Opinion piece by Barbara Lee
I could tell something was wrong before she even reached me. She came down the school steps with that look — the one where she's trying to hold it together but not quite managing. When she finally opened up, she told me about a boy in her class who kept getting too close, touching her things, and pestering her in that low-grade, relentless way that doesn't leave a bruise but wears you down all the same.
It wasn't aggressive. It wasn't openly cruel. But it had quietly crossed a line, and she felt it.
As she talked, it became clear to me what was really going on: the boy was looking for her attention. He didn't know how to ask for it properly, didn't have the words for what he needed — but the need was there. He wanted connection, and this was the only way he knew how to reach for it.
I spoke with her teacher, and thankfully the situation seems to be resolving. But what stayed with me long after wasn't the incident itself — it was the conversation my daughter and I had afterward. Because she genuinely couldn't understand why he'd behaved that way.
I didn't want her to think that crossing boundaries is a love language
The easy answer would have been: "He probably likes you." It's quick, simple, and not entirely untrue. But I kept thinking about what that sentence plants in a child's mind — the idea that intrusion is affection, that pestering is interest, that discomfort is something you should be flattered by.
So I took a different approach.
I told her that throughout her life, she'll meet all kinds of people who want her attention. Some will come with kindness. They'll notice how she's feeling, respect her space, and try to connect in a way that feels good for her too.
And some won't. Some will push. Some will poke. Some won't actually be paying attention to her at all — they'll just be trying to satisfy something in themselves, even at the cost of her comfort.
The most important thing she needs to learn isn't how to understand everyone, or fix everyone. It's that she gets to decide who receives her attention.
Because only the people you give power to actually have it
This is a simple sentence. But I think it carries something profound.
Setting boundaries matters, and it's always right to speak up when someone crosses them. But it's just as important to learn that not every provocation deserves a response.
As she grows up, there will be people who try to unsettle her. People who say things out of jealousy, frustration, or plain spite. People who, when she succeeds, will try to pull her back down. That's not a possibility — it's a certainty. The world is full of noise.
But their power over her is not automatic. She is the one who decides whose words carry weight. She chooses whether to let it be the people who truly see her, who love her, who have earned her trust — or the ones who simply want to hurt her.
Acknowledging a boundary violation is important. But jumping every time an irrelevant person speaks is a waste of her energy. If she doesn't hand them her attention, their words are weightless. They can shout as loud as they like. She doesn't owe them an explanation. She doesn't have to stop and justify herself to every voice that tries to slow her down.
She can simply keep walking.
Because only the people she chooses to give power to actually have it over her. And she should choose very carefully who she honours with that kind of power.
