The unattended pram was the biggest shock. A six-month-old baby, fast asleep in the front garden of our neighbour’s house, with no adult in sight. I panicked slightly, looking around for the parents. But no one else seemed concerned.
Later on, at the local swing park, the pattern repeated itself: toddlers climbing eight-foot apparatus, crying, laughing, falling, getting up again, while parents stood at a quiet distance, chatting away quite happily. They got involved sometimes, of course, but nobody hovered. Nobody helicoptered. Nobody barked orders or chased their children around with snacks or tissues.
We were in Copenhagen for several months for my wife’s work, and I had taken on full-time care of our four-year-old daughter. And I was quick to realise that I was the odd one out – an overly involved British dad in a country that trusted children to just get on with it.
Danish children are given a lot of freedom from the get-go. And, as with any child anywhere, you give them a bit of responsibility and they rise to the occasion.
In the UK, if two four year olds start squabbling over a swing, a parent typically swoops in within seconds to referee. I always had done. In Denmark, the adults hang back. They’ll watch, of course, but they won’t interfere unless it’s absolutely necessary. Children are expected to work it out themselves. Which, almost invariably, they do.
This attitude runs deep. It’s not a conscious thing: it’s just how the world works in Denmark. Kids cycle to kindergarten and roam forest schools with minimal adult intrusion. I’d see them at it while my daughter and I were out walking the dog, half feral yet gleefully independent, confident, strong, happy.
Children are encouraged to explore, problem-solve, and take risks. It’s common to see fire pits in natural spaces which everyone can use, and it’s equally common to see children cooking over them (though this is generally supervised – kids are not quite that independent.)
Let children figure things out. Let them feel capable, let them fail, and let them get up again. It works.
I also saw a stark contrast with Britain’s anxious, perfection-seeking parenting culture. In the UK, it often feels like we’re performing parenthood as much as living it. Over here, if your toddler makes a scene in a café, you’re mortified. Parenting looks quieter in Denmark. Calmer, less reactive. In the UK, you’re encouraged to feel mortified. In Denmark, it’s kids being kids. Of course a three year old makes a bit of noise: nobody bats an eyelid. A child flailing in a supermarket isn’t a scene to be shut down, but simply a moment, with no shame attached.
There was a collective confidence in letting kids be kids. And it rubbed off. Danish children are more secure in themselves, more grounded. No one seemed in a rush to make them achieve. They were simply allowed to grow.
It was fantastically liberating to see. Of course, it’s not just culture: it’s structure. Denmark’s entire system is designed to support children and the people raising them.
You’re offered generous, flexible parental leave. This includes paternity cover. There is little poverty, meaning little child poverty. They have a national curriculum for early years that prioritises emotional development and social learning over phonics and measurable milestones.
Kindergarten staff are highly trained and their jobs are seen as an important vocation (which they are – I’m fully enamoured of my daughter’s nursery teachers in the UK, whom she missed a great deal when we were in Copenhagen). Children benefit from this – from consistent, thoughtful care rooted in child psychology, not just school prep.
Danish working culture supports all of this. People work fewer hours and long commutes are rare, especially in Copenhagen. Picking up your child at 3pm isn’t seen as slacking off. It’s part of the national rhythm. Families are under less stress. We were all certainly more relaxed out there. And children grow up knowing that their wellbeing isn’t an afterthought.
I adjusted quickly. No hovering, intervening, apologising. I started taking a book to the swing park every day. I let my daughter play longer without directing her and held back from solving every problem for her. I allowed her to be bored, and her imagination took over. Her confidence bloomed.
We can’t all move to Copenhagen. But we can take a lesson or two from parents there. In fact, “be more Danish” has become a bit of a mantra in our family. We don’t copy everything, of course. UK life isn’t set up to allow for it. But we have made an effort to adopt the spirit of calm, trust, and patience that we saw around us out there. It’s left all of us less anxious and less depleted.
We’ve even bought a fire pit for our daughter to cook on.
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