Situation 1
They Keep Saying “Later”

Name one first step. Pick one stuck assignment and ask what’s making it hard to start. Then name a first step so small there’s nothing left to decide, and make that the only ask. “I don’t know what to write about” gets “list three topics.” “I can’t find my notes” gets “find the notes.” Then stop. No “and then.”

“What’s one tiny thing you could do right now to start? Just one.”
Studying for a test has no built-in first step: no doc to open, no button to press. Name it for them: “Pick the chapter. Open your notes. That’s the first step.”
“I’ve been the one tracking your assignments, and I’m going to stop, because it isn’t building the thing you need. I’m not disappearing. I’m changing jobs.”
Situation 2
They Sat Down and Nothing Happened

Clear to step one. Ten tabs open, notes in three places, phone lighting up: the space is working against them before they type a word. Remove everything the first step doesn’t need, set it up, and walk away. If it’s not needed for step one, it doesn’t belong in the workspace right now.

For screen work: close every tab except the one they need, open the assignment in a fresh window, and turn notifications off.
For paper work: clear the desk down to the worksheet and a pencil, and move the phone to another room if you can.
Situation 3
The Step Is Named and They’re Still Stuck

Start the clock. Shrink the time instead of the task. Set a stopwatch counting up, and you both work until it hits five minutes. A stopwatch makes time visible without making it feel like it’s running out. When it hits five, you stop. Honoring the stop is what makes starting feel safe tomorrow.

“Here’s how this works. We both work until the stopwatch hits five minutes. You do your assignment, I do my thing. At five, we stop, and you decide whether to keep going.”
If they keep going past five, let that be theirs. The deal was five minutes; anything extra is a bonus, not the new minimum.
Situation 1
They Won’t Start Unless You’re in the Room

Work beside them. Sit nearby with a real task of your own: email, a book, the bills. Do it visibly and quietly. You’re not checking on them and you’re not waiting for them. You’re working, and that’s what makes their working possible. If they ask for help, answer the question, then go back to your own task.

“I’m going to answer emails right here. You good to start your thing?”
Actually work. Not scrolling, not glancing over your phone at their screen. If your focus is fake, they feel it.
“Looks good. Keep going. I’ll read it at the end if you want.”
Situation 2
Sent to Their Room, and Nothing Happened

Move it to shared space. A bedroom is isolated, full of distractions, and empty of the one thing that helps them start: you. The kitchen table with background noise beats a silent room where they’re alone with the overwhelm.

“Let’s both work at the table tonight. I’ll bring my laptop, you bring your stuff.”
Skip any space where your attention is split between them and dinner on the stove, another kid’s pickup, or a phone call. The move needs your actual focus, and they can tell when they’re getting half of it.
Situation 3
It Works for Ten Minutes, Then Falls Apart

Stop before the crash. The problem isn’t willpower, it’s session length. A session that ends on a win gets repeated; a session that ends in shutdown gets avoided. Match the length to what they can actually do, and end it while it’s still working.

“Let’s try ten minutes tonight. You tell me when to stop.”
Calibrate from last night: crashed at fifteen, try two tens with a break. Drifting at ten, try two five-minute sprints. Ran smoothly the whole way, add a few minutes and let them call the stop.
Situation 1
Staring at a Blank Page

Run ninety seconds. Set a countdown timer for 90 seconds and have them write anything. No deleting, no rereading, no spell-check. This one counts down on purpose: the hard stop is the rule-keeper, so they don’t have to be. When it goes off, they’re done, and you don’t read what they wrote.

“You don’t need to be right. You need to start. Ninety seconds, write anything, we’ll fix it later.”
When the timer stops, say “Good. That’s the start. Done for now.” Don’t read it, don’t correct it, don’t praise it. Any verdict, even a nice one, is still a verdict.
Situation 2
They Fix Every Sentence as They Write It

Draft mode only. Every stop-and-fix loses the thread. Separate the two jobs completely: tonight is drafting, tomorrow is editing. Then remove the tools that make mid-draft fixing possible.

For screen work: spell-check off, grammar-check off, the rubric tab closed. AI tools and search stay closed until editing starts; asking a bot how to phrase something is editing, and it’s not tonight.
“Tonight we’re drafting only. No fixing. We’ll edit tomorrow.”
For paper work: pencil with no eraser, scrap paper instead of the good paper, cross-outs instead of do-overs.
Situation 3
Mid-Draft, the Panic Comes Back

Shrink to one sentence. Halfway through, what they’ve written starts looking wrong and quitting starts looking safe. Drop the bar to the floor: tonight’s whole job is one sentence, any sentence, anywhere in the piece. “The main character is annoying and makes bad choices” counts.

