Both my babies favor their daddies. They got their faces, their mannerisms, little pieces of them you can see plain as day.

And not once—not a damn time—did I look at my babies and think, “I can’t love you right because you look like somebody who hurt me.”

Because you ain’t your daddy.

You ain’t responsible for what he did to me.
You ain’t carrying his sins.
And you sure as hell shouldn’t have to spend your childhood proving you’re not him just because you got his face or some of his ways.

I think a whole lot of folks who grew up hearing, “You’re just like your daddy,” know exactly how deep that can cut.

Especially when what they really meant was, “You remind me of somebody who hurt me.”

Baby, that wasn’t your burden to carry.

You were a child standing there with somebody else’s face and your own little heart, just wanting to be loved.

So if that’s something you carried growing up, hear me good:

You were never the person who hurt her.

You were never guilty for the face you were born with.

You didn’t deserve to be loved less because somebody else left a wound behind.

You deserved somebody to look at you and say, “I know who your daddy is, but I know who YOU are, too.”

And if nobody ever said it to you—

You are loved.
You are wanted.
You are cared for.
And you get to be your own person.

Somebody else’s blood may run through your veins, but their mistakes don’t belong to you.

That’s something every child oughta know. ❤️