What I Teach My Son About Love

He’s only a kid, but he sees everything.
He watched me walk away. He watched me stay gone.
He watched me cry and then clean the kitchen.
He watched me learn how to breathe again.

And because he watched it all, I knew I had to do better.
Not just for me, but for him.

I teach him that love isn’t loud. It’s not slamming doors or saying sorry without changing. It’s not fear, or silence, or walking on eggshells to keep someone else calm.

Love is safe.
Love listens.
Love shows up.
Love apologizes and means it.
Love never makes you feel small so it can feel big.

I teach him that real strength isn’t control. It’s not yelling or pushing or making someone feel crazy. Strength is being able to stay kind when you're frustrated. It’s using your words without using them to hurt. It’s walking away from the fight you used to run toward.

I teach him that respect doesn’t just apply to teachers and coaches.
Respect starts at home. It’s how you treat your mom. It’s how you talk to yourself. It’s knowing when to stop, when to listen, and when to let people live in peace.

I teach him that it’s okay to be mad. It’s okay to feel. But it’s not okay to scare someone because you’re hurting.

Because he saw what it looked like when it was wrong, I show him what it looks like when it’s right.

I won’t pretend I have it all figured out.
I’m still unlearning. Still healing. Still working on not flinching when someone raises their voice. Still learning how to believe the quiet days are real.

But I know this, if I can teach him love, real love, then maybe that cycle ends with me.

And that’s everything.