My son is soon going to be a teenager. It’s a time of immense change—physically, emotionally, and mentally. He’s going through things that I, as an adult, sometimes struggle to help him make sense of. He has questions, fears, and confusions, and lately, his life hasn’t been easy.

At school, he’s been facing bullying that is targeted, persistent, and cruel. Some students have formed a group that not only picks on kids who look different but also covers each other by making false accusations. Despite CCTV evidence and repeated reports, the school’s response has been disappointingly passive. They often cite behavioural conditions like ADHD or OCD as reasons for inaction, leaving us feeling helpless and frustrated.

As a parent, watching your child suffer while the system turns a blind eye is one of the most painful experiences. But through all this, something shifted in me.

I started reflecting on my own life. As adults, we juggle work stress, family responsibilities, social expectations, and the constant pressure to hold it all together. And when life overwhelms us, what brings us relief? Often, it’s just having someone to talk to. Someone who listens without judgement. Someone who gives us their time.

And then it hit me; our kids need that exact same thing.

My son isn’t just battling external stress from school; he’s going through puberty, figuring out who he is, and worrying about a future that’s still too big to grasp. It’s a storm, and all he really wants is shelter, someone to be there for him.

So I made a decision. I restructured my priorities. I cut down on some work commitments, and I now make time just for him.

I realised something else, too; something I see every day with my wife. When I come home from work, we usually talk for about an hour. She shares her day, and I listen. That simple exchange calms her, centres her. But when I’m too busy to give her that time, I can sense the shift—she becomes quiet, distant. It’s not about the words. It’s about being present.

My son is no different. He lights up even if I just sit beside him while he plays on his Xbox. No deep conversation, no big gestures, just me being there. That presence alone makes him feel safe and seen.

These moments are sacred. They’re not only helping him heal—they’re helping me grow. I’m learning so much from him. I see his strength, his curiosity, and even his pain. I offer my life stories not as lectures but as shared experiences. It’s building his confidence, and it’s building our bond.

Raising a child isn’t just about guiding them; it’s about walking beside them. And sometimes, just your presence can be the strongest shield they have.