“I Don’t Know How to Play” — What a Child Taught Me About Parenting

One of my favorite Korean TV shows centers around a child development expert who steps into homes labeled as having a “problemed child.” But time and time again, what unfolds is far more complex—and far more human. The problem, more often than not, doesn’t stem from the child. It stems from how we, the adults, engage with them.

There was one episode that’s stayed with me.
A mother was heartbroken because her daughter had become cold and dismissive toward her. No matter how hard she tried, the connection felt lost. She didn’t understand why her daughter pushed her away—until the expert gently revealed the missing piece: the mother didn’t know how to play.

Not because she was a bad parent. Not at all.
But because play—true, imaginative, connection-building play—is a language many of us were never taught to speak.

We often react to children from our world—based on our stress, priorities, and perspective—rather than stepping into theirs. And children feel that. When we don’t know how to meet them in their world, they start to pull back. Not out of rebellion, but out of confusion, disappointment, or even sadness.

That episode reminded me how vital our everyday interactions are to a child’s development.
Our tone, our presence, our willingness to get messy and silly—it all matters. And sometimes, what a child needs most is not a lecture or correction… but for us to sit beside them, pick up a crayon, and make something together.

As a parent, I’ve had these moments too.
There are times when I hesitate before pulling out the paints—because yes, the mess can feel overwhelming. But I’ve learned to let my son take the lead. To explore however he wants to with color, water, and texture. And honestly? It’s refreshing.
There’s something so pure and bold in the way children create. Sometimes all the colors blend into a big murky brown or black puddle—but if you look closely, you’ll see tiny fingerprints, subtle brush strokes, little textures created by their wildly free, unintentionally intentional expressions.

YES—the clean-up is real. It’s a pain. But it’s worth doing at least once, just to see that smile. That freedom. That joy.
When else do they get to be this uninhibited—this messy—and completely themselves?

That’s why I believe so deeply in art as a bridge.
When we do art with children, we’re not just creating something with our hands—we’re creating connection. The colors, the textures, the sensory experience—painting, cutting, gluing—it brings us into the present moment, side by side.

You don’t need to be an artist. You just need to be open.
Art invites us to slow down. To listen. To laugh at the mess. And to discover the little stories children are always trying to tell—if we only pause to hear them.

So the next time your child seems distant, try this:
Sit down together. Pull out some paper and paints. Let go of doing it “right.” And instead, just play.

Because sometimes, the deepest healing begins with a squiggle and a splash of color.