Nikki Wineera is is an educator, writer, and advocate for holistic learning.

December 4th, 2025

I wasn’t always a believer in child-led learning. In fact, I came from the opposite end of the spectrum. I was trained as a teacher within a system that valued control, outcomes, and structure — where learning was carefully planned, standards were fixed, and my job was to lead the way.

But long before I ever set foot in a classroom, I spent time volunteering in Nepal. I watched children climb trees barefoot, help carry water, and spend hours immersed in games they created out of sticks, stones, and whatever else they could find. There was no adult directing them. No formal lesson being delivered. Just kids — capable, resourceful, engaged. I didn’t have the words for it at the time, but it planted a quiet seed in me. A question I couldn’t shake: What if children already know how to learn, and we’re the ones in the way?

Years later, after burning out in the conventional system and stepping into a more natural, holistic approach, that question came roaring back. I started learning about unschooling. I revisited the wisdom of my indigenous ancestry — the stories, the cycles, the belief that children are whole beings from the start. I practiced mindfulness. I observed. I remembered my own childhood, where learning happened in sandpits, imaginary worlds, and whispered secrets with friends.

And most importantly, I began to unlearn what teaching meant. I let go of being the expert in the room. And I began to trust.

Letting Go of Control, Holding Space Instead

As someone who used to pride herself on being “a good teacher,” I’ll admit — this wasn’t easy. Letting go of control can feel like abandoning your role. But I’ve come to see it differently. It’s not stepping away — it’s stepping aside.

There’s a boy in our learning community who, for a long time, would only play games he invented — and he’d change the rules constantly to make sure he always won. At first, I found myself hovering, tempted to intervene. I wanted to guide, to teach fairness, to restore balance. But I didn’t.

Instead, I waited. I observed. And slowly, the other children began to respond in their own way. Some stopped playing altogether. Others tried to negotiate. The older kids started gently calling out the unfairness, offering new rules, and making suggestions. And eventually — bit by bit — he began to listen. The game shifted. The dynamics changed.

They were learning conflict resolution, empathy, assertiveness, and adaptability. And none of it came from me.

Risk, Confidence, and the Courage to Try

One child had just learned how to swing on her own. Her next challenge? Getting down. The swing was suspended from a tall tree branch, and the idea of jumping felt terrifying. I watched her try, hesitate, pull back. Then try again.

Every part of me wanted to step in — to offer help, to give her a strategy. But I stayed close without interfering.

And then, after many quiet moments of inner calculation and physical adjustment, she did it. She leapt. She landed. And her smile said everything. That kind of confidence isn’t taught — it’s earned through the freedom to take risks and discover your own edge.

Letting go in moments like this doesn’t mean abandoning support. It means trusting the child’s process more than your own instinct to fix it.

Saying No: A Small, Radical Act

One of the most powerful moments I’ve witnessed came during a game that involved “zombies” — a theme that deeply unsettled one of our girls. In the past, she would’ve stayed silent, maybe gone along with it, or waited for an adult to step in.

But this time, she didn’t.

She looked at the others and said, calmly and clearly, “I don’t like this game. I don’t want to play.”

That moment might seem small, but in a world that often teaches kids — especially girls — to prioritize harmony over honesty, it was a radical act. She was listening to herself. She was drawing a boundary. And she didn’t need adult permission to do it.

This is what Self-Directed Education really is: the freedom to know yourself, to choose, and to stand by your truth.

Trusting Curiosity to Lead

Some of my favourite moments come when I stop looking for “learning” and just allow myself to witness it.

There was the day two six-year-olds used jigsaw puzzles, paint bottles, books, and boxes to build an elaborate city. Then it became a fortress. Then a battleground, with handmade catapults. There were stories being created, physics being tested, and cooperation being navigated — and not a single instruction was given.

There was the time a group of kids found what looked like dead moths floating in a pool of water. As they carefully pulled them out, they were delighted to see them slowly come back to life. What began as a rescue mission turned into an inquiry: why were some moths reviving and others not? What was helping? What else could they try?

Then there’s the girl who used to be afraid of bugs, even plastic ones — terrified, really. But after weeks of watching the others, she began inching closer. First touching. Then holding. Now, she proudly collects real bugs, builds them tiny homes, and talks about their personalities.

Curiosity has never needed a curriculum. It just needs freedom — and safety.

Letting Go Is Not Absence. It’s Presence Without Interference.

This way of being with children is often misunderstood. People think “letting go” means being hands-off, uninvolved, disengaged.

But it’s the opposite. It’s a deeply intentional presence. One where we observe, listen, and trust — not because we’re passive, but because we believe in the power of the child’s inner drive.

I still step in when it’s needed. When things escalate. When safety is at risk. Or when a child invites me in. But I’ve learned that those moments are far fewer than we think. Children know how to navigate challenge, invent solutions, and grow — when given the space to do so.

Letting children lead doesn’t create chaos. It creates connection. It builds trust. And it invites learning that is meaningful, lasting, and truly their own.

I used to think my job was to shape the learning. Now I know my role is to hold the space where learning can unfold.

Because when we let go, something magical happens:
Children rise.
They explore.
They create.
They surprise us.
They lead.

And we — finally — get the chance to follow.

Nikki Wineera is is an educator, writer, and advocate for holistic learning.