Survival Skills

Two two-year-olds run to me. One comes with eyes wide, shining with wonder and love, certain that nothing could ever go wrong. The other arrives with a quieter light, still excited, but laced with hesitation, wondering if this welcome will last, if I’ll stay close or drift away.

Even at two years old, the difference is striking. One has never needed survival skills. Crying has always brought comfort, and someone has always come when needed. Exploration has been met with smiles and encouragement. She’s building trust in the world, the very first milestone of healthy development. The other already knows how to weigh people, how to watch closely, how to pull someone forward or push them away. Crying may not have always brought comfort, so she’s learned other strategies. At an age where curiosity should be leading, survival is already taking up space.

As children grow, these differences widen. By preschool age, some kids leap into play, experiment socially, and ask endless questions, trusting the world to hold their wonder. Others enter with caution. They may play, but it’s play with a purpose, controlling the scene, managing emotions, making sure no one leaves. Their imaginations are less about castles and superheroes and more about keeping things steady, keeping themselves safe.

By school years, the gap shows in different ways. The securely attached child runs confidently toward friendships, independence, and learning. Mistakes are repairable and setbacks temporary. Meanwhile, the survival-trained child may appear older, wise beyond their years, but it’s not wisdom, it’s vigilance. They’re less focused on multiplication tables and more on reading the teacher’s tone, less absorbed in games and more aware of who might get angry or leave. Their milestones are measured in resilience, not in ease.

Adolescence only magnifies it. Teens with secure attachment test boundaries, push limits, fall in love, fail, try again, all with an underlying safety net. They can imagine a future because they’ve been allowed to imagine all along. Teens built on survival carry independence early, often without choice. They may resist help because help has never felt reliable. Risk-taking can be a search for freedom, but it can also be born of hopelessness. Their milestones are different: holding jobs early, caring for siblings, protecting themselves when no one else will.

And then there’s my 15-year-old. He wouldn’t last a day in the wild. He doesn’t know where mac and cheese “lives” to hunt it down. He doesn’t understand a card getting declined at the gas station or what it’s like to succeed without someone cheering in the stands. That’s the beauty and the privilege of secure attachment. He hasn’t needed survival skills, and I’m grateful for that.

Because some kids never need to learn survival before they learn their ABCs. They grow up expecting safety. Others grow up making safety. Both are resilient in their own ways, but only one is truly free to be a child.​