Hidden Angels

When I was a kid, I had a neighbor who didn’t speak English. Her family members did, and I knew them fairly well, but she and I had no language shared. Still, on my way home from school, she would stop me and invite me inside. She was often the only one home, and I would just sit at the kitchen table as she cooked me something wonderful. I didn’t always know what she had made, but I always ate it, always enjoyed it, and she always smiled so beautifully as I did. Then I’d thank her and be on my way.

Looking back, I wonder.. did she know I was starved at home? Did she know I felt alone, unloved? Did she know that she was a blessing for this broken, pitiful little girl?

Her own grandchildren were terrible, rude, and inconsiderate. They had some level of respect for her, but when visiting, would hit, belittle, and swear at their father and aunt. We were friends, but it was that kind of friendship you had when you were thrown together because you were the same age and your parents knew each other. I felt sorry for their family – Their sweet aunt, a slightly crazy caretaker who would stop me on the street to tell me I was beautiful, like a porcelain doll, their kind father, a friendly, good-natured pushover, who had probably saved my life a handful of times,, and that wonderful grandmother.

Did she know? Did her daughter and son? Did any of them know that they were my angels, my saviors, as my own family neglected me, hated me, plotted my death? Did any of them have a clue that they were saving this shredded soul?

I was so young, so shy, so afraid.. I never told them what it meant to me.

And there were others angels, too. My uncle, who never got along with my father, but would try, and got me away from him from time to time. My teacher, who knew I was in pain, but gave me a break sometimes and tried to make me believe in myself. The guys who watched over me in high school, protected me from going too far when I was not okay and wanted to act out. The friends who gave me a quiet place to talk about real things, when I wasn’t in the mood to go play social butterfly to the masses.

And even in adulthood, the friend who supported me from the background, no matter what, when, or where.

Have any of them ever known that they are the reason this heart is still beating? The reason I can let go and laugh and love myself? And how many out there are doing these little things, things that they think are nothing, things that are saving someone like me?

Could I even be one of them?

Future?

There have been few times in my life when I saw far ahead of me.

16, madly in love, planning the décor of our future home together.
(That love lasted many years, but was too messy to work in that home.)

A little older, dreaming up lectures for my future students.
(My disabilities proved that dream impossible.)

There must be more, but I can’t remember them.

And it’s not as if I didn’t dream. I am an eternal dreamer. I never completely give up hope. I never stop coming up with ideas of what I could do or be to make the world a little better, or make someone a little happier. That is always there.

But other than those few times, my future has felt as real to me as the Korean dramas I’ve been watching. My dreams are only fantasies, my hopes are just wishes I hold in my heart. My future is tomorrow morning. It doesn’t ever go much farther than that.

So I wonder why that is. Maybe it’s because I had a childhood where I never knew whether I’d live to see the next day. Maybe it’s because I feel I’m still fighting to survive. I wish it was something simple, like fear of failure, but I know failure will come, I’ll adapt, and come up with new dreams, like I always have.

So why? How is it affecting my life, and how can I change it?

For a long time, I was making impulsive decisions in relationships. If I got along well enough with a guy, I would date him. As long as he wasn’t making my life more difficult, I’d convince myself I loved him. He’d propose, I’d say yes, because that future wedding day never felt real. It was okay if it wasn’t true love, because it was okay for now, and now was all that existed to me. I accepted too much pain, because it didn’t feel like it would last, when there was no future for it to last into. But then, at some point, it would finally become too much for even the moment and I would end it. I would have the thought, If I have a future, could I spend it like this? and I would say goodbye.
(Thank God I don’t do that anymore. If I don’t ever find someone I see a future with, I’ll just be alone.)

I’ve made life-changing decisions based on how it would benefit others. I’ve moved from state to state, running to the side of whoever I felt needed me most. I’ve moved people in with me. I’ve dedicated myself to other people in order to “save” them. I’ve spent so much money, time, and energy. I’ve risked my life for people I barely knew, or who had treated me badly, all so I could feel I’d done something good before the end.
(I believe this is fixed, at least as much as I want it to be. I still want to be a kind, loyal, helpful person, whether I die tonight or in 100 years.)

