THE TIDES WILL TURN
The tides will turn… and when they do, you need to be ready.
This week, I wanted to do something different and bring you an illustration on Musing Pam. I love stories because sometimes they have a way of reaching places that advice alone cannot. And if you are currently walking through a difficult season with your child, I hope you find this inspiring, too.
A mother sat in her car long after school pick-up had finished.
The playground was almost empty now. Children had gone home laughing with friends, bags swinging over their shoulders, while her daughter sat silently in the back seat, staring out of the window, pretending to scroll on her phone.
But mothers notice the things children try to hide.
The shorter answers.
The forced smile.
The way their eyes lose light before their words ever do.
It had started slowly.
Friends are becoming distant.
Group chats are going quiet.
Whispers in corridors.
Inside jokes her daughter no longer understood.
Then came the tears.
“Mum, I don’t think they like me anymore.”
And just like that, her heart broke in places no one could see.
She did everything she was supposed to do.
Meetings with the school.
Emails sent late at night.
Phone calls asking for support.
Encouraging words whispered through bedroom doors.
But there is a particular kind of helplessness that comes with watching your child suffer socially.
Because you cannot walk into every room and protect them.
You cannot force kindness out of people.
You cannot undo cruel words once they land.
And sometimes the hardest part is watching your child slowly question themselves because of how others have treated them.
One evening, after another difficult day, her daughter asked quietly:
“Why do people keep being mean to me?”
The mother paused.
Not because she didn’t care.
But because she understood this moment mattered.
She could have filled the silence with anger.
Could have taught her to become colder.
Harder.
Less trusting.
But instead, she sat beside her and said:
“The tides will turn one day. And when they do, I need you to still recognise yourself.”
Her daughter looked confused.
So she continued.
“One day, these friendships will change.
One day, you will find people who see your heart properly.
One day, this pain will not sit this heavily on your chest anymore.
But when that day comes, I don’t want this season to turn you into someone bitter.
I don’t want cruel people to teach you cruelty.
I don’t want rejection to convince you to reject yourself.
And I don’t want temporary pain to make you forget who you are.”
Because that is the real work of parenting in difficult seasons.
Not just stopping the pain.
But helping our children survive it without losing themselves inside it.
The truth is, tides always change.
The children who feel left out today often become the adults who make others feel seen.
The children who experience hurt often grow into the gentlest people in the room.
The child crying in your arms today may one day become someone else’s safe place.
And slowly, things did change.
New friendships formed.
Confidence returned in small pieces.
The laughter came back.
The light returned to her eyes.
Not overnight.
Not perfectly.
But enough for her mother to realise something important.
Children do heal.
Especially when they have a home that keeps reminding them who they are while the world tries to make them forget.
The point of this story is not to pretend that bullying, rejection, or difficult friendships do not leave scars. They can. They hurt deeply, not just for our children, but for us as parents watching from the sidelines.
But the lesson is this:
We cannot always control what our children experience, but we can shape what those experiences produce in them.
We can teach them that pain does not have to make them cruel.
That rejection does not define their worth.
And that difficult seasons are not permanent.
The tides will turn.
And when they do, may our children still have soft hearts, steady confidence, and the courage to believe that this chapter was never the end of their story.