Hello there, friend.
Something happened this morning that I can’t stop thinking about. Now it’s almost 1:30 pm, and the fact that I haven’t moved on tells me I need to write it down and work it out. Thanks in advance for indulging me.
So, as I was getting Asher dressed for preschool, I struggled a little bit to get his sweatshirt on. We had a tough time getting the neck over his noggin. The shirt has a high neck. Not quite a mock turtle neck, it’s much more chic, from a European brand I got hooked on when he was a newborn. The clothes are made very well, the colors are not primary, and it’s stuff I’d wear myself if it came in my size. Yes, I am justifying having spent more on clothing for Asher, knowing he’ll outgrow each item in under a year, than I have spent on my own clothes. (After three months of pre-school sandboxes and art projects, that’s changing.)
Once the sweatshirt was on, Asher said, “I’m too big for this shirt.” The torso part of the shirt barely hit his waistline, but the sleeves hit just past the wrist, so I figured we had at least another month of wear. Also, I like the look of the shirt underneath being visible at the waist. Pop of color, you know. Okay, yes, I knew he was outgrowing it. But the sleeves! They hit at the wrist! That has to count for something! And it could be entirely possible that the shorter torso is part of the shirt’s cool factor. Maybe it’s some Euro style I know nothing about. Or maybe it’s just too small. Regardless, I was not prepared for what Asher said next.
“My teacher says I’m too big for this sweatshirt!”
Ummmm, excuse me, what? His teacher?
He has three teachers, so of course I questioned my three and a half year old toddler for several minutes until he told me which teacher said this. I tried, sort of, to hide the fact that her statement irked me.
But now, hours later, I’m left wondering why I am so irked.
I don’t care what someone thinks of my fashion sense, or lack thereof. What I absolutely do care about is that this throwaway statement, carelessly made, obviously stuck with my three year old long enough for him to remember it weeks after it was said. And he seemed bothered. Not bothered enough to tell me about it when it happened, but bothered enough not to want to wear the sweatshirt again. (And let’s be honest, he’s three years old. He had probably forgotten the whole thing by the time he got home that day and didn’t remember the comment until he saw the offending sweatshirt.)
As I’m writing to you, something has dawned on me. I think what’s really bothering me is: What have I said in thoughtless moments that stuck with him? What words simply disappeared for me the moment after I said them, but made a lasting impression on his sweet and innocent mind, and his sweet and innocent heart?
Words are powerful. I can remember words that were carelessly said to me as far back as age four. Maybe earlier. Words I now realize, decades later, shaped my opinion of myself. (And yes, I know the sweatshirt comment isn’t going to make Asher think he’s a giant the rest of his life. Ha!)
Here are a couple of things said to me as a child that stuck for a lifetime:
“She’s a flirt.”
I was four years old, and an uncle said this to my mother. I was standing right there. Although I didn’t yet know what the word ‘flirt’ meant, I did know that I felt ashamed and uncomfortable hearing it ascribed to me. But I believed my uncle. And as I grew, so I became.
“Ugh, that little voice!”
My mom said this, covering her ears. I wasn’t even four years old, but from that point on I have been very self-conscious about the sound of my voice. Only recently, looking back with an adult perspective, I realized that my mom was exhausted and I was talking a lot and at a feverish pace, as toddlers do. That, not the actual sound of my voice, may have been why she said what she said. Even so, a lifetime of thinking about something in a certain way is hard to shake. I recently told my mom about my memory of her saying this. And do you know, she couldn’t recall having said it at all. All these years those words have been with me. For her, it’s as if it never happened.
So here I am decades later, a flirt who has taken voice lessons.
All of this is to say, words are important. How we string them together has consequences. I have not been careful, mindful. Asher is three and a half. My sincere hope is that this lesson has come to me in time, ahead of any words that could scar.
And with that, let’s get on with our day, shall we?
Thinking before speaking,
Jo
Ughhhh the "flirt" comment is so relatable. Any time a child is sweet they throw that around. I have seen people say it about baby boys who smile at a grown woman's face, and baby girls who do the same to men. Not to mention, as you said, as they get older. It is so damaging (and honestly gross) and the damage is prolonged as you observed. Thanks so much for talking about this and the reminder to be more careful with my (especially throwaway) words.
Big love!
xx
I. Was. Not. Ready. After today's Aussie WH, I casually popped over to read a fellow Substacker. I knew I didn't have the emotional fortitude to read the Daddy blog, so I decided to go with something safer. The Sweatshirt would be fine, right? No, not at all. I suppose it didn't help that my morning pages were tackling body dysmorphia and the knowledge that my kid is being teased for being overweight. This blog is brilliant, and I will follow, but wow, just wow. I wasn't ready for the feels this would elicit.