This morning, I ran into Aldi to grab a couple of things. In front of me in the checkout line was a husband and wife with two adorable little kids, dressed looking like they had just left church.

The little girl, maybe 5 or 6, cautiously smiled at me while I loaded my things onto the conveyor belt.

Mom was scrolling on her phone.

While Dad was getting ready to pay, the little boy, who was no more than 4 or 5 years old, tried to squeeze next to dad to stand on the cart 

Dad pushed him away with his hand over the child’s face.

Mom, still looking at her phone. Daughter standing quietly, behaving herself, so she’s not next.

Then the little boy squeezes in again, this time managing to successfully stand on the cart, only to then be pushed off backwards onto the ground by Dad. 

No acknowledgement or comfort was provided by Mom. 

No apology or help up given by Dad. 

My rage growing as I stood there watching this little boy cry and receive not a single ounce of love from either one of his parents. 

No acknowledgment that a little boy had just been pushed to the ground by the person who is supposed to make him feel safest in the world.

Here’s the thing about abuse: It doesn’t always look like what we think it looks like.

Sometimes it happens quietly.

In grocery stores.

In church parking lots.

At birthday parties.

Behind closed doors.

In homes that look perfectly normal from the outside.

Was Mom oblivious or was she herself not trying to show any response knowing it would cause her clearly emotionally unstable husband to retaliate? 

I don’t know what was happening in that family.

I don’t know what Mom was experiencing.

I don’t know what happened before they walked into Aldi or what happened after they left.

I will never know. But I do know what I witnessed. 

A small child was more concerned with staying close to his father than his father was with making sure his son felt safe and loved.

And that matters.

I’m not saying it’s only fathers who abuse their children, but it is mostly men. And that’s not just my opinion, that’s a statistical fact.

Children aren’t born knowing that their feelings are inconvenient. They learn it.

They learn when crying gets them comfort… and when crying gets them punished.

They learn whether questions are welcomed… or whether they’re supposed to be quiet.

They learn whether mistakes are opportunities to learn… or reasons to feel ashamed.

They learn whether adults can be disagreed with… or whether the safest thing to do is stay silent.

“Be good.”
“Stop crying.”
“Don’t talk back.”
“Sit still.”
“Don’t make a scene.”
“Be seen, not heard.”

Repeated enough, those messages don’t just shape behavior. They shape identity.

They teach a child to become hypervigilant.

To monitor the moods of others.

To suppress their needs.

To avoid conflict.

To become the “easy” child.

To confuse obedience with safety.

And eventually, they carry those lessons into friendships, workplaces, relationships, and parenthood without ever realizing where they learned them.

This is why I talk so much about our human ecosystem.

Because the people around us aren’t simply influencing our mood today.

Repeated exposure shapes what our nervous system learns is normal.

Sometimes the quietest child in the room is not the most well-behaved. They’re the one who has learned that being small is safer.

We have to pay attention.

We have to stop dismissing the quiet signs of abuse because there isn’t a bruise.

We have to stop praising children for being “so good” when what we’re actually witnessing is fear, suppression, or hypervigilance.

And we have to remember: Children don’t need perfect parents.

They need adults who make room for their feelings, protect their safety, repair when they cause harm, and teach them that their voice matters.

Our children deserve to grow up knowing that love doesn’t require silence.

That respect doesn’t require obedience.

That safety doesn’t require shrinking.

And that they never have to earn the right to be treated gently and with love.

We have to do better.

For our children. For our grandchildren. And for the generations learning from what we normalize today.

❤️ Terica