The word “rush” tells a story all by itself. Magda always reminded us to slow down, telling us what she wanted us to do, not what we shouldn’t do (which is an excellent habit!)…but it’s interesting to think about that word.
Think about a rushing river, rush hour traffic, rush orders…To rush means to “perform with speed, impetuosity, or violence.” It suggests “hostile attacks,” “forcing,” and “impelling.” These aren’t just abstract meanings – they reflect what rushing does to our spirits, our connections, and our children’s experiences. I’ve talked before about the parallels between ‘no rush’ and nourish, noting that our nervous system interprets the act of hurrying (another word for rushing) as a threat.
When we rush children through their experiences, we commit a subtle form of violence against their natural development. We push them to move faster than their bodies are ready to move, to finish activities before they’ve fully explored them, and to process emotions before they’ve had time to feel them completely.
But when we slow down…oh, what wonders await us. I keep thinking about this moment I observed long ago. I was in a mobile infant classroom one warm Spring day and the door was open to the outside. There were infants scattered in the yard, some in the sandbox, some playing with toys in the grass, a few listening to a teacher softly reading a book on a blanket under a tree. Another teacher leaned her head out the door and announced that lunch was ready, and the scene broke apart pretty quickly as hungry children began making their way inside…all except for one child. He was sitting in the grass, gazing through the chain link fence. The teacher who’d been reading the book noticed the straggler and called his name, but he didn’t respond. She walked over to him, and instead of picking him up, as I expected her to do, she squatted down to his level and followed his gaze. And waited. After a couple of seconds, a spell broke and he looked at her. They shared a smile. “Lunch?” she said, offering her hands, and he reached up.
I could have sworn I’d shared this story before, but couldn’t find it in my archives today. But as I searched, I found another gem about slowing down and sharing…and rereading it made me think…if I’d been quicker to intervene, I would have stolen that amazing moment. Because that is what rushing does – it steals moments. It’s a form of violence against natural development, against the sacred space of discovery, against the unhurried pace that children need to fully inhabit their experiences. When we rush children, we tell them that their natural rhythm is wrong, that their explorations are inconvenient, that the schedule matters more than their learning.
At RIE, we see a different way. We witness the profound impact of slowing down, of creating spaces where children can move at their own pace, where they can struggle productively, where they can complete their own movements and thoughts without interruption. This approach isn’t just better for children – it transforms caregivers too. We find ourselves more present, more observant, more connected to the small miracles of daily development.
Wishing you a peaceful, unhurried weekend,
Melani
PS…One…I was about to say quick, but am restraining myself…ahem, one announcement…
As 2024 draws to a close, RIE needs your support to continue our vital work of protecting childhood from the violence of rushing and hurrying. In this season of giving, your tax-deductible donation to RIE will help us train more educators, reach more families, and create spaces where children can develop at their own perfect pace in a world that often moves too fast. Whether you can give $5 or $500, your end-of-year contribution helps ensure more children can be unhurried, understood, and honored.