain shallow.
Perhaps our role as parents is not to eliminate every storm, but to be ready when they come — to intuitively assess when a challenge is developmentally appropriate and when it threatens to overwhelm our children. This requires not just knowledgeable parents, but intuitive parents.
Think of parenting not as engineering a flawless product, but as gardening. We don’t build children; we cultivate them. We tend the soil, pull the weeds, and protect them from extreme damage. But we also let nature do its work.
A gardener knows not to dig up the roots every day to check progress. Growth is slow. It involves unseen processes. And it often involves stress — the kind that triggers deeper growth.
Yet in our modern world, many parents, perhaps fearing uncertainty or failure, place their children inside metaphorical biospheres. We carefully craft schedules, dictate beliefs, manage relationships, and curate every experience — all to protect them from failure, discomfort, or unpredictability.
But real success does not emerge from a biosphere. It emerges from an environment where children are loved enough to be challenged and supported enough to rise to challenges in their life.
Why, then, do we feel so uncomfortable watching our children struggle?
Perhaps it’s because it forces us to face the limits of our own control. Storms will come — loss, disappointment, rejection, and uncertainty — no matter how much we plan. Wind bends the tree whether we’re ready for it or not.
In response, many of us rightly look to experts, parenting influencers, and evidence-based frameworks to tell us exactly what to do. This is an essential step toward developing intuitive parenting, but it cannot be where we stop. And while education and advice is essential, it cannot replace intuition. Rather, it must be a step toward more wise and better intuitive parenting.
Think of an elite athlete. Their movements appear instinctive, but behind that intuition lies years of training, practice, and learning. Similarly, intuitive parenting isn’t uninformed or passive. It’s built on a foundation of deep understanding, careful observation, personal growth, seeking advice from experts and ongoing learning — but applied with flexibility and wisdom.
Children grow strong not just because they are loved, but because they are allowed to face the wind — knowing their parents are nearby, cheering for them. Perfection is not the goal. Wholeness is. And wholeness often includes the bruises, bends, and the damages from the storms of life.
Let us raise children not inside biospheres, but in gardens— where they can grow deep, reach high, and learn to stand tall and strong in the face of adversity.
