To you, my son, trying to find your place. And to the village I’m building for you.

My son,

your light is immense.

It’s vibrant, gentle, and alive, with curiosity, with joy, with wonder.

It touches people without you even noticing.

And I see it. Every single day.

Even when you don’t.

Even when you doubt.

Even when all you want is to belong.

I see you, and I love you. All of you.

I know there are times when you wish I were more like other parents.

That I would stay quiet in certain situations.

That I wouldn’t make things complicated.

But what I do is not meant to push you away from what you want.

It’s to protect you.

Because I know what this world can do to kids like you.

Because I want to build a space where you can be yourself, fully. No hiding. No pretending.

A space where you are loved without condition.

I know what it feels like, wanting to belong.

Yearning to blend in, just enough to be accepted.

The desire to be invited, included, celebrated.

I grew up like that too, surrounded by people who didn’t look like me.

And I understand that feeling, that longing to be part of the group, not wanting to stand out.

I understand.

Trust that I will never judge or blame you for that.

But as an adult, I know what it costs.

I know the price of silence, of forced adaptation, of erasing parts of yourself to fit in.

And I don’t want you to pay that price.

I don’t want you to shrink yourself just to be given a seat at the table.

That’s why I’m building this village.

Not to keep you away from what you want today.

Not to decide for you.

But to make sure there is a place in this world where you can be your full self, no filter, no pressure.

Where you can breathe.

Where you don’t have to prove that you deserve to be here.

Where you don’t have to be the smartest, the funniest, the kindest, or the strongest to earn your right to exist.

You have nothing to earn.

You are already enough, just as you are.

You don’t have to chase other people’s approval.

You don’t have to shine for everyone.

And if some people don’t see you, don’t welcome you, that’s not on you.

That’s their loss, not yours.

Go where you’re truly seen.

Where you’re met with open arms.

Where your presence is celebrated.

Where you don’t have to dim your light to be accepted.

Where your light shines even brighter, simply because you are loved for who you are.

This village, these people surrounding us, they’re not here by accident.

They’re here by choice.

And their beautiful presence is a gift.

Not just a gift I wanted for you, but a gift they’re offering to both of us.

These people are rare.

They are kind, real, warm, deeply human.

Their love is whole.

Their support is genuine.

And these kinds of bonds, my darling, they are to be cherished.

They are to be nurtured, honored, protected.

Because building a village like this one is precious.

And that, too, is something I want to pass on to you.

And I need you to know this:

you don’t have to carry the weight of how people see me in this world.

If some people reject me or what I stand for, that is not your burden to bear.

It’s not your role.

It’s not your fault.

And it’s not your responsibility to fix the wounds I carry.

But know this: if I fight, if I speak up, if I build, if I resist, it’s so you never have to live those wounds yourself.

Know that I will always be here.

Even if one day I’m the one who has caused you pain.

You can always come to me.

And we will find a way to heal. Together.

Forgive me if at times you felt like your needs came second to my values and my fight.

That will never be the case.

Your needs, your feelings, your desires are part of your journey, and mine.

I want to walk alongside you, not stand in your way.

I want to support you, not box you in.

You will always have your place by my side.

All of you.

With everything you carry.

Your joy, your pain, your choices, your questions and your silences, even the ones I don’t understand.

You are free.

You are loved.

And you have nothing to prove, to anyone.

Not even to me.

I love you.

Maman