3 Surprising Ways My Son Has Become My Most Unexpected Teacher

Motherhood surprises and challenges you, but most of all, it makes you face yourself.

From Canva

Nothing holds up a mirror like motherhood.

You know what I mean, fellow mamas. Sure, the first year is full of sleepless nights and the constant demands of raising a baby. You wonder if you’ll ever get your life back again (although there are also those unforgettable moments).

But the greatest surprise of all has been how my son has helped me face myself—parts I have long ignored or didn’t even know existed. I thought I was here to teach him, but often times, he’s the one teaching me.

Here are three ways my son has become my most unexpected teacher.

Stop being so hard on yourself

The other day, we were sitting around the dining table, eating dinner. My son was having a great time—he was making funny faces while I giggled—when he accidentally knocked his plate. It crashed onto the floor, sending Bolognese sauce flying everywhere.

Before we could say a word, he bolted to the living room, plastered his face on the sofa pillow, and sobbed.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. It wasn’t your fault. It was an accident,” I said, following him.

“It is my fault!” he shouted, his voice muffled.

I knelt beside him and tried to reassure him. “We all make mistakes, sweetheart. I’ll make you another plate.”

“No!” he yelled.

We went back and forth—him blaming himself, me trying to comfort him—until he finally calmed down and was ready for another plate of Bolognese.

What struck me about that moment (and others like it) was how harshly he judged himself for something beyond his control. It reminded me of me. I’m incredibly hard on myself. That job I didn’t get? It’s because I’m not good enough. That pitch that didn’t get a response? It’s ‘cuz I’m a terrible writer.

Sure, self-reflection is important. It’s good to want to improve. But we also have to remember that sometimes things just aren’t in our control. Maybe there was a better candidate. Maybe I am a good writer.

The worst thing we can do is take everything personally and blame ourselves. As I help my son through his critical self-talk, I’m learning to be a little kinder to myself (not easy but trying). Still, seeing how damaging it can be makes me want to try.

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Anger is just the tip of the iceberg

My son starts first grade next month, but he still sleeps with us. We believe in letting him wean naturally. We take turns reading to him and cuddling him to sleep. But every night, he prefers to sleep with my husband because “papa’s better at cuddling.”

One night, my son was especially ferocious. “I don’t want Mama! I want Papa!” he screamed over and over again. As I watched him pound the mattress with his fists, I felt a hot flame rise from my stomach to my chest, then to my throat.

“You know what? I’m sick of this. Go ahead, sleep with your papa!” I exploded, storming out of the room and slamming the door behind me.

I sat alone in my room, tears streaming down my face. Why didn’t my own child want to sleep with me? I was his mom. I was supposed to be his safe place. Yet, that coveted spot went to my husband—Every. Single. Time. It wasn’t just this night. It was every day, even during the daytime. I felt like a failure as a mother.

As I wiped my tears, I noticed a notebook on my desk. I grabbed a pen and started scribbling furiously on it, so much that it spilled over onto the next page and the next. I did that until my fingers were sore.

Reading over what I’d written, I realized something. It wasn’t just anger I was feeling. Beneath the tip of the iceberg was sadness, deep sadness, and a feeling of inadequacy rooted in my own childhood. A childhood filled with fear and being bullied.

My son was picking up on that energy. He didn’t feel safe with me because I wasn’t showing up as a safe, calm space.

That moment changed everything. I began showing up differently, offering warmth and understanding even when he chose Papa. I practiced soothing myself even when difficult emotions emerged, which, in turn, helped me stay soft even when it hurt. And slowly, after many months, he now comes to me for hugs and wants to cuddle with me, too.

Sure, he still asks for his dad on most nights, but when I reassure him that we love him, and hug him or caress his hair, his body softens.

Our bond is stronger than ever, and in the process, I’ve healed parts of myself that needed validation to feel like I was enough. Now, whenever I feel that familiar anger rising, I know it’s a sign to pause and ask myself, What’s really going on?

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It’s okay to ask for help

I’m an American (who grew up in Tokyo) living in Germany. My husband is German, and I moved here to be with him about seven years ago. It hasn’t been easy to integrate. German culture is so different from the places I’ve lived (Southeast Asia, Japan, the United States).

And even after all this time, my German is still novice at best. I freeze when I try to speak, which makes it hard to make friends, especially since most people here aren’t comfortable speaking English.

One afternoon, as I was picking up my son from school, his teacher called me over. I My stomach dropped. These conversations usually ended up with me feeling like crap for not understanding what was said.

Sure enough, she started speaking rapidly as she mentioned something about my son. I kept nodding, clueless as to what she was saying. Sure, I could have asked for clarification, but that always ended with me still not understanding, so I didn’t bother.

Later, on the drive home, I was quiet as I was still trying to decipher what she had said. My son noticed something was off (as he so often does).

“What’s wrong, Mama?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said at first. He scrunched his face and kept insisting something was wrong. So I finally admitted that I was sad because I didn’t understand what his teacher had said. And that it was difficult because this happened so often. I get nervous, I clam up, and feel horrible.

He put his little hand on my lap. “Mama!” he said as if he were scolding a child.“I could translate for you. Why didn’t you just ask for my help?”

My throat clenched. A six-year-old had just solved what felt like such a big, complicated problem. And he was right, it was that simple. “You’re right. I’ll ask you next time,” I said, trying to hold back my tears.

As moms, we think we have to do everything ourselves. We think we’re supposed to be superwomen. But sometimes we need help. We’re human after all, right? We can’t do everything perfectly, and sometimes we need help—and that’s okay.

Now, my son translates for me when needed, and sometimes he even relays messages to the teachers. It’s been such a relief for both of us—a total win-win.

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My son is a little guru.

I’ve learned more from him than I ever expected, and faster than I could have ever imagined. I’m so grateful for everything he teaches me every day. I’m humbled. I feel lucky to grow alongside him, not just as a mom, but as an imperfect human being.

I can’t wait to see what else he’ll teach me next.