“One sentence tonight. It doesn’t have to be the opening. Any sentence, anywhere.”
When they write it, say “Good. That’s done,” and have them close the doc. Don’t push for more. One sentence was the deal, and keeping the deal is what makes tomorrow’s sentence cheaper.
Situation 1
Days Are Passing, and Nothing’s Been Sent

Hold the limit, hand over the how. Name what has to be communicated, offer two ways to do it, and let them pick. Whether to communicate isn’t on the menu. How is entirely theirs.

“You need to let Mr. Chen know you missed the assignment because you were sick. That conversation has to happen. You can email him or catch him after class. Which feels easier?”
“No. This is your grade, your class, your conversation. I’ll help you figure out what to say, but you’re the one who says it.”
Situation 2
They Chose Email, and Don’t Know What to Say

Ask three questions. Most teens know they need to communicate; they don’t know how to compress it. Your job is questions, not sentences. They type. You never touch the keyboard, because the teacher needs to hear your teen’s awkward real voice, not your polished one.

“What do you need the teacher to know? What are you asking for? When do you need an answer by?”
“Three sentences. Say what happened, make the ask, sign off. Send.”
An awkward message that arrives does more than a perfect one still in drafts. Sent is the win.
Situation 3
They Chose to Say It in Person

Run it once out loud. The first time they say a hard thing shouldn’t be in front of the teacher. Rehearse it once in the kitchen. You play the teacher, and you play it neutral: not the disaster they’re imagining, and not a fairy tale either. Once through is enough; over-rehearsing feeds the fear.

“Let’s practice once. I’ll be Mr. Chen. Say what you’re planning to say.”
Answer the way a busy, reasonable teacher would: “Sure. When can you have it in?” Then let them find their reply.
“You know what you’re going to say. That’s enough. Let me know how it goes.”
Situation 1
Another “I Forgot”

Build one hook. Pick the one thing that gets forgotten every week, and tie one prompt to something they already do every day. The hook has to physically interrupt the daily habit. It can’t live in a planner they’d have to remember to open; that’s the same broken loop with extra steps.

Forgets the portal: sticky note on the phone charger that says “Portal checked?”, or a lock screen that says “Portal before scrolling.”
Forgets to pack up: a whiteboard by the door that says “Backpack: laptop, charger, homework, lunch.”
Place it and walk away. If you check daily whether the hook worked, you’re the system again, and the system collapses the day you’re busy.
Situation 2
The Hook Is Up, and They Walk Right Past It

Check yours while they check theirs. They’ve seen the hook; they haven’t seen what using it looks like. So run it beside them once a night for a week. You check your email and calendar, they check the portal and the backpack. Nobody’s being inspected; two people are running their systems.

“Let’s both do our check. I’ll do mine, you do yours.”
Model the shape of a check: open it, scan it quickly, close it, move on. No deep dives, no commentary. When you’re both done: “Good. We’re set.”
Situation 3
The System Exists, and It Still Isn’t Sticking

Cut it to one question. When a hook asks for four things, the brain quits after one. If it’s still not sticking, the hook isn’t too weak, it’s too big. Rewrite it as a single yes/no question.

“Check the portal for missing work, deadlines, and comments” becomes “Portal shows 0 missing?”
“Pack laptop, charger, folder, lunch, gear” becomes “Backpack zipped and by the door?”
“One question, yes or no. If it’s no, you handle it. But the check itself is just yes or no.”
Situation 1
You Just Found Out It Isn’t Done

Lead with your state. Name what you’re feeling, then ask for their side. An accusation makes the next lie safer; a named feeling and a real question make the truth possible. You’re gathering information tonight, not running a trial.

“I’m frustrated and confused. The assignment isn’t done, but you said it was. Help me understand what happened.”
Don’t say: “You lied to my face.” “Why would you lie about this?” “I can’t trust anything you say.” Accusations make the next lie safer.
“We’ll figure out what happens next. I need a minute first.” Then actually take the minute.
Situation 2
Calmer Now, and the Talk Still Has to Happen

Sit down beside them. Where and how you have the follow-up matters as much as the words. Standing over them reads as a verdict coming. Side by side at the table reads as a problem the two of you are looking at together.

“Let’s figure this out at the table. Five minutes.”
“I’m not here to yell. I’m here to understand what made it hard to tell me the truth. What made it feel safer to say it was done?”
Let the answer be small. “I didn’t want you to be mad” is a real answer. So is “I don’t know.”
Situation 3
The Truth Is Out, and You Want It to Stay Out

Name the chain together. The lie was the last link, not the first. Walk it backward with them, without judgment, and then show them what honesty buys, with the actual assignment, tonight. Match the hard part to its fix, out loud: didn’t know where to start is a Friction Cutter problem, felt too big is a Micro-Start problem, didn’t understand it is a talk-to-the-teacher problem. Each one has its own section in this playbook.

“So it went: the assignment felt hard, you put it off, it got late, and then the truth felt risky. Does that sound right?”
“Next time, tell me it’s hard. That’s the whole message. And we find the first step together.”
Then open the real assignment and find that first step now, tonight, so “next time” is something they’ve already done once.