True Compliments Needed

Post-performance week.
I love this time.

This is the week when students walk through my door after performing at Saturday's recital and, as their teacher, I get to celebrate their accomplishments or relate to their struggles.

I get to tell the girl who held the audience spellbound that her performance was wonderful. And, if she is a self-critical perfectionist, remind her that it would have still been wonderful, had it not turned out perfectly.

I get to tell the boy, who was sick in the bathroom from stage fright when it was supposed to be his turn, that it is okay; I have been there too. And there will be a next time; we will do this again and get it. Baby steps, I think to myself and make a mental note: Gradually acclimate him to playing in front of crowds. Build his confidence. Give him other, more comfortable opportunities to convince him he can do it.

I get to tell the girl, who blundered her last recital and had me sit by her at the piano for this one, that she did it. I don't even mention that I noticed the rhythm being off. That doesn't matter right now. She made that long walk to the front of a large crowd. She played her piece from beginning to end. She 'got back on her horse.' She thought she couldn't do it, but proved herself wrong.

(Then I try to remind myself of all those things too.)

And the words I tell them are true. No empty compliments or flattery, but all truth.

Because sometimes we need to hear true compliments.
We need affirming. We need other people to pull the 'good' out of us.

Sometimes we need to hear we have done something exceptionally,
because we might be unable to see our own strengths.


Sometimes we need to be reminded that our successes
don't mean perfection is demanded of us.


Sometimes we need to hear that others have experienced the same struggles
and that the story doesn't end there, lest we feel alone in our inadequacy
and tempted to give up on ourselves.


Sometimes we need our moments of progress, no matter how tiny or fumbling,
to be celebrated, because they perhaps could push us further than we knew we could go.

Sometimes, my students need to hear this.
You and I do.
And the person sitting next to you.
Sometimes, we all do.