Learning to Love Effort: How Montessori Fosters Perseverance
Paula Lillard Preschlack • January 18, 2018

In the Montessori approach, “work” is not a dirty word; it’s a glorious word. For the child’s real “work” is to form their own, unique human being in the world, through everything that they do and everything that they engage in. Think of how you feel when you are fully immersed in something you love to do. It could be polishing your antique car, fly fishing, writing a poem, a speech, solving a math equation, or helping a client. If you have work that absorbs you in such moments, then you understand that inspiring work feels good to children, too. Of course, children do not think of their actions as work, but Montessori proposed that what children do should be respected as their work.


The infant’s task is to build a person, so she is fully engaged in kicking her legs and making sounds, delighting in it, concentrating on it, going on with it even when it takes effort. And here is a main reason that Montessori is so timely for today’s youth: when we have found some piece of work that engages us fully, effort is a friend that helps us persevere. With the Montessori approach, children develop an attitude that effort is a friendly, natural part of any learning process. This is because effort is built in to every activity they engage in at school that leads them into flow.


A young boy wearing a green apron is cleaning a wooden table.

In a Primary Classroom, I watched a four-year-old boy wash a table with such gusto and flourish that he seemed completely unaware of the other children walking past him and talking. He did not seem to hear the bells a child was playing on the far side of the room, the water splashing in the sink as another child filled and refilled his bucket just five feet away, the classroom door opening, a child entering, the door closing again, or a girl tap-tap-tapping her feet while she was counting out loud at a table three feet to his left, adding four digits numbers with a bead frame. All this and more was swirling around him, and he was bent over his work, apron hanging down and wet with water, making big, round motions with his arm as he scrubbed the surface of the wooden table. His long curly bangs were swinging over his brow, the shoelaces of one shoe untied and lying on the floor while he rocked forward and up on the balls of his feet to reach the far side of the table, one hand flat on the table to support his weight.


The boy paused when he had made the soapsuds cover every part of the table surface. He stood upright, took a step back, brushed his dark curls from his face with a wet forearm holding the child-sized scrub brush, glanced up at the child sitting near him, and just as quickly bent over his floor mat to his right with all the table washing materials laid out on it: sponge, soap dish with soap bar in it, a wash-cloth for drying, a tiny bucket half filled with water. He rubbed the scrub brush on the soap bar, stopped and looked at the bristles, re-wetted them in the bucket, and rubbed them on the soap again (quite firmly). When he noticed suds building, he paused again, glanced at the underside of the brush, and went back at it with the table surface. He scrubbed and scrubbed, moving his circular motions around to cover the entire surface again. This repeated and went on for a good 15 minutes.


Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and his hair started to stick. He seemed unaware and unfazed, completely absorbed in his whole body movement. Then he put the brush on the floor mat, squatted down and took the sponge, and started wiping the table in smooth, long swipes from one side to the other, eventually removing most of the suds. He bent over and plunged the sponge into the water bucket, and at that moment another boy came over and said something to him. He smiled up at him, then looked back down and squeezed the sponge out with both hands, and the other boy walked away. He stood straight up, looked after the other boy for a moment, then watched the water dripping into the bucket from his sponge, long, slow drips. He looked pensive, watching…then squeezed the sponge out with more force, watched, then started wiping the table again.


He stopped after a while and sighed, stood up and noticed a girl walking by with a tray of flowers. He then dried his table with the dry wash cloth and quickly cleaned up the things on his mat, returning the water from the bucket into the child-level sink and taking the scrub brush over to the sink and rinsing it with a gushing stream of water (it dripped from his hand the whole way back to his mat but he did not notice this). He squatted down to his mat and put the sponge, dish with soap, and scrub brush back into the little bucket. He then paused and pulled them all out again.


A little boy with an apron on is working montessori like

Such episodes repeat throughout the day in a Montessori Primary classroom. This is a prime example of how a child organizes his thoughts and motions with a sequence of actions, integrating his will, decision-making, and body movements—both gross motor and the small motor of his fingers—and exercising care for materials and the environment. The child uses such exercises to satisfy his craving for purposeful work: not of the work of washing a table per se, but the deeper work of building all the cognitive and physical aspects of his personality. Dr. Montessori pointed out that young children need these organizing activities that have real purpose and connection to community life to build themselves through.


