One sunny afternoon not too long ago, I stepped outside to the delightful sounds of laughter and playful shrieks from the neighborhood kids, echoing through our yard.
“MOM! Can I go play with my friends? QUICK! Where are my shoes?” my energetic six-year-old, Ethan, exclaimed in a flurry.
“Of course, sweetheart, your shoes are exactly where you left them,” I replied casually.
“But, MOM! I can’t find them!” he panicked. “Can you help me find my shoes?! HURRY! My friends are waiting for me!”
Now, let’s be real: his friends were not actually waiting for him. They were perfectly content in their world of fun, likely unaware that Ethan was even gone. They would have welcomed him into their game, of course, but they were busy enjoying themselves without any thought of his absence.
Yet, in Ethan’s mind, they were eagerly anticipating his arrival. He was absolutely convinced he was a vital part of their group, his presence essential to their fun.
A few minutes later, we located his shoes, and he dashed out the door. I can’t tell you how heartwarming it is to see your child skip across the yard, radiating sheer joy and confidence. As a mother, witnessing his happiness filled me with gratitude, especially knowing how kind and inclusive his older friends are.
However, amidst the warm fuzzies, I felt a twinge of envy and awe. I envied his unshakeable confidence and the surety with which he believed he belonged. At six years old, he exudes a certainty that I often wish I had.
While I was a shy child myself, I did experience a sense of belonging and comfort. But somewhere along the way—most likely during those awkward adolescent years—that innocent assurance morphed into self-doubt and insecurity. Questions about my worth started to swirl: Am I attractive enough? Am I smart enough? Do people like me enough?
Do we ever really shake off that uncertain, self-conscious teenager who questions where they fit in? Do we ever stop hiding behind facades, trying to measure up to an ideal?
In college, I leaned on parties and alcohol to fit in, donning a mask of the person I aspired to be rather than embracing my true self. In my twenties, I relied on expensive makeup and stylish clothes to cover my insecurities, creating a façade of confidence that often felt thin. Even today, while the nature of my vulnerabilities has changed, they still emerge in unhealthy ways. I find myself using social media metrics, blog stats, and the allure of likes to gauge my worth.
But I wonder: is that carefree, confident six-year-old still somewhere inside me, hidden behind layers of doubt? If I listen closely and quiet the external noise, I can almost hear her whispering, “It’s okay, you can stop hiding now. You are truly awesome.”
Perhaps our mission as parents is to nurture our children’s natural confidence, to regularly remind them of their worth, and to create a warm circle of belonging that cushions their fears. As adults, our challenge may be to rediscover that childhood confidence while acknowledging that everyone grapples with their own vulnerabilities.
Maybe the key is to remove our masks, embrace our imperfections, and take our children’s hands as we skip—yes, skip—toward the awesomeness that awaits us all.
(And if you don’t sometimes feel like an insecure teen with acne and frizzy hair, then I suppose I’m alone in that boat—just me, cool and calm over here!)
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In the end, let’s help our children—and ourselves—embrace the fearless spirit of childhood.