I’m sorry I can’t protect you from everything. I’m sorry I let them scrape up your knees and your pride. I’m sorry that the only way to build a backbone is to break a heart first.
But in my head, I was thanking them.
You will not remember the birthday parties I threw. You will remember the day you stood up to Derek M. and your voice shook but you didn’t cry. mommy loves your bullies
And your bullies? They are survival. They are the raw, feral truth of the playground jungle. They don’t care about your feelings. They don’t care about my organic peanut butter sandwiches. They see your weakness—the same weakness I coddled—and they eat it for breakfast.
Someday you’ll read this. Or you won’t. But if you do: I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t protect you from everything
— Mom Comments are disabled. I know how this sounds.
I have spent nine years building a fortress of "please" and "thank you" and "use your indoor voice." I have smoothed every sharp edge off your life. I have made sure your lunch is cut into stars. I have never let anyone yell at you for more than thirty seconds. But in my head, I was thanking them
Because they are teaching you a lesson I am too cowardly to teach: The world does not owe you softness. And if I don’t let you get a little hard, a little sharp, a little mean around the edges—someone else will do it for me.