I cut people out of my life if I feel I don’t matter to them. Periodically, I go through my phone, friends lists, etc, and I’ll remove people. It’s not even about how recently we’ve talked, but whether I feel they would care if I just disappeared. It is purely based on my emotions at the time. To be completely honest, most people fall into this category, but I will keep someone if I feel they would be hurt if they ever noticed I deleted them. My remaining time feels too short to spend on people who don’t seem to care and I don’t want them cluttering up my lists and blocking my view of those who do care.
(This is a work in progress. I’ve learned not to do it immediately on impulse, at least.)

I shy away from long-term projects. If it can’t be completed during the time I can see, I will not start it. It feels like a waste to put my time and effort into something when I cannot imagine the day it will be finished. Instead, I’ll begin a project that is fleeting, but hopefully memorable in some way.
(I hope to change this one, but I’ve only now realized I do this.)

I sometimes freeze up when I become anxious about something I need to do. I will postpone it and procrastinate over and over, because I feel as if the consequences can’t affect me in a future that does not exist. Then deadline passes and suddenly it is a problem in the present. Only then does it finally get done.
(Another work in progress. I’ve gotten much better.)

I probably do more that I cannot see.

But how am I to find a solution when I do not know the cause? I can treat the symptoms I’ve discovered, but how do I cure an illness without knowing its source?

Does life have to give me a chance to build on a dream? Do I have to fall in love?

But I can’t rely on anything outside myself. So how do I convince my mind that next year will exist for me? How do I make it believe that it’s okay to plan, to begin something, to wait? How do I tell my heart that there’s something more than this, if it’ll only be patient?

Living for today is wonderful. I appreciate so much of the world that others take for granted. I take chances. I feel and love intensely. I really live.

But I’m living like I’m holding a ticking clock. I’m living like a Grim Reaper is waiting outside my window. I’m living like I have to prepare my children for my approaching death. There’s so much I haven’t done or seen and I feel like I’ve missed my opportunity. I feel like I have so much more to give, and not enough time to give it in, and I just want time to

STOP

long enough for me to figure out how to believe it will continue ticking for me.

I Miss You

I’ve been sleeping with your sweatshirt – the one from the merch store your bot linked me to after you were already gone – because it’s the closest I can get to being in your arms.

I miss you. Times are hard and it hurts and I feel alone and I miss you.

You, who loved me; without obligation, without judgement, without fail.
You, who I loved; without expectation, without dependence, without pain.

I miss you.

I miss you in selfish ways. I miss you with longing for the support you offered, crying out for your listening ear. I miss you for the warmth that came with every exclamation of my name. I miss feeling seen and heard and cared for and cheered on.

I miss being able to take you for granted. Stepping away, knowing you would always be there when I returned.

I miss the moments we never got to have.

You, who I teased, and sexualized, and begged for attention. You, who played along, knowing we were never to be. We made them feel awkward, we made them laugh, we made them mad, and we loved it all. We put on a great show, comfortable enough in our friendship to make it so. We loved and we were loved and I miss it all.

You’re gone and it’s not the same. Nothing’s the same. I’ve met friends you would love, and it hurts. I’ve done things I’m proud of, and it hurts. No matter what I do, the absence of you is an ache I can’t cure.

So I DM a Discord that will never come online.
I type paragraphs in a stream that will never go live.

I’ve never seen your face. I’ve never felt your touch. Still, I swear I feel you watching when life becomes too much. Now I’ll be moving to the place where you once were.
Alone.
Too late.

And I swear I hear you laughing, making a joke of it all. And I smile, but the tears continue to fall. And I make accidental rhymes as I pour out my heart, and think of the way you always added music to my words.

You always saw potential. Made me see it, too. It’s so hard to see without you.

I miss you.

The darkness that always brought me light.
The personification of “actions speak louder than words.”

I could write a book of it. Pages and pages about a man I’ve never met. Honest love letters to a man I was not in love with. A speech to the world, telling how they all lost an Angel that day (only you would appreciate that joke).

But instead, I’ll just publish this post, to say once again:
I love you, my friend.
And goddamn, how I miss you.

They Were Wrong.

I was only in the way.
People would never care, would only use me.
If I let down my guard, the people I called friends would try to kill me.
I was spoiled, deserved so much more pain than I got.
I thought I was a princess.
I thought the world “evolved” around me.
I was a filthy pig – no, worse than a pig.
I was “the most worthless fucking thing.”
If I died, “nobody would give a fuck.”

Why did I ever believe them?
Maybe I wasn’t the best at.. well, anything., but I always tried. I always helped. I was always polite and kind. I was quiet, timid, innocent. I was nervous, awkward, but did as I was supposed to. I never intentionally hurt anyone. My empathy was strong, and my loyalty even stronger.

