The Making of Confidence: One Chore at a Time

I was inching my way through the ever-bustling Bangalore traffic, lost in the chaotic rhythm of honks and halts, when a podcast gently playing in the background mentioned the name “Smriti.”

And just like that, I was transported — not to the podcast’s story, but to a quiet classroom from years ago, where a 12th-grade girl named Smriti once sat. Fragile in spirit, painfully self-aware, and wrapped in the silence of low self-worth. She was the eldest child, overprotected and rarely allowed to step out into the world on her own. Her voice often trembled when she spoke, as if she had to cross an invisible wall of fear each time she opened her mouth.

But buried beneath that hesitation, there was a soft yet undeniable thirst — a thirst to grow, to break free, to become someone beyond her timidity. And that’s something people who’ve always been bold can never fully grasp. Confidence, to them, is a given. For someone like Smriti, it’s a mountain.

Just then, as I stood at a red light watching the countdown tick away, a small boy — maybe ten — dashed across the zebra crossing. A flash of childhood courage. And another flash of memory. Smriti used to be dropped off to my classes every day, even though she lived barely a kilometre away. Her father, cautious and protective, couldn’t imagine letting her walk alone.

I remember telling him, gently but firmly, “Let her try. Let her learn.”
But he replied, “There’s too much traffic. I’d rather be sure she’s safe.”

I didn’t push. After all, you can only take the horse to the water — drinking is a choice born of readiness.

But that image stayed with me — a father afraid, a daughter caught in cotton wool, and a childhood that never stepped out into the world.

And then I started noticing something. A pattern. A quiet truth that no textbook teaches:

• The ones who became confident early had to live life early — either by parental design or by circumstance.
• They had tougher days, sometimes not out of trauma, but out of necessity.
• They were involved — in chores, in errands, in daily decisions.
• They were asked to do things on their own. They were trusted with little responsibilities that later became the bedrock of belief in self.

Isn’t that how strength begins? Not in loud applause, but in small, silent wins.

When I visit rural schools, I often meet teenagers who carry themselves with surprising surety. Not polished, not fluent in English perhaps, but undeniably rooted. They help their parents in the fields, take care of siblings, know how to budget small amounts of money. Their lives don't give them the luxury of being protected.

And I wonder: Are they confident?
Yes. In many ways, far more than their urban counterparts.
They may hesitate in front of outsiders, maybe shy away from a crowd. But talk to them — in their language, in their space — and they shine. They know how to handle life. Because they’ve been handling it.

Government school children are the same — sit with them in their comfort zone, and their talent pours out like an unsung melody. It’s not lack of confidence — it’s often just unfamiliarity with the environment.

This thought sat with me until curiosity took over. I turned to research — and like a friend of mine always says, “If you’ve thought of it, ten thousand others have too.”

Harvard’s research confirmed it: children who are entrusted with chores, who are made responsible for tasks, grow up feeling capable. And when you feel capable, you begin to believe in yourself. That belief becomes esteem. That esteem builds confidence.

How simple!. How profound!.

Confidence is not a coat you wear — it is skin that thickens over time.

Not everyone needs to fight a battle to become brave. But we all need to do — to try, to fall, to fail, to succeed, to repeat. It’s not about shouting “I can do it!” from the rooftop. It’s about quietly telling yourself, Let me try. Let me try once again.

We often search for confidence in the wrong places — in applause, in image, in validation.

But maybe… confidence is born in smaller, quieter things — like walking alone to class for the first time. Like doing the dishes without being told. Like making a mistake and knowing the world didn’t end.

If you ask me today where confidence begins, I’ll say —
It begins at home, with a chore.
With a choice.
With the chance to try.

And if you're ever wondering whether to let someone "do it on their own," maybe the better question is —
"What will they believe about themselves if they do?"

That belief is the true beginning of self-confidence. One step at a time.