The way kids hold pens before they're taught

I’ve seen that same pause—before the first stroke, before the word. Not all of them draw dragons. Some just grip the pencil like it’s a lifeline. The ones who don’t speak yet often hold their breath longer than the rest. I once had a boy who sat still for twenty minutes, not moving, just staring at the blank page. Then he wrote ‘mama’ in shaky letters. Didn’t look up. Didn’t say anything. Just handed me the paper like it was a stone he’d carried uphill.

I’ve been noticing how kids hold things like they’re testing the weight of possibility. That moment when a child draws without knowing how—just feeling the shape of what’s inside—feels less like creation and more like remembering. I wonder if that’s what it means to be okay: not fixing, not proving, just holding the space for something fragile to exist.