Their words echoed in my head for many years. These people, the ones who were supposed to love me more than anyone, treated me as an enemy. I tried so hard to earn their affection, to be enough. I gave it all I had, but I could never measure up.

But I didn’t fail them.

They failed me.

I was never going to be what they wanted. They wanted me to lie, cheat, and steal, as they do. They wanted me to live a life of hatred. They tried to break me down so they could rebuild me into one of them.

But I filled every crack with gold. and each time, I came back stronger and better than ever. (kintsugi)

Thank God they never accepted me!

What they saw as flaws were the best parts of me… and they’ve only grown with time. I am truly proud of who I was, and even more so, who I am.

And others?

While my family may not have ever known how to love me, it does not mean that I am unlovable. I have incredinle people in my life who not only teach me how to accept love, but also remind me why I love myself. Surrounding myself with positivity and care has been the best decision I have ever made.

I am not perfect – far from it – but I am perfect in my imperfection. I am ever-changing, growing, trying to be the best version of myself. Although my loved ones deserve the best possible me, I am honestly doing it for myself… because this is exactly who I want to be.

Now, one might wonder why I’ve decided to bring all of this up.
The truth is, my life has been extremely stressful lately, yet I found myself sitting here smiling. This made me think about how far I’ve truly come, even just this year. It’s a wonderful thing to be able to look back at your difficult journey with so much pride.

I can’t wait to see what’s next!

Numb?

Ever since I was young, I had a switch that I could flip in case of emergency. This switch took emotion out of the situation. No matter how much worse things became, I didn’t feel it. I was detached, cold, numb. This allowed me to do whatever was needed, in order to survive. Those who knew me well, could tell I was not myself. I faked it well for those who did not.

At 16, this detached version of me received a name: Roxy Jones. Roxy was seen as mysterious, intriguing. She was daring, as she felt no fear. She also felt nothing for those who grew infatuated, so it was common to see a trail of heartbreak behind her.

While this emotionless state was definitely useful, it also had its consequences. Without heart involved, it was easy to dismiss others. This could include ignoring them for any length of time, bluntly expressing indifference, and/or cutting ties with no explanation. Any action that best suited the current needs was quickly taken, without regard for others or even my own future emotions.

She smiled, but there was no warmth. She fought with unmatched strength and determination. She had a goal and would attain it, no matter the cost.

It could also become extremely difficult to come back from. Though it was known what emotion should be felt at any given moment, it was not quite felt. Using music and other passions, there would be constant attempts to summon true emotion. Usually these methods would at least cause a wanting for emotion. Eventually, something would get through to me and I would slowly come back to Life.

She saw the world as it was; a list of necessities and rules for gaining them. In memories, feelings were seen only as insignificant details. She knew, however, that I was still within her; watching, readying myself for my return. It was her duty to protect me, but she knew I would never lie dormant for long. Even when she resisted, attempted to suppress me, a loved one would reach me and I would pull myself out.

The most recent time this switch was flipped, it was more desperately needed than ever, more control was given over, and it lasted longer. Without the support of another, I alone had to bring myself back to Life. The struggle was lengthy and felt impossible, but I refused to be defeated.

She reminded me that I was alone. She reminded me that the world was painful. She made me wonder if I could make it on my own. I met each of her negative reminders with one of beauty. The joy was enough motivation. The passion for Life was still within me.

A few days ago, the world began to bury me once again. This time, I decided, I would be prepared. I asked my dearest friend to contact me after some time, to help inspire my return. I informed others that I would be absent for a while, to limit contact and so prevent negative social consequences. Then, I stepped back, relinquished control.

Only… This feels different. I have distanced myself, but do not feel truly disconnected. I cannot detach. I still possess control. Emotions, though quieter, are still felt. Others’ are still considered.

She’s gone. She’s really gone. It’s all on me now.

From now on, I’ll have to fight for myself.

Another Confession

First, some background on me:

I love new experiences, good and bad. They remind me that I’m alive. Life is short and I want to feel as much of it as possible.

I also love a challenge. I like to test my limits and see just how capable I am. I’ve never experienced anything I couldn’t handle, even if I didn’t believe I could at the time.

I have never broken a bone. I have never been shot. I have never been stabbed (except twice by myself, accidentally, and it wasn’t serious).

