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What if the key to helping a student move forward isn’t another resource, but a better understanding of what’s holding them back?
There is a particular kind of helplessness that comes with being a parent or educator who can see a student’s potential so clearly, yet cannot seem to help that student see it for themselves.
You know what they’re capable of. You see the opportunities within their reach. You have the resources, the connections, the experience, and the willingness to help.
But somehow, the student isn’t moving forward.
And you find yourself asking a question that can keep a parent or educator awake at night:
What am I missing?
I’ve encountered this with students from every background. Gifted and talented students. First-generation students. Student-athletes. Artists. High achievers. Students who have overcome extraordinary obstacles and students who have seemingly had every opportunity placed before them.
Motivation, or the absence of it, does not discriminate.
And neither should our determination to understand it.
When the Student Who Could Do Anything Suddenly Wants to Do Nothing
I’ve seen it happen again and again.
A talented student spends thousands of hours developing a skill. Years of practice, early mornings, late nights, competitions, lessons, and sacrifices. Their identity becomes intertwined with what they do.
And then, one day, they decide they’re finished.
The athlete no longer wants to compete. The musician puts down the instrument. The gifted student stops pursuing the academic opportunities everyone assumed they would embrace.
Sometimes they’re exhausted. Sometimes their interests have changed. Sometimes they’ve spent so long pursuing someone else’s vision of success that they haven’t had the opportunity to discover their own.
I can respect a student’s decision to walk away from something that no longer brings purpose or fulfillment.
But I also believe there is an important conversation that should follow:
“If this is no longer the path you want to pursue, what would you like your next chapter to look like?”
Not every student needs to continue doing what they’ve always done.
But every student deserves help imagining what comes next.
My Past Fuels My Purpose
I work frequently with first-generation and low-income students, and this work comes naturally to me for a deeply personal reason.
I am one of them.
I understand what it means to navigate an educational system without always knowing the questions to ask. I understand how difficult it can be to recognize an opportunity when you have never seen someone in your immediate world take advantage of it.
I know what it feels like to need someone to explain not just what is possible, but how to get there.
My own past fuels my purpose and passion every single day.
It’s why I’ve spent years building resources, teaching students about scholarships, explaining college admissions, and helping families understand that their financial circumstances do not have to dictate the limits of their future.
But I’ve also learned something important along the way.
Access to opportunity and the ability to recognize, believe in, and act upon that opportunity are not the same thing.
We can provide every resource imaginable and still have a student who doesn’t know how to take the first step.
And that is where our work becomes more complicated—and more meaningful.
The Silver Platter Problem
I’ll admit something.
There have been times when I’ve felt as though I’ve handed a student everything they needed on a silver platter.
Scholarship opportunities. College planning tools. Career exploration resources. Financial aid guidance. Personal encouragement. A clear path forward.
Everything is right there.
All they have to do is take the next step.
And yet, they don’t.
I’ve found myself wondering:
Why won’t they use what I’ve given them?
Can’t they see how different their future could be?
Don’t they understand what they’re potentially giving up?
Those questions come from a genuine desire to help, but I’ve learned that they may not be the right questions.
Because from my perspective, the opportunity is obvious.
From the student’s perspective, it may be anything but.
A scholarship application might represent an opportunity to me, but to a student who doesn’t believe they’re college material, it may represent another chance to be rejected.
A college planning checklist might look like a clear roadmap to me, but to a student overwhelmed by responsibilities at home, it may look like one more impossible task.
A conversation about the future might inspire me, but to a student who has never been encouraged to imagine a different life, the future may feel too distant to matter.
Sometimes what looks like a lack of motivation is actually a lack of belief that the opportunity is meant for them.
And sometimes, what looks like resistance is a student trying to protect themselves from disappointment, exhaustion, embarrassment, or failure.
That realization changes the conversation entirely.
What We Don’t Know May Matter More Than What We Do
I have asked myself a thousand times:
What does this student need that I haven’t yet recognized?
I’ve come to believe that the answers are often hidden in what we don’t know about the student, rather than what we do.
Before I assume a student simply isn’t motivated, I need to ask myself some harder questions.
Do they understand the value of the opportunity?
Have I explained why this matters in a way that connects to their life, their interests, and their goals? Or have I assumed that what seems valuable to me will automatically seem valuable to them?
Are their basic needs being met?
It’s difficult to focus on a scholarship deadline when you’re worried about food, transportation, housing, family responsibilities, or whether you’ll have a safe place to sleep.
Sometimes the barrier isn’t motivation. It’s survival.
Can they see the long-term benefits?
The promise of a college degree, a career, or financial independence can feel abstract to a teenager who is focused on getting through the week.
Have I helped make the future tangible?
Have I painted a clear picture of the available paths?
Not just what happens if they choose Path A or Path B, but what each path might actually look like in their everyday life.
What doors could open? What challenges might they encounter? What would the next step require?
Do they understand what they may be saying no to?
Sometimes students decline an opportunity without understanding its potential value. Other times, they understand perfectly well and have reasons we haven’t taken the time to hear.
