Mommy Loves Your Bullies Access

I have spent nine years building a fortress of "please" and "thank you" and "use your indoor voice." I have smoothed every sharp edge off your life. I have made sure your lunch is cut into stars. I have never let anyone yell at you for more than thirty seconds.

I am the mom who secretly loves your bullies. mommy loves your bullies

Last Tuesday, you cried because three boys called your new backpack "baby trash." You asked me, “Why do they hate me?” I have spent nine years building a fortress

You will not remember the birthday parties I threw. You will remember the day you stood up to Derek M. and your voice shook but you didn’t cry. I am the mom who secretly loves your bullies

Because they are teaching you a lesson I am too cowardly to teach: The world does not owe you softness. And if I don’t let you get a little hard, a little sharp, a little mean around the edges—someone else will do it for me.

But in my head, I was thanking them.

Not in the way you think. I don’t send them cookies. I don’t high-five their parents at soccer practice. But when you came home with dirt on your new sneakers and that hollow look in your eyes—the one that says, “They got me again” —a very small, very dark part of my chest exhaled.