Kids Learn Best From Truth

Substack Newsletter March 12, 2025

Once upon a time, I taught twelve yoga classes a week at a kids summer day camp in Brookline, Massachusetts. I met twice a week with 6 groups of kids ranging in age from 3 to 10 years old. When I say it was a summer of miracles, I mean it. All emanating from a twice-a-week yoga practice with fun and effective breathing, moving and journaling for kids of all ages. The best outcome from camp was that after a few weeks, counselors, staff and of course the kids, were using these tools throughout the day and at home with huge success. I could fill a book with their stories and my experiences but here are just a few.

During super hero week, a boy from the 5-year-old class, dressed as Batman, stopped me in the hall and said, “Miss Elizabeth, I have a present for you.” He closed his eyes and took 3 slow breaths in and out of his nose. “I do this instead of running all around now.” His counselor nodded a big thank you. Batman added, “Miss Elizabeth, I think you’re Wonder Woman.” Off they went.

In my Pokemon-themed class, one of the kids suddenly asked if he could “evolve.” (This happens in the game when one species of Pokemon evolves into another—usually 3 times.) The camper did 3 yoga shapes that yes, made sense in their evolution. After that, every one of the 20 kids took a turn teaching their “evolve yoga.” The last camper choose child’s pose, happy baby, and ended in savasana (resting pose lying on your back)—where we always ended class—even though he didn’t know it was time to do just that.

My favorite moment of the summer happened in the 9 and 10 year old class. It was a smaller group of spirited, attentive and curious kids. Except for one. Jeremy. He sat off to the side, listening and skeptical. Mumbling commentary and choosing not to participate. That was fine. Mindfulness is about noticing and choosing. As long as his behavior allowed others to do the same. Jeremy was smart. At this point in his young life, it was clear that he enjoyed challenging authority and pushing boundaries. But he did it by speaking the truth and by not telling adults what they wanted to hear.

At the beginning of our third class together, the kids asked about how to use breathing if you got into an argument with a friend.

“What do you think you could you do?” I asked.

Jeremey’s eyes locked on mine. His moment had arrived. “You could hit him,” he said boldly.

He expected me to dismiss and reprimand what he suggested. A reaction I believe he often received. I didn’t skip a beat. I took what he said seriously. What he said was true. Hitting was, in fact, a choice.

“That’s true,” I said. Jeremey looked shocked. “You could hit him. What do you think would happen next if you did?”

Jeremy paused. “You’d get in trouble,” he answered. “Big trouble.”

“How would that feel?” I asked.

“Pretty bad,” he said.

“Pretty bad,” I repeated.

“How would your friend feel?”

“Worse,” Jeremey said.

A girl spoke up. “You’d make things worse, for sure. You’d feel sorry or sad later, too.”

Another boy added, “You could get suspended or not be able to play sports.” And on the answers went.

After that exploration I asked, “So what else could you chose to do?”

Those answers ranged from take a few breaths before speaking to breathe so you could walk away and talk later. One boy said he’d journal about it to figure out what he wanted to say without hurting his friend’s feelings. A girl said she’d try to breathe with her friend to see if they could find a way to talk it out in the moment.

“How would that feel?” I asked.

Jeremey answered. “That would feel pretty good.”

The miracle? Jeremey was an enthusiastic participant in every yoga class for the rest of summer. Why? I had won his trust. By taking his truth seriously. I allowed him the freedom to express himself in his way. I didn’t demand that he give the answer he thought I wanted to hear. I helped him feel seen and heard just as he was. That’s the power of exploring all sides of the truth. It’s what happens when you explore who you are in a moment without judgment or forcing outcomes. It’s what happens when you offer the same exploration to others. Including kids.

The camp session was capped by a student performance for caregivers and staff. It took place in the school auditorium with camper-written skits, dancing and singing (think too many renditions of Taylor Swifts, “Love Story”). Sitting in the row in front of me was Keith Lockhart, conductor of the Boston Pops. Apparently, his son was at the camp and in my yoga classes. The counselors kept the rosters so I just had first names. I had no idea. After the performance, I introduced myself.

“Ooooo. So you’re the yoga teacher,” he said. “You’re the reason why my son has me doing tree pose all over the house.”

I laughed.

Then another miracle, “Thank you,” he said to me seriously. “You’ve really made a difference.”

Breath. Move. Journal. It makes a difference. And miracles. Elizabeth