The Child Who Feels Like Me

Motherhood, reflection, and watching your child grow stronger than you were.

Motherhood has a way of holding up a mirror. Sometimes you see pieces of yourself in your children — the good, the hard, and the parts you hope become stronger in them than they ever were in you.

I received a text message from one of the twins this morning at 7:22.
School starts at 7:17.

“Could you come and get me? Half the seniors and half the teachers aren’t here. It’s senior skip day.”

I smiled when I read it.

He doesn’t like school.
He doesn’t like sitting still for long periods of time. He likes to move. He processes words a little differently. Sometimes he pretends he isn’t smart enough — but he is.

He has a strong moral compass. A deep sense of what is right and how people should treat one another.

This guy is my person.

I love all of my children more than life itself. I have special relationships with each of them, and we share different parts of ourselves with each other.

But this one…

He is me.

He looks like me.
He thinks like me.
He feels like me.
He believes like me.
He loves like me.

I understand him in ways others do not. I see who he really is — not just the version he shows the world. I feel the frustrations he carries and the quiet weight he sometimes holds.

Where we are different, though, is this:

He is stronger than I ever was at his age.

I hated school. I hated everything about school.

I was afraid.
I was timid.
I was lonely.
I was unsure of the world around me.

So, when I get texts like this asking me to pick him up… when I see a grade that is not great… or hear an offhand comment about how kids treat each other at school — I understand.

I feel what he feels.

But I still have to say, “No, I’m not picking you up.”
I still ask about the grade and push him to do his best. I encourage him. I listen to the words he is not saying about his world.

And I try to guide him quietly.

Because I know something he does not yet know.

He will be okay.

He will make it.
He will be successful.

This moment in time — while it may shape parts of him — will not define him. It will not hold him forever.

My hope for him is simple.

That he conquers the world in his own way.
That he becomes the man I already know he is.
That he learns to see in himself what I see in him every single day.

He is like me — but better. Stronger.

And my hope is that he comes through this stage of life more confident, more compassionate, more loving… becoming the fullest version of himself.

The version I already see.

When you watch your children struggle — when you see them hurting or unsure of themselves — try to remember something important.

Look at yourself.

Look at how far you have come.
Look at the things you survived.
Look at the strength you didn’t even know you had.

They come from you.

And just like you did…
they will find their way through it.

They will become stronger.

Because they carry pieces of you — the resilient parts, the determined parts, the parts that kept going even when things felt hard.

And sometimes the very things that once made us feel different or unsure…
are the same things that help our children grow into exactly who they are meant to be.

With love,
Margaelin

Because even the strongest hearts need somewhere to rest
Seen. Held. Understood.