The Day I Stopped Apologizing for My Son

Article by Brittni Schroeder

From the day my first son was born, I knew he was special. His dark perfectly-shaped eyebrows framed his bright brown eyes. His curiosity was apparent as a toddler as he scaled walls and broke through makeshift barriers. I often found myself saying, “He was here just a minute ago”. I joked that he came sprinting out of the womb and never stopped. Along with his adventurous heart was his gift of gab. He loved to talk and talk and talk. He would start up conversations with people both old and young and often wouldn’t stop until he surrendered to sleep. I adored this little boy and his love of people.

But his non-stop talking, which I found so endearing, wasn’t always well received. As he got older, his excitement and enthusiasm were sometimes criticized. I received my fair share of unsolicited advice: 

Your son probably has ADHD. 

Your son always interrupts. 

Your son won’t stop talking to his classmates.

The list went on and on. 

As an inexperienced and young mother, I was devastated. Not because his feelings were hurt, or his self-worth was under attack, but because I thought it was a reflection of my parenting. I took the criticism hard and staggered under the weight of unrealistic exceptions that often left me feeling like a failure as a mother. 

I read scores of parenting self-help books and attended parenting classes—constantly trying to implement my findings. I found myself avoiding certain social situations, because I worried what others might say about my son’s behavior. I began to apologize for his actions—often in advance of anything even happening. If I was invited out somewhere, I’d accept with a caveat: “My son is crazy and out of control, but we will be there.”   

A wise friend with years of parenting experience recognized my inner struggle. She pulled me aside one day, gently placing her arm around my waist and said, “Always remember the things that drive us the most crazy about our children, is what will make them the most amazing adults.” Then she lovingly told me to stop apologizing for my son’s strengths. 

Her words resonated, and I pondered them over the next several days. She was absolutely right. I wasn’t a bad mom. My son was special, and I was chosen to be his mom. I made the decision then and there that I would never apologize for my son. I would teach him the difference between right and wrong, but I would never take away his spirit. If people criticized, I told them I was sorry that they felt that way. In my mind, he wasn’t a manipulator, he was determined. He didn’t talk too much, he was curious. He wasn’t ADHD, he was excited about life. He wasn’t disrespectful, he had a voice. 

Years passed, and he grew into a young man before my eyes. His personality stayed consistent. He was still always “here just a minute ago”. He had endless conversations with complete strangers. He was often found before or after class conversing with his teachers. The criticism didn’t cease, and some people found him to be a bit too much. He was known for his gift of gab and his intuitive ability to detect when others were feeling down and I embraced and honored that about him.

When he was 14 years old, he tragically passed away. One of my greatest gifts was suddenly stolen. But through the fog of our devastation and heartbreak, something beautiful and indescribable began happening. We started getting letters, messages, phone calls, and texts. These messages came from the most unpredictable and unexpected places. Within days we had received nearly 500 messages, several from people I did not know. These messages were words of admiration and love for my son, followed with stories of kindness and joy that he had brought to their lives. They spoke of his compassion during the darkest of times. Many tried to claim the title of “best friend”, because that is how he made them feel. He had touched so many in such a profound way. My heart simultaneously burst with joy and sadness. I was so proud to be his mom.

During this difficult time, I found myself reflecting over the years and memories we had created. I would have flashbacks of memories that I had long forgotten. I remembered the advice I had so generously been given so many years ago: The thing that drove me the most crazy was truly the thing that made my son the most amazing adult.