A student walks into the room.
Breathes.
Blinks.
Exists.
“Well done. Well done. Well done.”
By the time the lesson has technically begun, the student is already perfectly chuffed —
like a goldfish watching Jaws.
Nothing has been played.
Nothing has been attempted.
Nothing has been corrected.
But reassurance has been delivered.
Praise Is Not the Enemy
Let’s be clear from the start.
Praise matters.
Praise can motivate.
Praise, when earned, can be the difference between a student persisting and quietly giving up.
This article is not an argument against praise.
It’s an argument against what praise has quietly become.
How Praise Became Safer Than Correction
The inflation of praise did not happen because teachers forgot how to teach.
It happened because discomfort became suspect.
Correction started to sound like criticism.
Precision began to feel risky.
And reassurance was quietly reframed as care.
In a wider culture that prioritises emotional comfort, smooth experiences, and constant affirmation,
education absorbed the same logic.
If a student feels unsettled, something must be wrong.
If effort feels hard, the task must be misjudged.
If progress stalls, feedback must have been delivered badly.
So praise expanded — not because it was earned,
but because it felt safe.
Safe for the student.
Safe for the adult.
Safe for the institution.
Reassurance carries no risk.
Correction does.
And when safety becomes the primary goal, information is the first casualty.
When Praise Stops Carrying Information
Praise used to answer a simple question:
What worked?
Now it often answers a different one:
Did this feel okay for everyone?
That shift didn’t happen because teachers became careless or unskilled.
It happened because reassurance became the default response to uncertainty.
So praise expanded.
Not upward, but outward.
Chair adjusted? Well done.
Music out of the bag? Excellent.
Brought a pencil? Outstanding preparation.
At some point, simply turning up deserves applause.
When Everything Is Good, Nothing Is
This is where praise quietly devalues itself.
When everything is “excellent,” excellence disappears.
When praise is constant, it stops guiding and starts blurring.
Students lose calibration.
They can no longer tell:
what was successful,
what was adequate,
and what was unfinished.
They feel encouraged — but not informed.
Praise, Feedback, Encouragement, Instruction
These are not the same thing.
Praise reinforces emotion.
Feedback provides information.
Encouragement supports effort.
Instruction tells you what to do next.
Praise feels good.
Feedback changes behaviour.
When praise replaces feedback, learning doesn’t become kinder.
It becomes vaguer.
Why This Matters Even More for SEN and Neurodiverse Students
Some students genuinely need more reassurance.
Some need clearer emotional signalling.
Some need greater sensitivity in how correction is delivered.
None of that removes the need for structure.
It increases it.
Clarity is not cruelty.
Boundaries are not punishment.
For many students, structure is the kindness.
The Uncomfortable Truth
The hardest truth in all of this is not about students.
It’s about adults.
Praise often serves the person giving it more than the person receiving it.
It soothes anxiety.
It avoids confrontation.
It creates the feeling that something helpful has been done.
But feeling helpful is not the same as being helpful.
When praise replaces feedback, responsibility quietly dissolves.
No one has to be precise.
No one has to risk being misunderstood.
And no one has to say: this isn’t there yet.
The result looks kind.
It sounds supportive.
But it leaves the student directionless.
Learning does not improve through reassurance.
It improves through information.
And information, by definition, must distinguish between what worked and what didn’t.
What Praise Can — and Cannot — Do
Praise can motivate.
Praise can support persistence.
Praise can reinforce progress when it is specific and earned.
But praise cannot replace explanation.
And encouragement cannot substitute instruction.
Students don’t just need to be told they are doing well.
They need to know what worked, what didn’t, and what to do next.
Praise belongs at the end of that process —
not in place of it.