5 - The Power of Primary Responsibility

Toye Oyelese

Welcome back to Navigating Uncertainty. I’m Dr. Toye Oyelese, sitting here in my usual corner, a mug of tea by my side—still not quite sure if it’ll ever thaw out the memory of my first Canadian winter, but that’s a story for a bit later. Today, we’re starting with the backbone of everything else I’m going to talk about in this series—the foundational framework, which I call Primary Responsibility. Honestly, I can’t overstate how crucial this is. Everything else I’ve shared—guiding kids through their “blur,” what we talked about last time, about helping versus enabling—all of that stuff builds on this one idea.

Toye Oyelese

Here’s the heart of it: the most important relationship your child will ever have? It’s not with you, not with their friends, not with a future spouse. It’s the one with themselves. Every other relationship they’ll ever have flows from that self-knowledge, that ability to navigate their own ups and downs. I always say—sometimes to my sons’ irritation!—that being your own best friend isn’t just a feel-good poster quote. It’s essential. Because everything starts there.

Toye Oyelese

So what is Primary Responsibility? It’s your child’s job, not yours, to figure themselves out. Your child is responsible for their own survival, for their own thriving, for becoming their own person. That sounds like a big ask, I know. And it’s so tempting to take it on for them, to shield them, or smooth the way. But from the moment they started as that determined little sperm cell, then a wobbly newborn rooting for milk—survival was their challenge, and they rose to it every step. That urge, that drive, it’s built in.

Toye Oyelese

I can’t stress enough, your job as a parent isn’t to take over. It’s to facilitate. And here’s where I’ll bring in that story I always tell—about arriving in Canada, a nervous, skinny young doctor from Nigeria, bundled in a coat two sizes too big because I didn’t really understand “minus thirty.” I had to navigate the system here myself. No one could pass those licensing exams for me. But did that mean I had no help? No. There were supports—a library where I found warmth to study, the licensing board with actual written, clear requirements, people who’d been there before who shared what they could. None of those people substituted for my own work. They facilitated. And because no one took my place, I owned the success. The same is true for our children: support, guidance, resources—all of that is facilitating. Taking over is substituting. And when we substitute, we rob them of the learning that comes with the struggle.

Toye Oyelese

So what does Primary Responsibility look like as kids grow? It shifts, but it never goes away. If anything, it becomes more central with each new stage. When your toddler is determined to feed themselves, you already know the spoon is going to end up on the floor. But if you jump in and do it for them—because honestly, who wants to spend the rest of the day cleaning blueberry yogurt off the wall?—you’ve taken over. But if you let them try, teach them how spoons work, and pile on the patience, you’re facilitating. They learn will—“I can do things myself”—by doing, not by being rescued.

Toye Oyelese

It’s the same when they hit school age. At nine, my role was answering questions, making sure there was a quiet table for homework, teaching how to break down big projects. Not sitting there tracking every assignment, or—let’s be honest—writing the project myself because the “build a solar system” kit should have come with super glue and a therapist, not just foam balls. I’ve seen so many parents—and I get it, I’ve been there—who end up doing the organizing, the reminding, the micromanaging. But if the parent is managing everything, how does the child ever feel competent?

Toye Oyelese

Now, teenagers—this one’s tricky. Your fifteen- or sixteen-year-old isn’t just figuring out school, but who they are and what they believe. For me, it meant lots of long conversations with my sons about why I value certain things, being there when they disagreed, and—this was hard—letting them question what I stood for. Sometimes their questions made me think deeper or admit, hm, maybe I didn’t have all the answers. But my job was presence, not prescription. I couldn’t hand my values to my son like a baton in a relay and expect him to just keep running. He had to wrestle with it, try it on, maybe even discard some of it—that’s building fidelity, Erikson-style. Each time, at every age, the pattern is the same: your child has to do the work, apply the knowledge, try, fail, try again. You’re there to teach, to provide tools, to be patient with the mess. And yes, you’re probably cleaning up spilled milk, both literally and metaphorically. But the mess is part of building capability.

Toye Oyelese

A few quick stories here—three, actually. When my older son was three, he insisted on pouring his own milk. I could’ve stopped him, and honestly, on some sleep-deprived mornings, I wanted to. But watching him figure it out and dealing with the spill taught him more than if I’d just done it for him. When he was twelve and wrestling with math, I answered questions, made sure he had resources, but the actual problem-solving and frustration? That was his. Then, years later, at sixteen—when he started questioning some of my long-held beliefs about family and community, I wanted to step in and give him “the right answers.” But my job wasn’t to substitute, it was just to be present, to share why I believed what I did, and then let him figure it out for himself.

Toye Oyelese

The big idea here is: Primary Responsibility never means “go it alone with no help.” It means your child owns the attempt, the struggle, the learning. No one else can substitute that process. You just make sure they’ve got what they need to give it a go. This is something I wish every parent would remember, especially when the urge to “fix” things gets strong.

Toye Oyelese

I’ll be honest—this part? It’s tough. Watching your child struggle, even when you know it’s exactly what they need, can hit like a punch in the gut. Every instinct screams, jump in! Rescue! Make it easier! But if you keep stepping in, as I saw so many times in both my clinic and at home, you end up undermining the very capability you want them to build. You might help them finish a project or avoid a bad grade, but long-term? They don’t learn to own their successes or failures.

Toye Oyelese

I sometimes see parents—loving, conscientious people—who monitor every assignment, remind their kids about every due date, or even jump online at midnight to upload the assignment. Here’s what’s missing: the child never gets to actually hold their own responsibility. Instead, the lesson becomes, “someone else will always manage things for me.” That doesn’t build capability. When you stand back—painful as it might be at first—and let your child stumble, make mistakes, scramble to catch up, they build problem-solving muscles. They learn what works for them, how to recover, and what needs to change next time.

Toye Oyelese

There are a few key questions I want you to keep handy—sort of like a flashlight for those foggy parenting moments: Whose responsibility is this? Am I teaching, or am I doing? Am I facilitating, or substituting? And—this is the hardest one—will my next action help them take responsibility, or will it take the responsibility away? The thing is, your child needs help that facilitates, not substitutes. They need teaching that gives them tools, not someone who builds the whole bridge for them. They need your presence—not to rescue, but to witness, to support, and to walk alongside them.

Toye Oyelese

I know this is the first big framework, and as we move forward together, we’re going to build on it. Next, we’ll talk about the Process Method—the “how” of developing capability. I can’t wait to dig into some ancient Greek philosophy (yes, really!) because it’s surprisingly relevant to raising kids today. Until then, remember: your job is to create that safe, equipped environment. Their job is the doing. And they’ll surprise you—with resilience, with insight, and sometimes with a spectacular mess on your kitchen floor. See you next time.