By Simone Potter, founder of Bush Magic Adventure Therapy

We live in a world where children’s lives are more protected, programmed, and padded than ever before. Helmets, knee pads, safe surfaces, safety scissors – these things have their place. But somewhere along the line, “keeping kids safe” has morphed into something else entirely: a fear-driven approach to childhood that robs kids of the very experiences they need to become capable, resilient human beings.

At Bush Magic Adventure Therapy, I spend my days in the bush with children, watching them test boundaries, climb trees, build fires, use tools, fall down, get muddy, and then try again until they master the skill they are wanting to learn. This kind of play, often labelled "risky", isn't just fun. It’s vital. It’s where confidence grows, social skills are sharpened, and kids learn to make judgments that can’t be taught in a classroom or protected into them by an adult.

Which is why I fully support Play Australia’s recently released Risky Play Position Statement for Young Australian Children. It recognises something that many parents and educators feel in their gut but are too often discouraged from acting on: children need opportunities to experience age-appropriate risk in order to thrive.

But what happens when we remove all risk from children’s lives?

We teach them that the world is too dangerous for them to handle.

We teach them that adults don’t believe in their capacity to manage uncertainty or navigate challenge.

We teach them that every misstep is a problem to be avoided, not a chance to learn.

And over time, that message becomes internalised. We’re seeing the effects in rising rates of childhood anxiety, perfectionism, and emotional dysregulation. Many children are reaching adolescence without ever having developed the confidence that comes from failing, recovering, and realising they’re okay.

The irony is that by trying to keep kids “safe” all the time, we’re actually undermining their ability to stay safe in the real world. There is a big risk in removing risk from children’s lives and that is that they will never learn what they are capable of, what they can navigate on their own and where their real limits are.

Consider this: when a child climbs a tree, they learn how high they feel comfortable going. They feel the difference between sturdy and weak branches. They learn to manage their own body, assess risk in real time, and decide when to push forward or pull back. These are life skills – skills they will one day use while crossing a busy street, navigating relationships, or making decisions under pressure.

When we remove these experiences, we replace them with adult control. We tell children when it’s safe to go, how far they’re allowed to push, and what tools they can or can’t use. They stop tuning into their own instincts and start outsourcing that judgment to us. That’s not safety. That’s dependency.

This isn’t about being reckless or ignoring genuine hazards. Of course, we need boundaries, supervision, and common sense. But there’s a difference between managing hazards and eliminating challenge. Between supporting children to take risks and scaring them away from anything uncertain.

At Bush Magic, we support children of all abilities, including neurodivergent kids and those with additional support needs, to engage in real, hands-on, often muddy and unpredictable play. And what we see, time and time again, is growth. A child who was scared to climb a log last week is today leading their friends across it. A child who struggles with focus finds calm and clarity when they’re whittling a stick with a real tool and a trusted adult by their side. A child who has been told “no” so many times discovers the thrill of making their own decisions.

We don’t bubble-wrap children. We scaffold and support them. We walk beside them as they stretch, explore, fail, and try again. And every time we do, we see not just the child grow, we see their families confidence grow too.

Parents often tell me they were nervous at first: nervous about the knives, the trees, the fire. But then they watch their child thrive, and they remember what it felt like to be a child themselves, when scraped knees were a badge of honour and freedom was found in the dirt.

We’re not advocating chaos. We’re advocating trust. Trust in children’s capabilities. Trust in ourselves to support them well. And trust in the natural process of learning through doing.

So the next time your child wants to climb something, build something, or try something that makes you a little uncomfortable, pause. Ask yourself: Is this truly unsafe? Or is it just unfamiliar?

Because the truth is, when we keep kids too safe, we’re not protecting them from the world, we’re keeping them from becoming ready for it.

Let them climb. Let them build. Let them fall, and let them rise again.

That’s how they learn what they’re really capable of.