Raising Good Humans in an Entitled World

I've been thinking a lot lately about entitlement. Not just in dance, but in kids generally. And I say this wearing a few different hats - but probably most importantly, as a mum.

I think we're raising kids in a world where adults are more involved in their children's lives than ever before. In lots of ways, that's a really good thing. We advocate for our kids. We listen to them. We care about their feelings. We understand far more about emotional wellbeing than generations before us did, and I genuinely believe there is enormous value in that. I certainly don't want to go backwards to a time when children were expected to be seen and not heard, or when their feelings didn't matter.

Their feelings absolutely matter. But feelings aren't always facts.

I think sometimes, in our efforts to protect our kids, we've become terrified of letting them be disappointed. Disappointment isn't actually something we need to rescue our children from. Sometimes disappointment is where the learning happens.

Sometimes the answer is no. Sometimes somebody else is better. Sometimes somebody else gets picked. Sometimes you lose. Sometimes you aren't ready. Sometimes you don't get what you want. And sometimes there is absolutely nobody to blame for that.

Our kids need to learn how to sit in those moments without immediately looking for someone who has wronged them. Because there is a difference between raising children who know their worth and raising children who believe the world owes them something.

And there is no room for the latter at Phoenix.

Your Child Is the Centre of Your World. They Aren't the Centre of Everyone Else's.

I'm a mum. I get it. My kids are the centre of my world. I will advocate for them fiercely. I'll notice things about them that nobody else does. I see their potential through completely biased mum eyes, because that's part of being their mum.

And every Phoenix parent should feel exactly the same way about their child. I hope you think your kid is a superstar.

But we also have to recognise that when they walk into a classroom, onto a sporting field, into a workplace or through the doors at Phoenix, they become one person within a community. And everybody else in that room is somebody's whole world too.

I think that's really important for kids to learn. Your child matters enormously, but so does everybody else's.

At Phoenix, I won't make decisions based on which parent wants something the most. I won't make them based on who complains the loudest. I won't make them based on whose child wins the most. And I certainly won't make them based on who spends the most money.

I have to look at all of the individual little humans in front of me and make decisions that I believe are right for their development and for Phoenix Dance Team as a whole. Sometimes you'll love those decisions. Sometimes you won't. That's part of being in a community.

Advocacy and Entitlement Are Not the Same Thing

I want parents to advocate for their kids. I advocate for mine.

If something genuinely doesn't feel right, ask the question. If your child is struggling, tell me. If you don't understand a decision I've made, I'm happy for you to ask me why. If I've got something wrong, I need to be able to hear that too.

That's advocacy.

Entitlement is different. Entitlement is believing the answer should change because you don't like it. It's believing your child's disappointment automatically means somebody has treated them unfairly. It's expecting an exception because of who your child is, what they've achieved, how long you've been here or how much money you spend.

There is a very big difference between having a voice and believing your voice should always determine the outcome. I want our kids to understand that difference too.

Money Doesn't Create a Hierarchy

Phoenix is a business. Families pay me for a service. You should expect professionalism from me. You should expect me to teach your child. You should expect communication. You should expect me to care about the environment I'm creating for them.

But paying fees doesn't purchase authority over Phoenix.

Whether your family does one class a week or invests significantly in dance, every family deserves the same respect. Financial contribution doesn't create a hierarchy within Phoenix. It doesn't buy influence, special treatment or ownership over studio decisions.

And I think this is another really important lesson for kids to see modelled by adults: money doesn't make you more important than somebody else.

Being a paying customer doesn't mean every answer has to be yes. Sometimes I will say no. Sometimes I will make a decision you disagree with. You can absolutely question me respectfully, but ultimately there will be decisions about Phoenix that are mine to make.

That isn't me refusing to listen. That's me doing my job as the person responsible for the studio as a whole.

Neither Does Winning

The same goes for success.

I am ridiculously proud of our competitive dancers. I've watched some of these kids work their backsides off. I've watched them grow from tiny dancers who couldn't remember which foot went where into kids walking onto stages and winning. And I love those moments.

But a trophy doesn't give you status at Phoenix.

Winning doesn't make a dancer more deserving of respect than the child who hasn't won anything yet. It doesn't mean the rules suddenly don't apply. It doesn't mean you're automatically entitled to the next opportunity because you did well with the last one. And it definitely doesn't mean I stop being your teacher.

In education, we're constantly looking at growth. What can this student do now? Where do they need to go next? What support do they need? When do they need challenging? Dance is no different.

In fact, the better you become, the more I will probably expect from you. That's teaching. If you're winning competitions, I'm not going to stop correcting you because you've proven you're good. I'm probably going to correct you more, because now I know what you're capable of.

Talent isn't a free pass. Success isn't a free pass. And neither should ever become entitlement.

Remember Where You Came From

This one matters to me personally. I think gratitude is one of the most underrated qualities we can teach kids.

Dance is such a strange journey because eventually the student can become extraordinary at something their teacher once taught them from scratch. And that's exactly what we want.

I've taught kids their first plié, their first turn, how to point their feet, how to perform, and how to walk onto a stage when they're terrified. Then one day I'm standing in the wings watching that same kid do things I couldn't have imagined when they first walked through the door.

That's the goal.

Their success belongs to them. They did the work. But nobody gets anywhere completely alone.

There are parents driving them everywhere. Teachers investing hours into them. Teammates encouraging them. People believing in them before they had trophies or titles or results beside their name.

I think sometimes when people start succeeding, it's very easy to forget the beginning. To forget the little dancer who couldn't do the things they can do now. To forget the hours somebody else poured into helping them learn. To start looking at what they aren't getting instead of appreciating everything they've already received.

