The Power of Words as a Mom

Parenting didn’t come easily for me.

I was a senior in college when I found out I was pregnant—unexpected, unplanned, and very much alone. Kam's dad wasn’t involved during the pregnancy. He didn’t even know if Kam was his until after he was born. So I carried the weight of it all on my own.

I’ll never forget the moment things shifted. My college roommate, who later became Kam’s godmom, walked into my room and wrote something on my whiteboard that changed everything:

"How you handle stress during your pregnancy is how your child will handle it for the rest of their life."

At the time, it felt like a heavy truth to carry—but it was also the wake-up call I needed. That quote stayed with me, staring at me every day, reminding me that motherhood wasn't just about providing—it was about shaping. And that shaping had already begun, long before I ever held Kam in my arms.

I didn’t grow up with a picture-perfect example of motherhood. My parents divorced, and I didn’t see my mom for almost a decade. My stepmom stepped in young, already raising kids of her own, and although she tried in her way, I still craved warmth. I wanted to hear, “I love you,” and “You matter.”

But I wasn’t without light. God gave me Grace—literally.

My grandmother, Grace Fontenot, poured into me everything I lacked elsewhere. She spoke life into me every single chance she got. She told me I was smart. That I was important. That I was a queen. She’d say, “You can do anything,” with such conviction that I believed her. At her house, I didn’t have to fight for space. I didn’t have to prove myself. I could just be. Her love, her softness, her words—that was my safe place.

She made me feel like I mattered.

Visiting Grandma Grace was like pressing pause on the chaos of living in a home with ten people. With her, I exhaled. When I lost her to ovarian cancer at sixteen, it broke me in a way I didn’t fully understand until I became a mother myself. Even now, I get emotional thinking about how much she would’ve loved Kam. How fiercely she would’ve shown up for me during this journey. Because the truth is, moms need to be mothered, too.

So when I became a mother, I made a promise to myself: I would speak life into my child.

Every single day of my pregnancy, I told Kam I loved him. I prayed over him that he would be kind, healthy, joyful, and quick to laugh. I wanted his inner world to feel steady, even if my outer world was anything but.

At six months pregnant, I drove from Texas to Vegas alone to intern for Make-A-Wish and stay with my big sister. My aunt gave me a hard time for watching The Walking Dead, saying it was bad energy for the baby (Filipino superstition). In hindsight… she might’ve been right. Kam hates zombie movies to this day.

At eight months, I drove back to Texas—this time with my cousin riding shotgun—to finish my last semester. A month later, I became a mom. And from the very first moment, I made sure Kam knew he was loved. Every day. Now, ten years later, he’s often the one who says it first.

But I’m not perfect.

As Kam has gotten older, I’ve caught myself slipping—especially in moments of stress. Sometimes I curse (not in Tagalog, like my mom—but still). We’ve even started a swear jar: 25 cents per word. Kam keeps track. “That’s $2.25 today, Mom,” he’ll say with a grin. It’s funny… and humbling.

What hurts most, though, are the moments when my words went too far.

We had a commercial callback once, and casting asked Kam a question. He gave a wild, unexpected answer about nightmares. They laughed. I didn’t. When the Zoom ended, I turned to him and said, “What is wrong with you?” And just like that, I watched his spirit shrink. He curled up like he wanted to disappear.

My heart dropped.

I crouched beside him, cupped his face, and said it—not once, but three times:“There is nothing wrong with you. There is nothing wrong with you. There is NOTHING wrong with you.”

Because I needed those words to undo what I had just done.

We booked the job, by the way. They loved his unfiltered answer. Turns out, they didn’t want rehearsed—they wanted him.

That moment changed me. It taught me that kids don’t need perfect parents. They need honest ones. Ones who own their mistakes, repair the damage, and show them what growth looks like in real-time.

I still battle impostor syndrome. I still question if I’m doing this “mom” thing right. But here’s what I hold onto: we’re all going to mess up. What matters most is how we handle those moments. I now make it a point to respond to any harmful words I say with three affirmations that speak truth and light back into my son.

Because words are powerful. Words are powerful. Words are powerful.

They can shape identity, build confidence, or leave invisible scars. And as moms, we’re speaking into our kids’ stories every single day.

Let’s do our best to make those words count.

10 Common Sayings Parents Might Not Realize Are Harmful—And What to Say Instead

1. Toxic: “What’s wrong with you?” Try: “That wasn’t like you—what’s going on? Want to talk about it?”

2. Toxic: “You’re so dramatic.” Try: “I see you’re feeling a lot right now. Let’s work through it together.” (I heard this a lot growing up—funny how it paid off in my acting career.)

3. Toxic: “Because I said so.” Try: “I’m setting this boundary because I care about your safety.”

4. Toxic: “You never listen.” Try: “Seems like you’re having a hard time focusing. Let’s try again together.”

5. Toxic: “You’re being a bad kid.” Try: “That choice wasn’t okay, but I know you’ll do better next time.”

6. Toxic: “Stop crying. It’s not a big deal.” Try: “It’s okay to feel upset. I’m here. Want to talk or take a moment?”

7. Toxic: “Why can’t you be more like your sibling?” Try: “I love who you are, and I’m here to support you in your own way.”

8. Toxic: “You’re too sensitive.” Try: “Your feelings matter. Sensitivity means you care deeply.”

9. Toxic: “If you don’t stop, I’m leaving you here.” Try: “Let’s take a breath together so we can keep moving forward.”

10. Toxic: “I’m disappointed in you.” Try: “I know you can make a better choice. Let’s talk about how.”

    
    

Dear parent reading this,

You’re not alone. And you’re not supposed to be perfect. Your kids will see your humanity, and one day, they’ll understand it more than you think.

That old saying, “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me,” yeah, that one’s a lie.

Words do matter. How we speak to our kids matters. And thankfully, so does repair. Kids are incredibly resilient. Seeing you own your mistakes and model growth can teach them more than never messing up at all.

So give yourself some Grace—because you’re doing the best you can. And that’s more than enough.

With love, Grace