What I meant to say: You are enough. You belong here.

My son came off the bus one day, clearly hurting.

He’s a boy of few words, particularly when it comes to school. But I knew something was up. 

I know that for him, it’s not worth my pressing. He talks when he’s ready.

When he finally did open up later that night, he told me that someone at school said something to him. That they were a part of a special program and he was not. That they were smarter than him and that the program my son is in is for kids who are not smart.

The tears immediately started to well in his eyes. But he did seem a little relieved just to say the words out loud and let out some of the hurt emotions he’d been holding on to. 

My mama bird instincts kicked in hard.

In my head, I thought I might like to find out exactly who and what was said so I could forbid my son from ever seeing this child again. And maybe I would just keep my son home in a bubble of love and protection so as never to be hurt again. (A little extreme, I know, but mama birds can be like that.)

Instead, however, I started down the path of saying things like “That’s not right for them to say that.” And followed that up with an arm around my son, and a few “you’re a very smart boy, you know that” kinds of things. 

Unfortunately, the words I said to him didn’t seem to help. He didn’t seem to feel better. And to be honest, I didn’t really feel better either.

I can’t remember how we actually moved on from that conversation. Likely, someone else in the house needed something or we needed to get somewhere or some other mini-crisis interrupted us. 

But later that night I got to thinking. Why didn’t my words help either of us feel better? 

What it’s really about.

I admit, I am proud I was able to contain my gut instinct and not suggest he stay home in a bubble forever. But the words I uttered only scratched the surface of what my heart really wanted to say. 

The thing is, this wasn’t about one person saying something hurtful one day.

And it wasn’t about whether my son is actually “smart” or not, whatever that really means.

This was about a big, giant message he received and held inside him all that day: a message that he wasn’t enough. A worry that he didn’t belong. And the beginning of a question that we all face at some point: was he was worthy of love and belonging?

mom-and-son-silhouetteWhat I meant to say.

The truth is, people are going to say things our whole lives that could make our shame triggers go off and leave us feeling like we aren’t enough.

It won’t just be about whether we are “smart” enough. It might be about clothes or hair or sports or music or work or a car or a job or a relationship.

Or our role as a parent.  

The bigger question isn’t how can I fix this for him. The bigger question is: how can I instill in my son a sense of belonging? How can I make it so that no matter what anyone says to him at any point in his life, he knows – deep in the pit of his stomach, he knows – he is loved. He is enough. He is worthy of belonging. Just because he is.

Thankfully, parenting will offer me many opportunities to try again to get this message across. I hope I can push my mama bird instincts aside. I hope I can have the wit about me to remember to say something closer to this:  

That wasn’t a very nice thing to say. I’m sure those words hurt your feelings. [pause for hugs and tears]

Here’s what I want you to know and remember always, buddy:

No matter what anyone says to you – whether it’s good or bad, nice or mean – nothing, and I mean NOTHING they say has an effect on whether or not YOU, my love, are good enough.  

You are enough. Just as you are, and who you are.

You are ENOUGH.

You are loved. Always.

You belong in our family and you will ALWAYS have a place here.”