Em bé ơi,
I’m writing to you while you’re sleeping again. Sitting next to you and watching you sleep always stirs something deep within me. A desire to protect you. Not from the world, but from innocently falling into one of the common traps of being human.
Earlier today, we were having a casual lunch at The Foundry. A family sat behind us, and everything seemed fine until their little boy, maybe four years old, started fussing over something. His dad reacted with a loud mumble and walked away. I turned and caught a glimpse of him, tears streaming down his face, sitting there with his big sister and mom, who kept saying, “stop, just stop.” He eventually quieted down, but the hurt on his face stayed with me.
I looked away, tears welling up in my eyes too. I felt for the little boy and, perhaps, for the little girl in me. I saw myself vividly in him: wanting, forbidden, abandoned, and alone. Overwhelmed with desire, disappointment, and hurt in countless little moments like this one, I slowly figured out how to shut down, escape, and become numb. I don’t know their full story, but that small window into their world shook me.
I asked myself: what would I have wanted my parents to do in that moment if I had been him? How would I have felt if my dad angrily walked away and my mom coldly told me to stop? Would I have learned that wanting was wrong? That saying what I wanted was wrong? That feeling how I felt was wrong, or even being myself was wrong? Would I have decided that the only way to be loved was to look good in public and hide my voice, my true self?
It broke my heart. I couldn’t shake the image of him sitting there so lonely, with tears on his face and overwhelming feelings in his chest. Then I looked over at you, quietly eating your meal, so sweet, so innocent. I wanted to hug you and tell you so many things.
I wanted to tell you that I vow to put your emotional wellbeing first, even if it means both of us looking bad in front of others. That if you ever cry out for something you want but cannot have, I will not tell you to stop. I will take you somewhere quiet so we can sit with those feelings together. No matter what, I will not walk away, physically or emotionally, and leave you feeling alone, abandoned, or unloved.
I will not tell you that you are fine, that you already have what you need, or that there are millions of less fortunate children in the world. I will not invalidate you. Instead, I will teach you boundaries and manners by modeling them, practicing them with you, and guiding you through them with patience and kindness. Not by shutting you down, scolding you, or making you feel worthless or ashamed.
Thinking about all this fills me with warmth, knowing I will always be the one to have your back. But it also makes me a little nervous. What if I cannot keep that promise every time? You are only getting older, and your feelings will only grow deeper and more complex. What if I fall into the patterns I was taught, the ones shaped by my childhood and reinforced by society? I guess I can’t really know for sure. All I can do is try my very best. And if I fail, I will try again. Again and again and again.
Oh, and one more thing: please don’t ever be afraid to cry. Don’t ever be afraid of your feelings. Because no matter how big, they are always safe with me. And you are always safe with me.
I love you,
Mommy
In 2023, after becoming pregnant with my daughter. I decided to wipe my Instagram clean and stepped away from the world. Now, as my daughter turns one, I feel ready to reengage. Follow me on Instagram as I rebuild my feed and my life.