Imagine, for a moment, that you are about to undergo life\u2011threatening heart surgery. You feel unwell\u2014fatigued, breathless, and emotionally drained. You are hungry and weak from fasting since the night before. Pre-medications are beginning to take effect, leaving you drowsy. You are dressed in a hospital gown, wearing compression stockings, and quietly preparing yourself for what lies ahead. More than anything, you want the comfort of those closest to you. <\/p>\n
Now imagine that, at this moment, a healthcare professional arrives with a superhero costume and encourages you to put it on and \u201cfly\u201d down the corridor to the theatre. <\/p>\n
Most adults would find this deeply incongruous; an ill\u2011judged mismatch between the seriousness of their situation and the behaviour expected of them. It would likely feel dismissive of their fear<\/a> and distress, offering little room for emotional authenticity<\/a> or support. <\/p>\n Yet, this scenario is not far removed from what many children experience in hospital settings. <\/p>\n The Expectation that Children Will be Brave<\/p>\n Children undergoing serious medical treatment are often labelled as \u201cbrave,\u201d \u201ccourageous,\u201d or even \u201cwarriors.\u201d They may be given “bravery stickers” for being a “good patient,” praised for staying still during painful procedures, or encouraged to embody heroic narratives by wearing costumes or celebrating milestones as victories in a battle. <\/p>\n These gestures are undoubtedly well-intentioned. They aim to comfort, motivate, and empower. However, they can also create a subtle but powerful expectation: that the child must cope quietly, without visible distress. <\/p>\n As someone who spent much of childhood<\/a> navigating hospital care for congenital heart disease, I frequently heard these labels. I was described as brave, and I was rewarded for compliance, remaining still and silent during often painful and frightening invasive procedures. While these narratives sometimes instilled pride and resilience<\/a>, they also carried an unspoken message: that bravery meant not expressing fear, pain, or anger<\/a>. <\/p>\n In reality, I often did not feel brave. I simply felt I had no choice. <\/p>\n The Cost of Hero Narratives <\/p>\n Language matters. The metaphors we use shape experiences and influence behaviour. In healthcare, particularly in relation to long-term conditions, \u201cbattle\u201d and \u201cwarrior\u201d narratives are pervasive. Patients are encouraged to \u201cfight\u201d their illness, to \u201cstay strong,\u201d and to \u201ckeep going.\u201d While such language can foster determination, it can also have unintended consequences. For children, in particular, these narratives can: <\/p>\n Discourage emotional expression, as distress may feel incompatible with being \u201cbrave\u201d Research has also highlighted that war metaphors in illness can undermine adaptive health behaviours and negatively affect self-worth<\/a>, especially if health outcomes worsen or are perceived as \u201closing the battle\u201d (Hauser and Schwarz, 2015). A more constructive approach may involve acceptance, self-compassion, and learning to work with the body, rather than against it. <\/p>\n Making Space for Emotional Reality <\/p>\n
\nReinforce compliance at the expense of psychological processing
\nCreate pressure to meet adult expectations of resilience
\nContribute to feelings of shame<\/a> or failure if they are unable to cope in the expected way <\/p>\n