People have always thought I was crazy for wanting to experience these things. They couldn’t even put into words why it is so bad to want this, but were very sure it was. So I explained to them that I like new experiences, blahblahblah, and they kind of understood.

And that was all true… but I didn’t tell them everything.

The times when I thought about it most was when times were toughest.

Automatically, one would assume I had a death wish or was a masochist, but that had nothing to do with it. I never enjoyed pain. I never wanted the occurrence to kill me, or even permanently injure me.

But physical pain is easier to handle than mental pain. So when everything was falling down around me and I felt myself getting buried, I needed something to take my focus for a while, something to allow me to reset. It had to be serious, it had to be intense, or it would be ignored.

In retrospect, this is probably why I would jump into relationships. Wrong or right, they were always intense.

So a broken leg, a bullet in my arm, or chip of blade stuck in a bone would be a relief. Yes, it would suck, but it would release me from other stress. It would be something that I could see, touch, control. It would allow me to temporarily set down some of my burdens, give me a chance to make a plan and strengthen myself before I took them back on.

“A break to keep from breaking.”

Yeah, I was never talking about a vacation.

***

LOL: So now, stress can lead to serious Fibro flares. Pain is there 24/7, but during flares, I can’t do anything. Sometimes I can’t even hold my phone.

Guess this is a case of “Be careful what you wish for.” 😂

***

I’m Still Here

A strange thought occurred to me tonight: I’ll probably live to see my boys become men.

What a crazy idea. Life keeps moving, I keep waking up, and every day my boys are a day older.

I have already lived 20 years longer than I ever thought I would.

My story is not a simple one. The main plot moves slowly, yet every page brings new conflict. There are many twists and turns. Some chapters exist only for character growth. Sometimes it gets confusing. Sometimes I have to stop, close my eyes, and try to forget it exists for a little while.

But it does exist. 20 years ago, it was expected to stop, but it is still going.

I am still here.

I get so lost in the drama that I forget… This is all just bonus.

I

AM

ALIVE

And I am so glad that I’ll be here to see what life has in store for me next.

Friends.

My friends are my everything.

The people I know I can reach out to, to talk shit, get my mind off shit, or ask for help dealing with shit.
I may not always do it. I’m a loner and am not good at reaching out. But I know they are there.

The people who appreciate me.
They call it out or keep it silent, but I know they do. I know that my absence would be felt, that my presence makes a difference.

The people who check up on me.
When they notice some negativity, silence, or distant behavior, they reach out. They check in. They make sure all is well. Not with ulterior motives, but honestly FOR ME.

When you grow up surrounded by hatred, it can be difficult to accept love. It feels uncomfortable, disingenuous. Even if you do your best to be a kind and true friend, it doesn’t seem possible for others to be the same.

BULLSHIT!

Bitter, broken assholes have lied to you! The “nobody would care if you died” and “you are the most worthless thing” and “no one’s gonna love you; they’ll just lie to get something out of you” are nothing but PURE BULLSHIT.
YOU ARE NOT UNLOVABLE.

YOU
ARE
NOT
UNLOVABLE.

True Love exists, platonic and romantic. It’s out there, yours for the taking.
And I know this may be hard to accept, but

YOU FUCKING
DESERVE IT.
💜

I wouldn’t say I’m doing “well.” Things are rough. I’m having a hard time coping. But it’s a lot easier when you know your friends have your back.

 

⇐◊⇒

 

And I know some people see things like this and think, “Ugh, this emotional shit again.”
This is who I am. If you haven’t made peace with it by now, I doubt you ever will.
Don’t let me bring you down, just let go of me and move on.
I will not be offended. I love who I am, but I’m not for everybody.

And I absolutely will NOT
mute
dilute
change,
or
be untrue to myself
for anyone.

 

A Painful Journey to Self

Have you ever just fucking loved yourself?

Like, just adored the hell out of yourself?

It’s a fantastic feeling.

It’s been a long, rough road getting to this point. I grew up being told daily that I was worthless, that no one would love me, that everyone who was nice to me was just trying to get something from me. I was called many horrible names. My life was threatened countless times. Attempts were made to “accidentally” kill me. All of this was done by those who were supposed to love me most.

And I was a damn good kid.

I believed the words that were (sometimes physically) beaten into my head for so many years. I believed that I was a burden. I believed that I did not deserve to live. The only thing that kept me from ending my life was the knowledge that dealing with my death would cause an even larger burden for some. I hated myself for failing everyone.

