There’s only one thing I wish for my kids:
I want my children to love themselves.
I’m not talking about confidence or resilience or optimism. They can learn all these things when they have self-love. I know I did.
The kind of love I’m talking about is the kind that lets you sit in your own room when you’re 16, 25, 42 or 74 years old, with your head heavy and your heart broken and think:
“Ah, well, at least I still have myself. I’ll always have myself. I’ll be okay. I’ll always be okay.”
I want them to be more than happy to spend time in their own mind. It should be a safe place. One they can always retreat to. I want my kids to be their own best friend.
I want them to be whole human beings long before they even know what that means. So that when they do find out, they’ll instantly see they’ve been all along.
Why?
When I was talking to my sister about Chester Bennington’s suicide the other day we realized we both have this. We’re not afraid of being alone. Of living in our heads for a while. We like spending time up there.
Sometimes, when you have no idea how to go on, the only thing left to do is go on. To continue walking in the dark. And trust you’ll find your way to the light again.
But you need love to be able to do that.
Unapologetic, unwavering, unconditional, self-love.
More than anything, I want my children to have this. Even if it means they somehow end up hating me for it.
So that no matter whether they’re…
- scrubbing toilets or getting an oscar,
- have their heart broken or tons of friends,
- are terminally ill or running a marathon,
…they can give themselves a pep talk, sing a soothing song or find words of wisdom that help them persevere.
It’s the greatest trait my parents taught my sister and me. If that’s the only thing I can pass on to my kids, it’ll make me proud to be a dad.
