After styling my daughters beautiful curls, I asked her how she was feeling.

Without missing a beat, she burst into song:

“Poppin’ and Joppin’!”

She didn’t just say it. She sang it.

Big smile. Full joy. No hesitation. Just pure, radiant self-expression.

I laughed, half surprised, half entertained, and said,

“So you’re going to sing it every time now?”

And just like that, her light dimmed.

Her smile faded.

She sang it again, but this time…the joy was gone. Her voice held a little sadness, like she wasn’t sure if it was still okay.

It hit me instantly.

She thought I was judging her.

And if I’m honest, in a very subtle way, I was. Even if I didn’t mean to.

I touched her shoulders, looked her in the eyes, and said,

“Wait, that wasn’t okay. Mommy didn’t mean it like that. You can sing it—as many times as you want. I love it when you’re joyful.”

She lit back up.

And I sat with the weight of the moment, not in guilt, but in awareness.

How easy it is to dim someone’s light without realizing it. Especially our children.

Their joy is honest. Unfiltered. Loud.

It doesn’t ask for permission.

And the world will try to quiet that soon enough.

It won’t be me.

The Deeper Lesson

As I sat with what happened, I was reminded of a moment from my own childhood, one I’ve never forgotten.

I remember asking, “Am I pretty?”
And someone, an adult I trusted, joked,
“Yeah… pretty damn ugly.”

Everyone laughed. Except me.

I was just a child, asking for affirmation. I didn’t know it was a joke. No one circled back to say, “You are beautiful.” No one told me, “That wasn’t true.” No one repaired it.

And that’s the part that lingered.
Not just the words, but the silence afterward.

Now, as a mother, I realize how easily those moments can land—and how deeply they can stay. Which is why what happened with Maddie mattered so much to me. I recognized the shift in her face because I remember what it feels like when something lands wrong… and no one comes to make it right.

Moments like this remind me how delicate emotional safety truly is.

Children don’t just hear our words, they interpret our tone, our timing, our facial expressions. They read the space between the lines. And they internalize it quickly.

Maddie’s joy wasn’t just excitement. It was identity.

And the moment she sensed I might be pulling away from it, she second-guessed her freedom to be fully herself.

That’s how dimming happens.

Not always with loud shame or harsh words, but with teasing tones, offhand remarks, or even well-meaning sarcasm.

And over time, those tiny moments can add up to a belief:

“Maybe my joy is too much.”

“Maybe I should be quieter.”

“Maybe who I am isn’t always welcome.”

But with awareness comes choice. And choice brings healing.

We get to pause, revisit, and repair.

We get to say:

“I saw the shift. That’s not what I meant. You’re safe here.”

A Gentle Invitation

May we notice more.

The brightness in their eyes.

The shifts in their tone.

The moments when something innocent dims.

May we not rush past them.

Joy is not a disruption. It is a gift.

And protecting it, especially in our children, is healing, cycle-breaking, sacred work.