“When I was a kid, I didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t.”
That’s how he told me, with his eyes fixed on the ground, as if it still weighed on him.
He told me that his mother always said little lies, the kind that seem harmless but mess with your head without you even realizing it.
“I would say, Mom, it’s really cold outside, when she sent me to the store on winter nights to get a pack of cigarettes. And she would answer, No, it’s not cold. If you put on your jacket, your hat, and think about the sun and the sea while you walk, you’ll realize it’s warm.”
As he was telling me this, I understood his confusion: you grow up thinking your feelings are wrong, that you can’t even trust what your body feels. If, at eight years old, someone convinces you that cold isn’t cold, how are you not going to doubt everything else?
He told me that’s why his self-esteem was shattered. He never knew if what he thought or felt had any value. And science explains it clearly: if, as a child, no one validates what you feel, your brain learns that your emotions don’t matter. Every time you doubt yourself, every time you sabotage yourself, there’s something from that childhood still breathing there.
That’s why now, with his son, he does everything differently.
“If I tell him, I’ll be back in a minute, I come back in a minute. Not because it’s easy, but because I don’t want him to learn to doubt what he hears. Trust is built on those small things.”
And he’s right. It’s not just about protecting ourselves from big lies, but from those twisted truths that make us think what we feel is wrong. When you surround yourself with people who don’t lie to you, they’re not just protecting you; they’re teaching you how to trust yourself.
Since that day, every time someone tries to minimize what I feel, I remember him and think: No, I do know what I feel. If I’m cold, I’m cold. If it hurts, it hurts. And I don’t need anyone to convince me otherwise.
Self-esteem starts there, in something as basic as trusting your own perception.