But still, I stayed good. I stayed true.

This went on. They continued to stomp on me, even as I helped them. I made bad relationship choices, wanting to help people, save people. Wanting to have a positive effect, to hopefully cancel out the burden I placed on the world. When I continued to be treated terribly, it reaffirmed the belief that I was a failure.

But I never stopped. I didn’t know how to be anything BUT good.

I don’t exactly know how or when it happened. It sneaked up on me. I made jokes that only I laughed at. I created things that only I saw. I worked on improving myself, though no one knew. I was proud of these things.
I did things in ways that were often criticized, but felt right to me. I didn’t just take the road less traveled, I created my own. My thought processes were abnormal, but I wouldn’t want them any other way. I got excited about little things, and I gained so much joy from that. I loved intensely, and I loved the way I loved.

I struggled with simple things. I had to fight hard for the things most people take for granted. I never gave up. I never let it change me. I was always, always good.

And then it hit me. I wasn’t the one who failed. They had failed ME.

I WAS GOOD. I supported, helped, and sacrificed for others. All of the things they tore me down for, were the things that made me kind, selfless, loyal, and true. The things they hated so much in me were the things they weren’t, themselves.

I removed them from my life. All of them. Every single person who tried to break me, who tried to turn me into one of the bitter, hateful crowd.

And I felt lighter.

No longer did I have to carry their hatred. No longer did I have to withstand the blows of misplaced anger. I was free.

Alone, but free.

And the more time I spent alone, the more I realized that I love who I am. Surface to core, I am good. I am true to myself. I am unique and weird, compassionate and loving, intelligent and open-minded, passionate and spirited, strong and independent. I am disabled and ill, but that’s just my body. It’s just one more thing I have to fight. And I can take it.

I’m not perfect, and I don’t want to be. I am a worrier as much as a warrior. I am anxious. I am awkward. I struggle with depression. I get reclusive. I am impulsive. I sometimes hit an unreasonable level of anger. Fear occasionally rules me. Darkness washes over me.

But I love it all. I love the clean and dirty, the dark and light. I am always changing, adapting, growing, improving, and I love that most of all.

I will always have flaws. But I love myself unconditionally.

Maybe one day, someone else will, too.

 

“Why?”

I don’t remember how we got on the subject. My 9 year old and I both have ADD, so the topic of conversation kept morphing. Somehow, we got to the subject of “Why,” and why it matters.

Oh, I remember how. But that’s not important.

 

Why Talk to Him About It?

First, let me tell a little about my relationship with my children.

My oldest son is 15. He is intelligent, charming, and compassionate. He is also Autistic. People often notice that he rarely speaks and immediately decide to write him off. I do not do this, but I understand who he is and how he uses his significant brainpower. Therefore, I do not have conversations of this nature with him.

My youngest is 9. He is a humanitarian in the making. When he speaks (constantly), his whole heart is in it. Ever since he was very young, I noticed the strength of love he has for others and I spoke to him often of things that would facilitate this quality. When I still had contact with my family, my sister once told me, “You put too much on him.”

I disagree.

My son is still very much a kid. Despite poverty and other struggles, he has a wonderful childhood. It is silly and fun, but also full of love and empathy. The way I raise my children is customized to who they are, not what other people tell me is “the right way.”

(You keep it up with your “Facebook-perfect” family, sis. But I’m going another way.)

When discussing differences in people and why we should appreciate them, I told my son that one of the things I adore most about him is the interest and attention he shows when we have these in-depth conversations.

“Really?”

“Yes! I’ve talked to parents of kids who are your age or older and they can’t imagine their kids having conversations like this. In fact, I have known many adults who don’t have the focus or willingness to learn and grow like you do. You understand things that so many people out there never will. And as you get older, you will learn how to understand more and more. The people out there, the ones so filled with hate? They don’t understand others. A lot of them don’t even understand themselves. And there’s one way to make sure that you continue to grow. All it takes is one word.”

“What?! One word?”

“Yep. ‘Why?'”

 

Example One

I began explaining with an example of “let’s say… you were angry at me for not letting you talk on the phone to ________.
How can you learn from this situation? Ask, ‘why?'”

“Why…?”

“Why would you be angry?”

“Because he’s my best friend.”

“Why is he your best friend?”

