This morning, when I dropped my daughter off at preschool, I could tell she noticed some of her new classmates staring and whispering about the bruises on her face from her latest treatment for her port wine stain birthmark. Instead of getting upset or feeling self-conscious, Lydia just walked over to her cubby, grabbed the book Sam’s Birthmark, and gave it to her teacher to read to the class.
She’s not even 3 years old yet, but her strength and confidence amaze me. I cried almost the whole way to work—not because I’m worried about how other kids will treat her in the future, but because I know this girl is going to do amazing things!
This morning, I witnessed something extraordinary.
Like most weekday mornings, I dropped my daughter off at preschool. But today was different. As we walked in, I saw it in her eyes—she knew. Some of her new classmates were staring and whispering, clearly noticing the bruises on her face from her latest laser treatment for her port-wine stain birthmark.
I held my breath for a second, unsure how she’d react.
But instead of shying away or getting upset, my not-even-three-year-old little girl did something that floored me.
She walked straight to her cubby, grabbed the book Sam’s Birthmark, and handed it to her teacher. No words. Just a gesture—simple, intentional, and brave.
She wanted her class to understand.
She wanted to connect, not retreat.
I stood there in awe. She’s not even three. And yet her confidence, her quiet strength—it left me speechless. I cried nearly the entire drive to work, but not out of fear or sadness. Not because I’m worried about how the world might treat her as she grows.
I cried because I saw a glimpse of who she is becoming—and I know in my bones that this girl is going to do amazing things.
Let this be a reminder: bravery doesn’t always roar. Sometimes, it looks like a tiny hand offering a book.
If you’re a parent navigating similar challenges, know you’re not alone. And if your child is facing something that makes them “different,” don’t underestimate how beautifully they can own their story—even before they can spell their name.
