Every night, we read three books with our daughter. Lately, we’ve been reaching for ones that help her understand the big changes ahead—books about becoming a big sister (You Were the First), about Mama’s growing belly (Mama’s Fruit Belly), and about why Dada sometimes has to travel for work (When Dad Travels for Work). They help her make sense of things—but truthfully, they help me, too.
I remember when I was little and starting school, I had a bully. Her name was Christine. She lived on my cul-de-sac and rode the same bus. She was mean to me in that specific, painful way little girls can be. My mom says I’d come home crying, confused and hurt, asking why someone would be so unkind.
She didn’t have all the answers—but she knew where to look. We went to our local library, and the librarian handed her a book called The Love Light. It explained how some people’s love lights are dim and grey, making it hard for them to express themselves without hurting others. Other people’s lights are bright and warm, and they share that light through kindness and compassion.
It changed everything for me. I still think about people’s love lights to this day. I’ve caught myself whispering things like: That person’s love light is really struggling… or Wow, I’m drawn to their light.
And that’s the magic of children’s books. They make the emotional complex feel simple—and the simple feel profound.
Some of the deepest truths I’ve ever learned have come from stories written for children:
📖 The Rabbit Listened taught me the power of presence, not problem-solving. When a friend recently broke down in my car, I remembered: she doesn’t need advice. She just needs me to sit with her sadness.
📖 The Invisible String reminded me that love stretches far beyond what we can see—an anchor for both children and adults navigating separation or loss.
📖 Last Stop on Market Street reframes lack as beauty, inviting us to see richness not in what we own, but in what we notice.
📖 The Giving Tree taught me about sacrifice—but also sparked deeper reflection about boundaries, imbalance, and how we define love.
📖 The Velveteen Rabbit reminded me that to be “real” is to be loved into being—flawed, worn down, but deeply cherished.
Right now, I’m ordering more books about starting school—for my daughter, yes. But also for me. I need help guiding my emotions, too. Because even as adults, we’re still just trying to name our feelings, understand the world, and figure out how to be brave.
And sometimes the best stories to help us do that… have the fewest words.
What’s a children’s book that’s stayed with you as an adult?
Reply and let me know—I’d love to share some of your favorites in the next issue.
Here’s some of my favorites: https://bookshop.org/lists/tiny-protagonists-big-feelings