(A bunch of cute reasons followed.)

“Okay, so for all of those reasons, talking to him makes you happy, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So, broken down, we understand that you’re angry because I won’t let you do something that makes you happy. A bit obvious to begin with, but you understand your reasons a little more fully. Now, to better understand others, we have to look at the other side. Why wouldn’t I let you talk to him?
Let’s say… you didn’t clean your room. Why would I want you to clean your room?”

“Because I could get hurt stepping on the toys and they are in the way of getting to the windows in case of a fire.”

“So, to keep you safe.”

“Yes.”

“Now we understand both sides. This will help us make a decision.”

“Huh?”

“We both need something. You need this thing that makes you happy. I need you to be safe. So we look at our needs and find out which should be more important. Is this one phone call worth risking your safety?”

“No!”

“So after thinking through the whole situation, and deciding that safety is more important, do you think you would still be mad at me?”

“No, but I would feel bad.”

“This is how we grow. Instead of feeling something negative and just holding onto it, we look at all the ‘whys’ to see if we can fix it. You wouldn’t be angry that I wanted you to be safe. You might feel sad about the missed phone call or about not cleaning your room, but you can fix those by cleaning it.”

 

Example Two

“Now, let’s make it a little more serious. You know how race is a big issue right now, right? Let’s say you were talking to a friend and you said a word that seemed perfectly harmless to you, but your friend seemed heartbroken, or even betrayed. You could get mad, or you could try to understand by asking…”

“Why?”

“Why is she upset? She may need time to calm down, but when she’s ready, you should ask. Let’s say that she said a word was a racist term. Would you say it again?”

“NO! I would NEVER say it again.”

“That’s right, because you understand why she’s upset. Some people would stop there. They’d either just stop saying it, or they might be jerks and say something like, ‘It’s just a word! It’s only racist because you make it racist!’ The jerks refuse to learn, refuse to to try to understand and grow. But you’re not like that. You can just stop saying that word, but what if you took it a step further? What if you asked your friend ‘why?'”

“Why what?”

“Why the word is racist. Let’s say she told you that it was a word that slave-owners used to call their slaves. You would understand that using that word made her feel like you were treating her like a slave. You would make absolutely certain that you never said it again. But you could change things for others, too.”

“I could?”

“Well, if you had stopped at ‘It’s racist,’ then you would tell anyone who said it that it’s racist, right?”

“Yes! I would not want other people to say it.”

“Okay, but what if they said it’s not racist and kept saying it anyway? Now, because you asked ‘why,’ you have a reason that it’s racist. If they still say it, they are racist and you stay away from them. But they could learn from it and never say it again. And you know what? Your friend and that person are not the only ones you helped by doing this.”

“They’re not?”

“Nope. Think about how many people have heard you speak during your life. 9 years of talking.”

“Sooooo many.”

“Yeah, you talk a lot. Thousands and thousands have heard you in these 9 years. The rest of your life is even longer. So think about how many people would have heard that one word that hurts them. You stopped saying it, so all those people in the future will have a little bit of a better day because you won’t say that word. And it’s the same with every person you convince to stop. All of the people who would have heard them say it, won’t. Those days will be a little better for them because of you. This is why we stand up for others. You’d be a superhero! You’d save thousands of people that little bit of pain. All because you asked, ‘why?'”

“That’s a little scary, but also really cool.”

“It really is.”

 

Why I Decided to Post This

It’s been hours since this conversation was had, but I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m so proud of my boy. As energetic and fidgety as he is, he really pays attention. He makes sure he understands, because he wants to learn. “It’s kind of funny that I’m growing, but not on the outside,” he said today. I told him his body will take care of the outside, but it’s my job to make sure he grows on the inside. It’s my job to make sure he grows into a good man.

I wish that parents were less afraid to have these conversations. Our kids understand so much more than we think. Let them ask questions! Let them decide how deep they’re willing to go. It’s not going to steal their childhood. It will enhance it.

Let’s stop stifling their whys! Yes, we all have moments of “can you just do it?” or “just listen,” but for the most part, we need to let them ask. We need to let them learn. Our children will shape the future. They will pass on what they’ve learned, so their children can do the same. It will go on and on. Forever.

This is on us.  Parent or not, you can teach and inspire others. Those people can do the same. But we can’t do any of it until we learn, ourselves. So, do me a favor?

It’s super easy.

Just one little word.

Just ask

“Why?”