Have I made room for both possibilities?
Do they understand the consequences of their choices without feeling threatened by them?
There is a difference between helping a student understand a consequence and using fear to force a decision.
Our job is to provide clarity, not control.
And perhaps most importantly, do they feel respected and safe enough to tell me the truth?
Can they admit they’re afraid? That they’re confused? That they don’t want the future everyone else has imagined for them?
Can they say, “I don’t know what I want,” without feeling that they’ve disappointed us?
Because until a student feels safe enough to be honest, we may never discover what’s actually standing in the way.
Six Ways to Reach the Student Who Isn’t Moving Forward
Once I’ve examined the barriers, I return to six principles that help me connect with students in a more meaningful way.
1. Build the relationship before pushing the resource.
Students need to know that our investment in them is not dependent upon their performance.
I want a student to understand that I care about who they are, not simply what they accomplish.
That means listening without immediately offering solutions. Asking questions without turning every conversation into a lesson. Learning what makes them laugh, what frustrates them, what they’re proud of, and what they wish someone understood.
Trust creates the foundation for conversations that can change a student’s direction.
2. Make the next step small enough to feel possible.
Sometimes we hand students an entire roadmap when what they really need is help taking the first step.
“Apply for scholarships” can feel overwhelming.
“Let’s find one scholarship that fits you and read the requirements together” feels manageable.
“Figure out your future” is an enormous request.
“Let’s explore three careers that connect to something you enjoy” is a place to begin.
Progress builds confidence. Confidence makes the next step easier.
And before long, a student who once felt stuck may begin moving forward independently.
3. Help them discover their own reasons.
We cannot build lasting motivation entirely around someone else’s dreams.
A student may pursue a goal to please a parent, coach, teacher, or counselor, but eventually they need to understand why that goal matters to them.
I want to ask questions that help students discover their own answers.
What kind of life would you like to build?
What problems do you enjoy solving?
What makes you curious?
What would you try if you weren’t afraid of being unsuccessful?
What do you want your future to make possible for you and the people you love?
The answers may surprise us.
And that’s a good thing.
4. Celebrate progress that doesn’t come with a trophy.
We are very good at celebrating scholarships, acceptances, awards, and graduation ceremonies.
But what about the student who finally asks for help?
The one who completes a FAFSA after weeks of avoiding it?
The one who attends a college visit despite being terrified?
The one who admits they don’t understand something and asks us to explain it again?
Those moments matter.
Sometimes the greatest breakthrough isn’t a measurable achievement.
It’s the moment a student begins believing they are capable of achieving something.
5. Teach students that changing direction is not the same as giving up.
I want students to understand that their future is not defined by one grade, one rejection, one missed opportunity, or one decision to change direction.
They are allowed to discover new interests.
They are allowed to outgrow old dreams.
They are allowed to try something difficult and decide it isn’t the right fit.
What I want them to develop is the confidence to continue exploring, learning, and making thoughtful decisions about what comes next.
A student who walks away from one path may be taking the first step toward discovering a better-fitting one.
Our role is to help them recognize that possibility.
6. Make sure they aren’t carrying the journey alone.
Parents, educators, counselors, mentors, coaches, and peers can all play a role in helping students move forward.
Sometimes a student needs to hear the same message from a different voice.
Sometimes they need someone who shares their background or has navigated a similar obstacle.
Sometimes they simply need one adult who consistently shows up, remembers what matters to them, and refuses to reduce them to their latest performance.
A strong support system doesn’t make every decision for a student.
It gives them the confidence and resources to begin making those decisions for themselves.
The Key May Not Be What We Think It Is
I’ve spent much of my professional life helping students find the resources they need to build a better future.
And I will continue doing exactly that.
But the longer I work with students, the more convinced I become that resources alone are not enough.
A student can have access to the best scholarship database in the world and still believe college isn’t for them.
They can have a detailed career plan and still feel uncertain about their future.
They can be surrounded by people who believe in their potential and still struggle to believe in themselves.
We cannot assume that because we’ve opened a door, a student feels ready to walk through it.
Sometimes we need to sit beside them long enough to understand why.
Sometimes we need to help them imagine what might be waiting on the other side.
And sometimes we need to recognize that the door we’ve been encouraging them to enter isn’t the one they want to choose.
Our job isn’t to decide what a student’s future should look like. It’s to help them believe they have a future worth exploring—and the ability to shape it.
I still believe every student matters.
Every single one.
And I still believe we should keep searching for ways to reach the student who seems unreachable, encourage the student who has lost confidence, and support the student who cannot yet see a path forward.
But I’ve learned that the missing piece isn’t always another opportunity, another reminder, or another resource.
Sometimes it’s a conversation.
Sometimes it’s trust.
Sometimes it’s hope.
And sometimes, the most powerful thing we can offer a student is the simple assurance:
“I see something in you worth believing in. And I’m willing to help you discover it for yourself.”
That is the work.
And that is why I keep showing up.
— Sherri