Criticism Echoes

Where do they reach?

In criticism I will be bold, and as sternly, absolutely just with friend and foe. From this purpose nothing shall turn me.

Edgar Allan Poe

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The Echo in Criticism

I take your words and hold them close,
  not sure if they’re meant to help
    or if they just bruise where I am already tender.
I carry them like stones in my pockets,
  dragging my steps, unsure
    if they’re meant to weigh me down
      or keep me steady in the wind.

I’m not certain what you see in me,
  if it’s the cracks or the light seeping through them.
You offer me your advice,
  your well-meaning arrows,
    but sometimes they find their mark
      too deeply, too sharply.
And I wonder, is this what I need?
Or have I mistaken the sting for love?

There’s doubt in me,
  a question that hangs like smoke—
    am I stronger for this,
      or just more accustomed to the pain?
I keep waiting for the moment
  when the weight transforms into something else,
    something I can lift and use,
      but the stones in my pockets remain stones,
        and I still feel so far from steady.

I don’t want to believe your words are meant to hurt,
  yet some days they linger,
    etching themselves into the skin of my thoughts,
      making me question what I know about myself.
Do you see the same cracks I do,
  or have I grown used to carrying your fears with my own?

I try to make peace with it,
  to see the love threaded through the sharpness,
    but there’s still that doubt,
      a quiet question echoing back—
        will this break me down, or will I rise?

I’ve been told that strength is born from struggle,
  that the stones will someday be stepping stones,
    but I don’t know if I believe it yet.
Not fully.
I still wonder if I am walking forward
  or just circling the same bruised ground.

I want to trust that I’ll find my own flame,
  that I can be more than what you see in me,
    but it’s hard to tell if the fire is mine
      or if I’m still carrying yours.

And yet, there’s a part of me—small, but growing—
  that whispers I’m still here,
    that even in doubt, I’m still standing.
I may not have shed the weight,
  but I’ve learned to carry it,
    and maybe, just maybe,
      that’s where my fight begins.

But tonight, the doubt remains.
Am I strong, or simply enduring?
The answer is somewhere between your words and mine.
And I’m still searching for it.

Where Does It Reach

I've been thinking a lot lately about the way I offer advice to you all. Being a Dad doesn't come with an instruction manual, and sometimes I wonder if my words are more helpful or harmful.

I watch each of you—my three incredible girls and my energetic boy—navigating your own paths, and all I want is to support you without overstepping.

The “other day” (likely years ago, time is weird), I noticed one of you struggling with a homework assignment. Without thinking, I started pointing out mistakes and suggesting fixes.

I saw the frustration in your eyes, and it hit me that maybe my "help" wasn't helping at all. Maybe it felt more like criticism for the sake of criticism, rather than heartfelt guidance.

It's a fine line, isn't it? I want to share what I've learned, to prevent you from making the same mistakes I did. But I also realize that unsolicited advice can feel intrusive, even judgmental. It can suggest that I don't trust you to handle things on your own, which couldn't be further from the truth.

I'm trying to find that balance between stepping in and stepping back. Perhaps I need to ask first: "Would you like some help?" or "Do you want to talk about it?" That way, you have the choice to accept or decline, and it opens the door for a conversation rather than a one-sided critique.

I also recognize that sometimes you just need someone to listen, not to fix things. I'm learning that being present and supportive can be more valuable than any advice I might offer. It's not about me being disappointed or wanting to change who you are; it's about wanting to be there for you in the way you need.

So, I'm working on it, albeit slowly. I'm figuring out how much help to give and when to give it. I hope you'll bear with me as I navigate this part of parenthood. My goal is never to hurt you or make you feel less than you are. You amaze me every day, and I'm so proud of each of you.

If ever it feels like I'm crossing that line, I hope you'll tell me. Let's keep talking, keep understanding each other better. After all, we're in this together, learning as we go.

But this whole experience has made me reflect deeply on what criticism actually is. What does it mean when we critique someone, especially someone we care about? I've started to realize that criticism goes beyond pointing out what's wrong; it's a complex interaction that can affect how we see ourselves and each other.

I think back to times when I've been on the receiving end of criticism. Sometimes it stung, leaving me feeling defensive or inadequate. Other times, it helped me see things from a new perspective and spurred me to grow. So what's the difference? Maybe it lies in the intention behind the words and how they're delivered.

