Recently, I attended my daughter’s first parent-teacher conference of the year. My partner and I listened as her third-grade teacher praised her cheerful spirit, noting how different she is from her older brother, who had the same teacher a few years back. We were delighted to hear she was thriving in math (not the least bit surprising) but needed a bit of help with phonics — no problem, we can tackle that at home.
Then, the teacher pulled out three pieces of paper. The first was a questionnaire our daughter had filled out about her school experience. The second was a drawing depicting her early school days, and the third was a heartfelt letter directed at us. The teacher’s expression shifted to concern as she showed us the papers, and I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. I recognized that look, and I didn’t like it.
The questionnaire included questions like:
- “What is your favorite thing about school this year?” Her answer: “math.”
- “What is your least favorite thing about this school this year?” Her reply: “I don’t have any friends. It makes me feel sad at school.”
My heart sank as we continued through the stack. The drawing showed her sitting forlornly at the end of a long lunch table, tears streaming down her face while her classmates gleefully chatted at the other end. I couldn’t help but tear up and quickly wiped away a stray tear. The letter she penned broke my heart even more: “Mom and Dad, I’d like you to help me figure out how to make friends and find someone to sit next to at lunch.”
When I picked her up that day, we had an earnest conversation on my bed. I asked how she felt the conference had gone. She shared her thoughts about the questionnaire, the drawing, and the perplexing question: “How do I make these people want to be my friend?”
I reached out to my mom, my partner’s mom, and friends with kids in the same grade. I even googled the typical social development of 8 to 9-year-old girls and dusted off a parenting book that was gathering cobwebs. I reminisced about my own elementary school days, searching for some wisdom I could share with her.
A week later, I found myself awake at 2 a.m., overthinking everything, when a voice in my head suddenly spoke: “You will never be enough.”
I gasped internally, thinking, “What? Of course, she’s enough!” But the voice persisted: “You will never be enough for some, and that’s okay.”
I mulled it over, and it struck me as profound. Yes, she won’t be enough for everyone, and that’s perfectly fine.
You are sweet. Your kindness and empathy are your superpowers. While some may misinterpret your compassion as weakness, let me tell you, I’m proud of the way you care for others. You will not be enough for some people.
You are strong. You stand up for your beliefs fiercely, and while that may drive your dad and me a bit nuts sometimes, it’s a quality to be proud of. Some may see that as stubbornness, but girl, I admire your strength. You will not be enough for some people.
You are unique. You’re a cheerleader and a roller derby enthusiast, embracing both the frills of glitter and the grit of bruises. You love babies, pink, and snuggles, yet you also enjoy a rough-and-tumble tackle football game. Not everyone will understand your interests, but girl, I am so proud of your diverse passions. You will not be enough for those who don’t get it.
However, here’s the crucial part: stay true to yourself. Don’t compromise your kindness or your beliefs just to fit in. You are wonderfully unique, and that is your beauty. While you may not be enough for some, you are absolutely more than enough for the right people. Keep being authentic, and the right friends will find you — even if it’s not at that third-grade lunch table just yet. You are incredible, and when you stay true to who you are, amazing friendships will come your way.