The effort and focus that rose out of this determined activity was his alone; a child can measure and respond to the level of effort he or she feels rising in them during the activity and adjust and work with that sensation of effort. It is completely unadulterated and not manipulated or created by an outside force, but comes from within that individual child. So, effort is a different experience than the one we deliver to children when we give them an assignment. Accomplishing specific tasks later when asked to is something our Montessori children can willingly do with confidence because of such numerous experiences they have had of flowing with effort by their own accord.


These simple practical life activities, such as washing, cleaning, and arranging, lay the foundation not only for effort but for the organizing of thoughts as a child experiences sequences of actions and their outcomes in all their stages and orders. Montessori uniquely employs such activities as the building blocks for thinking and doing. They deliberately and precisely set the stage for mathematics, language arts, and all the child’s intellectual and physical work to come. Simultaneously, our children’s healthy approach to effort translates into resilience and perseverance that will distinguish them in their later years.


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A teacher and Montessori student at Forest Bluff School in Lake Bluff, IL, shake hands.
By Alice Davidson with contributions by Margaret J. Kelley February 25, 2026
In Montessori education, we view each child as inherently capable of developing a strong sense of right and wrong. A child’s moral compass is not something we impose upon them—it is something that grows within, guided by experiences, reflection, and consistent modeling from the adults in their lives. For that moral sense to take root, children must be allowed to experience accountability for their actions. When parents shield their children from consequences or defend behavior they know is wrong, they unintentionally undermine that process, creating confusion and instability in the child’s understanding of truth, fairness, and responsibility. Many parents defend their children out of love and protectiveness. They wish to spare their child from discomfort, embarrassment, or the feeling of failure. Yet this kind of protection, though well-intentioned, teaches the opposite of what true love demands. One of the tenets of Montessori is to put children in contact with the real world in age-appropriate ways, trusting that they have the inner capabilities to grow and adapt when they have real experiences. When parents constantly justify, minimize, or excuse poor behavior, a child misses an opportunity for feedback; they learn that honesty is flexible and that integrity can be negotiated. This erodes their moral foundation and leaves them uncertain about what is right—not because they cannot feel it, but because the adults they trust most are contradicting that inner voice. In Montessori, children learn to do work and make decisions based on intrinsic, not extrinsic motivation. We trust that they have goodness inside of them, and while they absolutely need guardrails and guidelines, we can best serve them by teaching them to distinguish between their internal drives, and to take action in accordance with their conscience. Children are perceptive. They often know when they have done something wrong—whether they spoke unkindly, acted selfishly, or disrespected another. When their parents immediately defend them or blame others, the child experiences an internal conflict. On one hand, their conscience tells them they made a mistake; on the other, the parent’s response tells them they are in the right. Over time, this mismatch between inner truth and external validation creates confusion. The child begins to question their own moral instincts and may even learn to ignore the pangs of conscience altogether, relying instead on external approval to define what is acceptable. This is one of the greatest harms of over-defending a child: it separates them from their natural moral compass. When children are consistently told they are right—even when they know they are not—they start to equate love with being defended rather than being guided. They may learn that relationships are maintained through justification and blame-shifting instead of honesty and repair. Later in life, these patterns can manifest as difficulty accepting feedback, resistance to authority, or an inability to take responsibility in personal and professional relationships. In Montessori classrooms, we see accountability as a cornerstone of growth. When a child makes a mistake—perhaps they take another’s materials without asking or speak rudely to a classmate—we respond not with shame, but with calm guidance. We help the child reflect: What happened? How did this affect others? What can you do to make it right? This process nurtures empathy and clarity. It helps children see that they can correct their mistakes, that doing wrong does not make them bad, and that making amends restores both harmony and self-respect. Accepting that your child can be wrong is not a sign of parental failure—it is a sign of courage and wisdom. When you model accountability yourself, your child learns that truth is not something to be feared. They see that mistakes are part of being human, and that integrity means facing them with grace. Ultimately, allowing your child to experience and accept the consequences of their behavior builds confidence, empathy, and moral clarity. Shielding them from accountability may protect their feelings in the short term, but it confuses their conscience and weakens their inner sense of right and wrong. By guiding them lovingly toward truth and responsibility, you empower them to grow into kind, honest, and self-aware individuals—qualities that form the true foundation of a moral life.
A Montessori student at Forest Bluff School uses grammar symbols and color-coded tiles
By Margaret J. Kelley January 24, 2026
Discover how Forest Bluff School on Chicago's North Shore uses Montessori symbols to teach grammar, making language arts engaging for Primary and Elementary students.