I have never been an unkind person, anyone who knows me would say that. But I can’t say I’ve ever truly understood the depth and nature of kindness. When I describe myself, I don’t use the word “kind.” I’ve never looked for it as a defining quality in the people I choose to surround myself with, either. Of course, I value many positive traits – honesty, strength, ambition but kindness has never been the imperative.
That changed when I became a mother.
When my children were born, life paused. You know that feeling, the urge to become the best version of yourself for them. We rewind our lives, scrutinizing the journey that brought us to this point. We reflect on who we are, how we’ve related to others, and how we were shaped in return. If we find gaps, shortcomings, or wounds we suddenly want to fix them. Because parenting is the highest form of responsibility: nurturing and growing another human being. It demands strength, patience, and an unwavering emotional presence.
This is where I began to truly reconsider what kindness means. And here are four truths I often return to.
1. Kindness is more than being nice. It is empathy in motion.
Kindness is the act of being considerate, empathetic, and compassionate. It’s multi-layered, far-reaching, and often quiet. With children, we are naturally kind, we read between the lines of their emotions, we hold space for them, we love them even when we’re exhausted or overwhelmed. But for some reason, we struggle to extend that same kindness to adults.
Yet, even with grown-ups, a small act of genuine kindness can shift everything. It might seem simple, but kindness has complex biological and emotional effects. It can change someone’s day. Sometimes, it can change their life.
2. Kindness requires strength, especially in chaos.
To remain kind in moments of frustration, injustice, or emotional turbulence takes immense courage. I have two children, very close in age. Being their mother is the greatest gift of my life but it was also exhausting when they were younger. The crying, the cleaning, the sleepless nights. Some days, I feel completely undone. They would sit on my head, bite my tummy, yank my hair and I would want to scream.
But I don’t. Or I try not to. I count to ten, step away, breathe deeply. I choose kindness. Not because I’m perfect, but because I know they are vulnerable and I want to protect them even from my own impatience.
And yet, what I often forget is that adults are just as vulnerable and far less resilient. They carry wounds, too. They deserve our gentleness, too.
3. Kindness is instinctual, just like love.
Much like the need to love and be loved, kindness is an instinct that sustains us. When our children are upset, they run into our arms. Our hugs, our words “It’s alright,” “I’m here,” “I’ll take care of you” offer instant comfort. We say these things without thinking. They come from a place deeper than logic, the part of us wired to nurture, to soothe, to heal.
We feel joy in being that safe place for them.
So why doesn’t this instinct carry into our adult relationships? Why do we hesitate to comfort, to forgive, to be tender with one another?
Maybe because we’re taught that kindness is weakness. But I’m learning that it’s the opposite. It’s the foundation of emotional strength.
4. Kindness is the legacy we leave through our children.
Children are the greatest imitators. Their intentions are pure, and they are not bound by social conformity. They are born blank slates and we, their parents, shape how they view the world.
If I want kindness to be a core value in their lives, I have to model it. Not just with them, but with everyone. In the way I speak to strangers, handle conflict, navigate stress. In the way I treat those who can offer me nothing in return.
Because ultimately, we don’t raise children through our words. We raise them through our examples.
So, what does being kind mean to me now?
It means seeing beyond the surface, in ourselves and others. It means responding with softness when hardness is easier. It means choosing to protect, not punish. To listen, not lecture. To breathe, not break.
And more than anything, it means practicing what I want my children to become.
What Parenting Taught Me About True Kindness.
I have never been an unkind person, anyone who knows me would say that. But I can’t say I’ve ever truly understood the depth and nature of kindness. When I describe myself, I don’t use the word “kind.” I’ve never looked for it as a defining quality in the people I choose to surround myself with, either. Of course, I value many positive traits – honesty, strength, ambition but kindness has never been the imperative.
That changed when I became a mother.
When my children were born, life paused. You know that feeling, the urge to become the best version of yourself for them. We rewind our lives, scrutinizing the journey that brought us to this point. We reflect on who we are, how we’ve related to others, and how we were shaped in return. If we find gaps, shortcomings, or wounds we suddenly want to fix them. Because parenting is the highest form of responsibility: nurturing and growing another human being. It demands strength, patience, and an unwavering emotional presence.
This is where I began to truly reconsider what kindness means. And here are four truths I often return to.
1. Kindness is more than being nice. It is empathy in motion.
Kindness is the act of being considerate, empathetic, and compassionate. It’s multi-layered, far-reaching, and often quiet. With children, we are naturally kind, we read between the lines of their emotions, we hold space for them, we love them even when we’re exhausted or overwhelmed. But for some reason, we struggle to extend that same kindness to adults.
Yet, even with grown-ups, a small act of genuine kindness can shift everything. It might seem simple, but kindness has complex biological and emotional effects. It can change someone’s day. Sometimes, it can change their life.
2. Kindness requires strength, especially in chaos.
To remain kind in moments of frustration, injustice, or emotional turbulence takes immense courage. I have two children, very close in age. Being their mother is the greatest gift of my life but it was also exhausting when they were younger. The crying, the cleaning, the sleepless nights. Some days, I feel completely undone. They would sit on my head, bite my tummy, yank my hair and I would want to scream.
But I don’t. Or I try not to. I count to ten, step away, breathe deeply. I choose kindness. Not because I’m perfect, but because I know they are vulnerable and I want to protect them even from my own impatience.
And yet, what I often forget is that adults are just as vulnerable and far less resilient. They carry wounds, too. They deserve our gentleness, too.
3. Kindness is instinctual, just like love.
Much like the need to love and be loved, kindness is an instinct that sustains us. When our children are upset, they run into our arms. Our hugs, our words “It’s alright,” “I’m here,” “I’ll take care of you” offer instant comfort. We say these things without thinking. They come from a place deeper than logic, the part of us wired to nurture, to soothe, to heal.
We feel joy in being that safe place for them.
So why doesn’t this instinct carry into our adult relationships? Why do we hesitate to comfort, to forgive, to be tender with one another?
Maybe because we’re taught that kindness is weakness. But I’m learning that it’s the opposite. It’s the foundation of emotional strength.
4. Kindness is the legacy we leave through our children.
Children are the greatest imitators. Their intentions are pure, and they are not bound by social conformity. They are born blank slates and we, their parents, shape how they view the world.
If I want kindness to be a core value in their lives, I have to model it. Not just with them, but with everyone. In the way I speak to strangers, handle conflict, navigate stress. In the way I treat those who can offer me nothing in return.
Because ultimately, we don’t raise children through our words. We raise them through our examples.
So, what does being kind mean to me now?
It means seeing beyond the surface, in ourselves and others. It means responding with softness when hardness is easier. It means choosing to protect, not punish. To listen, not lecture. To breathe, not break.
And more than anything, it means practicing what I want my children to become.
Latest Posts
A Millennial’s Journey in Designing Life
Read More »It Takes a Village: At Home and At Work
Read More »Magical woman
Read More »