Growth Mindset in Action: Educational Psychology for Teachers and Parents

By Drew Weston

Growth Mindset in Action: Educational Psychology for Teachers and Parents is your witty, insightful, and research-rooted guide to helping students think flexibly, stay curious, and bounce back when learning gets tough. This book doesn't just explain growth mindset — it shows you how to live it, model it, and invite it into everyday moments at school and at home.

Through fresh, relatable insights and zero fluff, you'll explore:

• The science behind how students think, learn, and grow
• Why some types of praise work — and others backfire
• How emotions and mindset shape motivation
• Ways to create mistake-friendly classrooms and homes
• What to say when a student says "I can't"
• Habits and rituals that normalize struggle and effort
• Tools to help parents and teachers work as a united team
• How to build a culture of curiosity without the pressure to perform

With a tone that respects your time, your challenges, and your sense of humor, this book offers tools and questions that stick — not scripts to memorize. Whether you're an exhausted teacher, a thoughtful parent, or someone who's both, Growth Mindset in Action will help you shift your language, your expectations, and maybe even your own beliefs about what learning really looks like.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Drew Weston
• Release date: Apr 14, 2025
• ISBN: 9798230617433

Book preview

Chapter 1: Foundations of a Growth Mindset

1.1 The Two Mindsets and Why They Matter Early On

1.1.1 How beliefs about intelligence form

Let’s start with a simple truth: kids aren’t born knowing whether they’re smart. That whole idea comes from the outside. By age three, most children already have a sense of whether learning feels safe or suspicious. No toddler has ever looked up from a tower of blocks and declared, I think I have a fixed mindset. But the moment someone gasps, You’re so clever! or sighs, Not everyone’s good at that, the seed is quietly planted.

Beliefs about intelligence don’t arrive as fully-formed conclusions. They creep in through praise, labels, comparisons, and tone. A child might not remember the moment someone raised an eyebrow at their math attempt, but they might carry the sense that math just isn’t their thing. Beliefs begin small and grow roots before anyone even notices. Do you remember when you first felt good or bad at something? Did you decide, or did someone decide for you?

These early impressions morph into self-narratives. I’m not creative. I’ve always been bad at writing. I just can’t focus. Adults say these things as if they’re facts. But when did they become facts? And who said the verdict couldn’t be appealed?

1.1.2 Early messages from adults that stick

Here’s the thing about early messages: they wear costumes. Some dress up as compliments. You’re a natural at this! Others hide in concerned advice. Maybe you should stick to what you’re good at. Even silence can be a message. When adults rush in to help without asking, kids learn to wait for rescue instead of attempting risk. When a student struggles and hears only quiet approval when they succeed, they may come to believe success is the only acceptable story.

Adults carry enormous influence in the simplest moments. A raised eyebrow, a deep sigh, a half-smile can mean everything to a child trying to decode what is worth trying. Kids don’t need constant affirmation. They need the space to struggle while being believed in.

Have you ever stopped yourself from trying something new because someone once laughed or shrugged at your attempt? It may have been a decade ago, yet the voice still lingers like an unpaid parking ticket.

The most helpful adults say things like, It looks like that part’s tricky. Want to tell me what’s making it hard? Or, This is what learning feels like sometimes. No drama. No over-cheerleading. Just clarity and presence. Do we say these things out loud often enough?

1.1.3 Learning as a flexible journey

The fixed mindset tends to view learning as a passport stamp. You either get in or you don’t. The growth mindset sees it more like a hiking path, full of detours, false starts, and a few too many snacks along the way. You may not finish today, and that’s not a problem unless someone keeps shouting from the mountaintop that you’re doing it wrong.

Flexibility in learning means understanding that temporary struggle doesn’t equal permanent failure. That an error isn’t a conclusion. That our best today isn’t the ceiling, it’s the floor we build on next time.

A student may need thirty tries before the light bulb flickers on. Another might need silence, space, and a snack. The path doesn’t have to look the same for everyone. It rarely does. Yet schools and homes often treat progress like a one-size-fits-all jumpsuit. Tight in all the wrong places and not flattering to anyone.

Learning flexibly doesn’t mean avoiding structure. It means understanding when to adapt the structure to let the student breathe. If we’re constantly measuring kids against each other or against some ideal pace, how often are we inviting discouragement in with a clipboard?

A flexible approach says: this is where you are. Let’s look at what helps and what doesn’t. It doesn’t judge the starting point. It doesn’t panic when momentum dips. It notices. Adjusts. Listens.

Growth mindset work isn’t about turning every child into a confident academic superhero. It’s about helping them see that the journey they’re on isn’t fixed at birth. That the story can change, and they hold the pen, even if someone else handed them the first draft.

So the question becomes: are we writing the kind of early chapter that makes students want to keep going?

Or are we closing the book for them before they’ve even learned how to turn the page?

1.2 Neuroplasticity: The Brain That Changes Itself

1.2.1 What brain research tells us about effort

Let’s step into the neural kitchen for a moment. Every thought, every attempt, every flash of concentration sparks a sizzling reaction in the brain. No fireworks, no light shows. Just hardworking neurons building scaffolds while no one’s watching. Brain research has made one thing painfully clear: effort isn’t ornamental. It’s functional.

Effort alters the structure of the brain. Not metaphorically. Literally. Dendrites stretch. Synapses strengthen. New pathways emerge, not because someone tried hard in a motivational sense, but because their effort created a physical response in the nervous system. The work leads to wiring.

This means a brain in action doesn’t look like a calm river of innate talent. It resembles a construction site. Loud. Messy. Temporarily inefficient. But something is being built. And effort is the currency that pays for the bricks.

This research pokes a hole in the old belief that smart people just know things. Brains don’t grow on intuition. They grow when friction appears. When attention holds. When discomfort lingers long enough for change to begin. So the real question isn’t how smart someone is. The question is: how much neural noise are they willing to tolerate?

1.2.2 Why repetition matters more than talent

Brains aren’t romantic about your one great try. They’re not handing out awards for that time you focused for twenty minutes with Beethoven in the background and your favorite mug nearby. The brain loves repetition. Dry, quiet, steady repetition. The kind that rarely makes it onto social media.

Repetition teaches the brain what to care about. If you rehearse stress, your brain says, Got it, this must matter. If you repeat self-doubt, it says, Understood, let’s automate that. But if you practice recall, or reading, or solving problems, even clumsily, your brain adjusts. Not based on how well you do it. Based on how often.

This can be good news or deeply inconvenient, depending on what’s been on repeat. You might think your brain hates a subject, but maybe it just hasn’t received enough signals to care. Maybe it hasn’t had the time or exposure to change its allegiance.

And talent? That’s not nothing, but it’s also not the main event. Talent might give someone a head start, but repetition decides who finishes the race. Consistency leaves talent in the dust more often than people like to admit.

If we know this, why do we still romanticize quick learners and discourage