Letters to My Future Daughter – The Empathic Social Observer

PEARLS FOR MY LITTLE ONE: LETTER TO MY NIECE

Dear Mandy,

When I look back at grandma’s voice in my life, what echoes most is her steady insistence on self-worth. She spoke it not as theory, but as something she believed I deserved to hold onto—even when she herself was still learning what it meant. And isn’t that what mothers do? They plant seeds, even before they know the full tree that might grow from them.

However, self-worth without discernment is like honey without bees: sweet but defenceless.

For me, learning that balance has come in unexpected ways. Sometimes, it feels like laying out small riddles to the people I let close, just to see if they can read the language of my heart. It is not about trickery. It is about recognition. A person who sees you—truly sees you—will not stumble where swiftness is the honour due. People of worth can not sit comfortably with one-sidedness. Their spirit will press them to give something back.

They will not treat pearls like pebbles.

But here’s the part I want you to remember: withdrawing when the riddle is left unanswered is not cruelty. It is dignity. It is not pride to flinch at being mishandled. It is the soft, firm knowing of what you carry and the grace of refusing to lay it before blindness.

This, however, is not a call to live narrow or paranoid, constantly on defence. Life will bruise you regardless because no one is perfect—we ourselves, even with the best intentions, have hurt others unknowingly. The aim is not to build walls so high that you suffocate, but to recognize the urgency with which someone reaches for you. That urgency speaks volumes.

Perhaps that’s the second lesson, my darling: self-worth is not just a defence; it is also a gift. To know your own value is to walk lighter. It frees you from endless proving. You will test, yes. But you will also rest. Because what is truly for you will recognize you without delay.

Also, don’t forget that it is wisdom to leave people alone when they want to be left alone—another lesson I had to learn and weave into the balance of discernment.

I have an inkling, however, that you may not even need this particular lesson like your mother who, almost innately, seemed to find the balance. She knows when to draw close, when to step back, and how to honour herself without apology. For me, it was less natural. I had to wrestle with it, to learn by trial, to test and be tested in return.

And so my wish for you, little one, is that you will inherit the best of both: your grandmother’s steady voice, your mother’s quiet balance, and my hard-earned discernment. With these, you will walk sure-footed into the world, knowing that what you carry is treasure, and you are never less for expecting it to be treated as such.

With all my love,
Your Auntie.

The Empathic Social Observer.

P.S. Some people call it “playing oblivious.” I call it sparing yourself unnecessary battles. Not every invitation to wrestle deserves your strength.

LETTER TO MY FUTURE DAUGHTER

Dear Daughter,

I write this to you even before meeting you, knowing that if you are like me, your heart will be open—bleeding sometimes for justice, to see and be seen, aching to love.

It is not out of vanity that I compare you to me, or that I want you to live in my shadow. It is because with every letter I write, I want to share myself with you—fully and honestly—so that you will see me as human, flawed and learning, just like you will be. My words come from experience, both pleasant and painful.

You will come to understand, however, that we all succumb to vanity sometimes. Knowing this—recognizing it in yourself and others—will be useful in the years to come. But that is a letter for another day.

Today, I want to speak to you about something simpler, yet harder to master:
Actions are more powerful than words.

Because you are a woman, words may carry great weight in your life. Compliments will thrill you. Apologies might disarm you. Promises could make your heart swell. And yet—none of them are the truth. Not on their own, anyway. And that’s a lot coming from me who loves words and knows how powerful they can be.
But you must train your mind to become more perceptive to actions—your own, and those of others.

Let your words be few, and always rooted in intention. Speak to shape the world, not to decorate it.
And when others speak—pause, and watch.
The person who says they care but never shows up for you,
The friend who always talks about being honest but tells white lies to everyone else,
The man who writes you poetry but flinches at the idea of sacrifice—
These are your lessons.

People will be watching you too, even when they don’t realize it.
They’ll watch to see if you bluff. If you fold under pressure. If your actions betray insecurity.
Let them watch. But more importantly, let yourself watch. Let your own actions be the evidence of your values.

If you ever feel lost between what someone says and what they do,
Always choose to believe what they do.

That is where truth lives.

With love,
Your Mother