When I was young, I could rely on my mom a lot. Always promised to make cookies, take me to the library anytime, and pull out craft supplies every Saturday afternoon. But most importantly, I can trust my mom, which is one thing I hope to be able to teach my daughters. Now, my two little girls, ages 5 and 2, believe me, because that’s what they do. But as my oldest grows up (now 10), I know I have to show her a more tangible level of trust—and for us, that means being her “backup” when she needs it. If my daughter wants to blame me for her uncertain decisions or make me the “bad guy” in the eyes of her friends instead of explaining how she really feels, well, I’m here, ready to fall on her sword Down.
Let me be clear: We value honesty. Our girl is very sensitive and self-aware and she has never told me a lie in her life. (I know some people are rolling their eyes, but it’s true.) From a young age, we had open conversations with her, encouraging her to speak up and say how she felt, no matter how it made other people feel.
But…it’s easier said than done. Because I also know that sometimes she is a people pleaser and she worries about other people and how they feel. She was an empath, a highly sensitive girl, she told me, in her version of inside outanxiety is definitely playing a dominant role in her brain. I’ve seen her cry when we went to pick her up from a sleepover, but her friends asked her to stay a little longer – she didn’t want to let us down.
In this case, a little white lie will do. If the choice is between hurting a friend’s feelings or blaming me, well, the bus is coming, throw me under the bus. “My mom said I can’t go” is a firm response she can always use when she lacks confidence in her version of “no.”
At 10, she blamed me for things that weren’t that serious. I want her to have a voice, I want her to be proud of her truth and who she is as a person. When she told me she was going to a sleepover and her friends were talking about getting out the Ouija board, I could tell she was nervous. “I don’t know how to play with that thing,” she told me, and I, a true believer in ghosts, agreed with her. (Man, who still plays with Ouija boards?) But I know she was worried that they would try to convince her to do it, that they would tell her not to try like a coward.
“So blame me,” I told her. “Tell them I said you couldn’t play with it.” Her face lit up. This is the perfect solution. This isn’t about lying to her friends or not telling them how she really feels. This is a firm response. It shouldn’t be enough, but if she’s in a situation where people might be pestering her to change her mind and she’s torn between wanting to please her friends and her own fears, she could use me. “My mom said I can’t,” and that’s it. Because even at 10 years old, when you’re growing and changing and feeling very independent, it still means a lot to hear your mom say no.
Sometimes I offered to blame me and she refused. When she expressed concern that two of her friends were hosting a sleepover, inviting her and intentionally excluding another friend, I told her she could use me as a catalyst to start a conversation. “You could tell them that I said it would be hurtful to exclude her,” I suggested. She shook her head no. She was confident in the decision, she believed in her friendships, and most importantly, she believed in herself. She knows what she tells her friends is important, and she’s willing to take any pressure to do it.
My daughter says anxiety controls her thoughts and emotions. She has the self-awareness to know that she often creates bigger problems than they actually are, to the point where she becomes obsessed with her own mind and can’t extricate herself. In those moments, she tried her best, using every coping strategy and focusing on her five senses, to get back on her feet.
One day her problems will be bigger. I hope her years of learning how to speak and how to trust herself will help her get through this. But if not, I’ll be prepared. It took me a long time to learn how to say no firmly, and I am always willing to say no for her.
Samantha Darby is the Senior Lifestyle Editor of Romper and Scary Mommy, a PTA Soccer Mom, and raising three little women with her husband in suburban Georgia. Her pickup truck was always being totaled.