Criticism can come from a place of love and concern, but it can also stem from frustration or impatience. When I rushed in to "help" with your homework, was I really being helpful, or was I imposing my own expectations on you? Perhaps I was too focused on the outcome rather than appreciating your process and effort.

I've begun to understand that criticism often says as much about the person giving it as it does about the person receiving it. It can reveal our own fears, insecurities, or unmet expectations. Maybe I fear that if I don't guide you, you'll struggle as I did. But in doing so, am I denying you the valuable experience of learning and overcoming challenges on your own?

Moreover, I recognize that criticism can impact our relationship. It might create distance or make you hesitant to share your thoughts and struggles with me. That's the last thing I want. I want our home to be a place you feel supported and heard, not judged or corrected at every turn.

Understanding criticism also involves recognizing the power of words. A casual remark might linger in your mind far longer than I realize. What I intend as a small piece of advice might feel like a heavy weight to you. It's essential for me to be mindful of not just what I say, but how and when I say it.

I'm starting to see that sometimes the most supportive thing I can do is to listen without immediately offering solutions. To be present with you in your struggles without trying to fix them right away. Maybe understanding and empathy are more valuable than any critique I could offer.

This reflection doesn't give me all the answers, but it's a beginning. I hope I'm laying the groundwork to approach our interactions more thoughtfully. I hope that by sharing these thoughts with you, we can foster a deeper mutual understanding.

I'm not trying to teach or instruct right now; I'm trying to comprehend. To grasp the nuances of how my words and actions influence you. I believe that by first understanding, we'll be better equipped to navigate our path forward together when the time is right.

For now, I want you to know that I'm committed to this journey of reflection. I care deeply about our relationship and your well-being. Let's keep the lines of communication open, and perhaps together, we'll uncover insights that help us both grow.

And now my mind is wandering. It’s spinning up again. Unfortunately, my dear, beautiful children, I have a bit more to say…

With all this in mind, I'm beginning to see that the best way forward is to focus on what I can do better. If I want to support you without overstepping, I need to lead by example. After all, actions often speak louder than words.

First, I can practice patience. Instead of jumping in to offer solutions, I can take a moment to observe and understand what you're experiencing. Giving you the space to work through challenges allows you to build confidence and resilience. It's important for me to remember that struggling isn't a sign of failure; it's a natural part of learning.

I also realize the value of active listening. When you choose to share something with me, I want to be fully present. That means putting aside distractions, making eye contact, and really hearing what you're saying without immediately formulating a response or solution. Sometimes, all you need is someone to acknowledge your feelings and experiences.

Another area I can improve is being more mindful of how I communicate. Words carry weight, and even well-intentioned advice can come across as critical if not delivered thoughtfully. I can strive to use language that is encouraging and supportive, focusing on your strengths and efforts rather than shortcomings.

It's also important for me to show vulnerability. Sharing my own struggles and the lessons I've learned can create a safe space for you to open up about your challenges. It will hopefully demonstrate that making mistakes is a natural part of life and that growth often comes from facing difficulties head-on.

By prioritizing my own personal growth, I hope to set a positive example for you. Whether it's pursuing a new skill, practicing empathy, or managing my own frustrations in healthy ways, my actions can serve as a model for how to navigate life's complexities.

Moreover, I want to foster an environment where feedback flows both ways. If there's something I can do to support you better, I hope you'll feel comfortable telling me. Your insights can help me understand your needs more clearly, allowing me to adjust my approach accordingly.

I recognize that this is an ongoing journey. There will be times when I slip up, reverting to old habits of offering unsolicited advice or jumping in too quickly. When that happens, I promise to acknowledge it and strive to do better. Change doesn't happen overnight, but commitment and effort make a difference over time.

Ultimately, my goal is to build a relationship based on trust, understanding, and mutual respect. By focusing on what I can improve, I aim to create a supportive environment where you feel empowered to explore, learn, and grow. I want you to know that I'm here for you—not to direct your path, but to walk alongside you as you find your own way.

Thank you for your patience and for teaching me as much as I hope to teach you. Together, we'll continue to navigate this journey, learning from each other every step of the way.

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