The Kindest Thing You Can Do Before the Interview Might Be to Stop Practicing

Most of what I’ve written in this series has been about what to do. This week is about what to stop doing, because the single most common mistake I saw came from the most devoted, well-meaning parents: they over-prepared.

Here’s the trap. Practice feels productive, so more practice feels better. But past a certain point, rehearsal does the one thing you’re trying to avoid — it makes a child sound rehearsed. And a rehearsed child, as I wrote a few weeks back, is exactly the child who falls apart when an interviewer gets curious. The parents drilling hardest the night before are often the ones whose child walks in sounding the most coached.

So how do you know when to stop? Use authenticity as your gauge. As long as your child is still responding as themselves -thinking out loud, occasionally surprising you- you’re fine. But the moment it tips toward “I’ve memorized what to say, and I’m spitting it back,” practice is over. That single test is the whole guardrail.

A more concrete version: you are done when your child can talk comfortably about a few things they like, and reach for “let me think about that for a second” on their own, without you reminding them. That’s the finish line. Not perfection. A relaxed child who sounds like themselves will always beat a drilled one.

And here’s the part almost no one tells parents: readiness sets the stop, not nerves - and not your nerves either. When your own anxiety is the thing pushing you to squeeze in one more session, that’s precisely the moment to stop. Your worry is real and understandable, but it is not evidence that your child needs more practice. Often it’s the opposite.

Which brings me to the quietest, most useful thing I can tell you about preparing a child: watch yourself, not just your kid.

In any practice run, notice your own urge to jump in and answer for your child - to fill the silence, to rescue them from a pause, to add the detail they forgot. That urge is the thing to fix, and it’s in you, not them. Because interviewers notice a child who waits to be rescued. We notice a child who glances at a parent before answering. The most generous thing you can do is sit on your hands and let the pause happen. A child who takes a beat and finds their own words is far more impressive than one who never had to.

One practical note for the final stretch: no practice the night before. That evening belongs to a good night’s sleep and a rested, settled child - not to one more round of questions. Time your last real practice far enough out that it can settle, and let your child arrive fresh.

If you’ve been working hard with your child this summer, that’s love, and it’s not wasted. But the last move is often subtraction, not addition. Trust the work you’ve done. Then get out of the way, and let the real child walk in.

Next week, my last in this series: a calm, practical plan for interview day itself, as the fall season gets underway.