I watch as my older son stands next to his younger brother, who is currently in the throes of a meltdown over the bagel I just handed him. I was supposed to slice it into quarters, not halves — how could I have overlooked that detail? As I try to soothe the situation by encouraging him to take a breath and express his feelings with words, I notice my older son standing quietly, his gaze fixed on the ground, a slight smile playing on his lips.
Just a few months prior, he would have joined in, covering his ears and imploring his brother to “stop!” Or on particularly cranky days, he might have told him to “shut up!”—a response that would only escalate the chaos, leaving me with two children in need of guidance. But now, he remains composed, and when I explain to my younger son that cutting the bagel into fourths is a feasible option if he calms down, my older son calmly interjects, “Yes, Mommy can fix it,” with a maturity that leaves me on the verge of tears.
It feels like just yesterday that he was the one sprawled on the floor, wailing about how I had cut his toast or expressing his displeasure with the color of the sippy cup I’d given him. His tantrums were volcanic; he would scream until small splotches appeared under his eyes and on his cheeks. He would kick and argue, meticulously justifying his position with arguments that were, at times, almost convincing. My strong-willed son—my spirited one—who never accepted a “no.”
Conventional discipline techniques were ineffective with him. Distractions rarely worked; he was so fixated on his grievances. If I attempted to move him to another room for a “time out” or “cool down,” he would only become more agitated. There were times his screams were so intense that I feared the neighbors might call the police.
I sought advice and read countless books, but ultimately, I relied on my instincts. I chose to sit with him, maintain my composure, and wait for the storm to pass. Gradually, he would collapse into my lap, sobbing, and then we could finally talk. Over the years, we improved our coping strategies, navigating the trials of his meltdowns together. It required a great deal of trial and error, but through it all, we discovered what he needed in those moments.
This summer, he turned 9 1/2—an age suspended between childhood and adolescence. He has grown taller and more robust, and while his determined personality remains, he has learned to manage it. He can now take that extra breath I’ve been suggesting for years, the one that helps him regain control when things go awry.
I want him to understand how much I recognize his growth, both internally and externally. I see the remarkable individual he is becoming, choosing the path of maturity. He understands that acting grown-up can be empowering and cool, and he embraces it, just as he has always embraced every facet of himself.
People told me that having a strong-willed child was a blessing—that one day, he would emerge as a leader, a confident individual, a visionary. He possesses a brilliance that is wise beyond his years, a true thinker. Yet, I struggled to believe that the challenges we faced would ultimately translate into something admirable.
Still, I held on to the hope that it would get easier. During the toughest times, that hope was often all I had.
I truly believe we are nearing a breakthrough. I think we’ve made it—he and I. But I attribute this progress to him. It was never his fault that his emotions ran so deeply; that was simply his nature. He felt everything intensely and had complex thoughts and opinions about the world—from ideas on justice to how our plans for the day should unfold.
But he was confined in a small body, and all those emotions were often overwhelming.
Dear son, I apologize for the moments I lost my temper. I’m sorry for the instances when I still do, and I preemptively apologize for the frustrations I will undoubtedly express during your teenage years. Those years will arrive sooner than we can anticipate, bringing new challenges for us to navigate together.
Yet, I am confident we will prevail. We have built a foundation of trust through our shared experiences—trust forged through blood, sweat, and tears, a bond I wouldn’t trade for anything.
Most importantly, I want you to know that regardless of the challenges that lie ahead, I see you here and now. I am immensely proud of the remarkable child you are evolving into and the man you will one day become. I can see that man in your eyes, in the way you smile knowingly while your brother has his tantrum. The way you place a reassuring hand on his shoulder and tell him it will be alright fills me with pride.
I have loved you through every phase of your life. Even during those days that felt like an endless race with you, I often found myself marveling at the passion in your heart. You only grow more radiant with time; that fervor has transformed into a brilliant light, guiding you towards a vibrant and fulfilling life.
Thank you for instilling hope in me, for demonstrating that all I needed to do was my best, trust my instincts, and love you unconditionally. And I do—I love you so profoundly.