As our country has its 250th birthday, I’ve found myself thinking a lot about the future.
Not politics. Not headlines. Not all the things that seem to divide us.
I’ve been thinking about children.
Now, before anyone accuses me of becoming sentimental in my old age, let me be clear: I’ve spent more than thirty years working with trauma survivors. I’ve seen enough pain, heartbreak, and resilience to fill several lifetimes. I know there is still plenty of work to do.
But I also think we sometimes overlook how much has changed.
Recently, I was driving through my neighborhood when I spotted a young child outside. Instantly, my therapist brain activated. Was he okay? Was there an adult nearby? Had he wandered too far?
I slowed down and rolled down my window.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
The child, who wisely remained a very safe distance from my vehicle, looked directly at me and replied in a voice that was equal parts serious and mildly annoyed:
“I am safe. Please keep going.”
I nearly burst out laughing.
Not because he was rude. Quite the opposite.
I loved it.
He didn’t come running up to a stranger’s car. He assessed the situation. He maintained distance. He communicated clearly. Then, after I drove away, I noticed him heading back toward what I assume was his home.
Mission accomplished.
Honestly, there are adults I know who struggle with boundaries more than that five-year-old.
That interaction stayed with me because it represented something I don’t think we talk about enough.
Some things are getting better.
When I was growing up, children were often expected to be polite before they were expected to be safe.
I can still remember being told to hug relatives I barely knew. Maybe it was an aunt I’d met twice in my life. Maybe she wore a perfume that could strip paint off a wall. Maybe she smelled like cigarettes. Maybe I simply didn’t want to be touched.
It didn’t matter.
Go give her a hug.
And so I did.
Not because I wanted to, but because children weren’t always taught that their bodies belonged to them.
We were taught manners.
Today’s children are increasingly being taught boundaries.
That’s a meaningful difference.
They’re learning that they can say no.
They’re learning that uncomfortable and unsafe are not the same thing.
They’re learning words like consent, anxiety, emotional regulation, and mental health.
Many parents are asking questions that previous generations simply didn’t ask. They’re reading books, listening to podcasts, talking to therapists, researching child development, and trying to understand the emotional worlds of their children.
Are they getting everything right?
Of course not.
If perfect parenting existed, therapists like me would be out of business.
But I do see many parents making a sincere effort to raise children who know how to speak up, ask for help, and trust their instincts.
And that gives me hope.
I see hope in schools teaching social-emotional skills.
I see hope in teenagers who can identify anxiety instead of simply believing they’re “crazy.”
I see hope in survivors who refuse to let shame write the rest of their story.
I see hope in parents who apologize when they make mistakes.
I see hope in communities beginning to understand that prevention matters just as much as intervention.
As America approaches 250 years, I don’t find myself asking whether we’ve solved every problem.
We haven’t.
But I do find myself asking whether we’re creating a world where children are more likely to speak up than stay silent.
Whether they are more likely to trust their instincts than ignore them.
Whether they are more likely to believe their bodies belong to them.
And when I think about that little boy standing safely in his yard, confidently informing a stranger that he was perfectly fine and I could move along, I think the answer might be yes.
Not everywhere.
Not for everyone.
Not yet.
But more than before.
And for someone who has spent her career helping people recover from what happens when safety is taken away, that feels like a future worth celebrating.