Maybe this matters so much to me because I haven't forgotten the people who helped me get here. There are people who gave me opportunities, taught me, trusted me and helped shape the teacher and studio owner I am today.

Phoenix is my story, but it didn't start with Phoenix. There were people and places that helped shape me long before I opened these doors, and building something of my own doesn't mean I get to rewrite or forget the chapters that came before it.

I want our dancers to learn the same thing. Never become so successful that you forget who helped you get there.

Gratitude does not mean you owe a teacher, coach or studio lifelong loyalty. People grow. Circumstances change. Sometimes people move on, and sometimes moving on is absolutely the right thing to do.

Gratitude simply means you can move forward without needing to diminish, erase or rewrite the people who helped you along the way.

You don't owe somebody your achievements. But humility matters. Acknowledging people matters. Saying thank you matters. Gratitude matters.

You can outgrow a class. You can outgrow a level. One day, you might even outgrow Phoenix.

But you should never outgrow gratitude.

Discomfort Isn't Always Harm

This might be the psychology part of my brain talking, but I think sometimes we've started confusing uncomfortable emotions with harmful experiences. They aren't the same thing.

Disappointment feels awful. Rejection feels awful. Losing feels awful. Being told you're not ready feels awful. Watching your friend get something you desperately wanted can feel really awful.

But experiencing those feelings isn't automatically harmful. They're part of being human.

And childhood is actually one of the safest times to learn how to navigate them, because our kids have adults around them to help. That doesn't mean dismissing their feelings. It means sitting beside them in those feelings without immediately trying to remove the discomfort for them.

There's a difference.

Resilience isn't developed by making sure a child never falls. It's developed when they discover: I fell. It hurt. And I can get back up.

So when a child doesn't get the opportunity they were hoping for, isn't chosen for something, doesn't get the result they wanted or simply hears "not yet", I don't necessarily think the solution is to fight to change the outcome. Maybe the conversation is, I know that hurts. It's okay to be disappointed. What feedback did you get? Is there something you can work on? What can you do from here?

That's very different from immediately saying, That's unfair. You deserved it. I'm going to message your teacher.

Because whether we realise it or not, we're teaching something in both of those moments. One teaches, I can handle disappointment. The other risks teaching, when I'm disappointed, somebody else must be responsible.

And that's not something I want to reinforce at Phoenix.

Accountability Goes Both Ways

I'm not writing this from a place of believing the adult is always right. I'm not. Being the studio owner doesn't make me infallible. Being the teacher doesn't automatically make my perspective the correct one. I expect accountability from our dancers and families, so I have to be willing to accept it myself.

I will get things wrong. If I do, I will own it. If I owe somebody an apology, I'll apologise. If a parent brings me information I didn't have and it changes my understanding of a situation, I'll listen.

That's the culture I want our kids to see modelled.

Accountability isn't about never making mistakes. It's being able to say, I got that wrong, without immediately searching for somebody else to blame.

And that standard applies to all of us.

When Disappointment Changes the Story

If something has happened at Phoenix that genuinely concerns you, come to me. Ask me. Challenge me respectfully if you need to.

What concerns me is when disappointment starts changing the story. When assumptions become facts, motives are assigned to people without ever asking them, or an outcome somebody didn't like becomes evidence that they were treated unfairly.

That's not healthy conflict resolution, and it's certainly not something I want our kids learning from us. There is a difference between saying, I'm unhappy with this decision and I want to understand it, and creating a completely different narrative around why that decision was made.

You can be disappointed without being wronged. I think that might be one of the most important lessons in this entire conversation.

Because once we start teaching kids that every uncomfortable outcome is somebody else's fault, we take something incredibly important away from them: their own agency.

Instead of teaching them to ask, Who can I blame?, I'd much rather help them learn to ask, What can I do from here?

Because One Day They Leave Us

This is the bit I come back to as a mum.

One day my own kids are going to walk out into a world where I can't fix everything for them. They'll apply for jobs and somebody else will get them. They'll work incredibly hard for something and still fail. They'll have bosses who tell them no. People won't always recognise how wonderful I think they are. They'll have their hearts broken, make mistakes and encounter people who are better than them at things.

And no amount of me telling the world how special my kids are will change that.

My job isn't to create a world where they never experience disappointment. My job is to help raise them into people who can handle it.

That's how I see my role as a teacher too. Yes, I'm teaching dance. But I'm also teaching kids. And there is a huge difference.

Of course I want Phoenix dancers to win trophies. I want beautiful technique. I want clean routines. I want kids walking off stage absolutely buzzing because they just achieved something they've worked months for.

But I also want the kid who didn't win to walk over and congratulate the kid who did. I want the strongest dancer in the room helping the beginner. I want kids who can take correction, who say thank you, who remember where they started and who can apologise when they get something wrong.

I want kids who know they are valuable without needing to be more valuable than somebody else. Kids who understand that confidence and humility can exist at the same time. Kids who are ambitious without becoming entitled.

Because eventually kids grow up. And what we're left with is the person we helped raise.

So yes, I will continue to push our dancers. I will celebrate them ridiculously loudly. I will advocate for them and give them opportunities when I believe they're ready.

I will also tell them no. I will correct them. I will expect respect, accountability and gratitude. I will expect them to be good teammates. And I won't allow success, money, longevity or talent to make anybody bigger than Phoenix as a whole.

Because gratitude goes a very long way here. Entitlement gets you nowhere.

And if our kids eventually leave Phoenix understanding the difference, then we've taught them something far more valuable than dance.