Loving my daughter often feels like gazing into a mirror—her expressions, her quirks, those moments when she seems lost in her own thoughts. More often than not, I find myself thinking, “You’re the part of me that won’t end up in therapy later.” But then reality hits; she’s in middle school, and who doesn’t come away from those years with a few therapy-worthy stories?
Take my own experience at a haunted house, for instance. I screamed so loud that I might as well have sent my bladder into hiding! Riding home with a soggy plastic bag that was supposed to hold candy was not the highlight of my night. No candy, wet pants—definitely a memorable middle school moment.
A while back, my daughter came to me in tears, recounting how some words had cut her deeply in front of her peers. She articulated her pain with such clarity, and I held her close as she let it all spill out. In the safe space of our home, she was able to share her turmoil while I listened, wishing I could ease her heartache.
She’s gentle and perceptive, and the world might try to convince her that she needs to toughen up. But if she shows courage, she’ll recognize that her sensitivity is not a flaw. It’s essential for her to learn how to transform her pain into strength—one that’s rooted in faith, rather than becoming hardened. I can’t shield her from life’s challenges, though I wish I could.
Just a few weeks ago, she came home thrilled about her new kneepads for volleyball. We got them not just for safety but to give her the confidence to fall while knowing she has some protection. But while I thought about the kneepads, I realized there are many areas of her life where I can’t provide that cushion. I can’t block out hurtful comments or soften the impact of life’s falls.
What I can do is teach her that vulnerability is a unique form of strength. I can share my own stories of stumbling through life without any padding and how I’ve grown from those experiences. When she cries, I don’t say, “Stop crying.” Instead, I tell her, “Let it all out.”
Somewhere along the way, I learned that being sensitive doesn’t mean being weak. I discovered that embracing my emotions—both the highs and lows—made me more alive. If it weren’t for all my own falls, I wouldn’t appreciate the strength of standing tall.
I’m coming to the realization that I need to replace my constant advice of “be careful” with a more empowering message: “Be brave.” Be brave enough to stumble. Be brave enough to feel every emotion deeply and not shy away from the potential pain.
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Summary
In this reflection on parenting a sensitive daughter, the author emphasizes the importance of embracing vulnerability as a strength. Sharing personal anecdotes, she highlights the challenges of middle school and the need for emotional expression. The message is clear: rather than toughening up, it’s crucial to cultivate courage and resilience.