We talk a lot about how the performing arts build confidence in kids.
I’ve said it myself for years. Dance builds confidence. Music builds confidence. Theatre builds confidence.
But lately, I’ve been thinking more deeply about what that actually means.
How does it happen?
After decades of teaching children, I don’t think confidence comes from simply telling a child, “You’re amazing!” or “You can do anything!”
Those things are lovely to hear. Encouragement matters. But real confidence needs something more.
Kids need evidence.
They need experiences that teach them, I can do hard things.
Confidence is built through mastery
Psychologist Albert Bandura called this self-efficacy: our belief in our ability to take the actions necessary to handle a particular challenge.
One of the most powerful ways we develop self-efficacy is through what Bandura called mastery experiences.
In other words:
I couldn’t do it.
I worked on it.
And then I could.
If you’ve ever watched a child finally get a skill she has worked on for weeks, you’ve seen this happen.
She doesn’t need you to tell her she improved.
She knows.
Her body knows.
Yesterday, she couldn’t do it. Today, she can.
That experience becomes evidence she carries with her.
And the performing arts give kids opportunities to collect that evidence over and over again.
The struggle is actually part of the confidence
This is where I think adults sometimes get confidence-building wrong.
We want children to feel successful, so naturally we want to protect them from feeling unsuccessful.
But if everything is easy, there is nothing to master.
A child needs the experience of not being able to do something yet.
She forgets the choreography.
She plays the wrong note.
She struggles with the step.
She freezes during rehearsal.
And then she works.
She gets corrections. She practices. She tries again.
Little by little, something that once felt impossible becomes possible.
The lesson isn’t simply, I can do a pirouette.
The bigger lesson is:
I can get better at things.
That’s a lesson a child can carry far beyond the dance studio.
Sometimes confidence begins by watching someone else
Bandura identified another source of self-efficacy: vicarious experience.
Sometimes we begin believing something is possible because we see someone like us do it.
That happens constantly in an arts classroom.
A four-year-old watches another four-year-old cross the floor by herself.
A dancer struggling with a skill watches a classmate finally get it.
A younger student watches an older student perform.
She sees evidence:
Someone like me can do this.
This is one reason I think leadership opportunities for children matter so much.
When we ask a student to demonstrate, we aren’t just helping the child at the front of the room feel capable.
The children watching are learning something too.
The teacher’s voice matters
Bandura also identified encouragement from others as a source of self-efficacy.
A trusted teacher saying, “You’re ready. I’ve watched you work on this,” can matter tremendously.
But there’s an important distinction.
Our job isn’t simply to convince children that they’re capable.
Our job is to create opportunities for them to discover that they’re capable.
“I believe in you” is powerful.
“I believe in myself because I have evidence” is even more powerful.
And then there is the stage
This may be my favorite part.
Before a performance, a child may feel butterflies in her stomach. Her heart is pounding. Her hands are sweaty.
She says, “I’m scared.”
And then something remarkable happens.
She performs anyway.
The curtain opens.
The music starts.
She does the dance.
She takes the bow.
People applaud.
And afterward, she realizes:
I was scared, and I did it anyway.
That may be one of the most valuable lessons the performing arts can give a child.
Because eventually that child is going to feel those same butterflies somewhere else.
Before a test.
Before an interview.
Before speaking in front of a group.
Before trying out for something.
Before having a difficult conversation.
She has already learned that feeling nervous does not mean she is incapable.
And then the experience becomes a story
Psychologist Daniel Kahneman wrote about the difference between our experiencing self and our remembering self.
We live through experiences moment by moment, but we don’t remember them as a perfect recording. We construct stories about what happened.
Think about everything a child may experience while preparing for a performance.
There may be frustration.
Corrections.
Mistakes.
Nerves.
Repetition.
Maybe even tears.
But then there is the performance.
The costume.
Standing backstage.
The curtain opening.
The applause.
The teacher saying, “You did it.”
The hug from Mom afterward.
Eventually, all of those individual experiences can become a much simpler story:
I was nervous. I worked hard. And I did it.
And that story becomes part of the evidence the child carries about herself.
Maybe that is what confidence really is
I’ve started thinking that confidence isn’t necessarily believing:
I know I’m going to succeed.
Because sometimes we don’t know.
Maybe confidence is something more useful:
I don’t know exactly how this is going to turn out, but I trust myself to handle it.
I have struggled before.
I have learned before.
I have been nervous before.
I have practiced before.
I have gotten things wrong before.
And I have figured things out.
That kind of confidence isn’t built from compliments alone.
It’s built from experience.
Challenge. Preparation. Struggle. Improvement. Courage. Completion.
Again and again.
So when we say that dance, music and theatre build confidence, we’re talking about something much bigger than teaching children to feel comfortable performing in front of an audience.
We are giving them opportunities to build a library of evidence about themselves.
I can learn.
I can improve.
I can be nervous and still act.
I can do things that once felt impossible.
And eventually, all of those little experiences can become a much bigger story:
I can trust myself when things are hard.
That is the kind of confidence I want our kids to carry with them long after they leave the stage.