Hello sweetheart, come sit with me. Let’s swing.

Has there ever been a moment when someone complimented you to someone else, and you overheard it?

My toddler isn’t quite talking yet, so my husband and I often speak for him. Lately, he’s been noticing the little things on our faces, pointing out my husband’s beard when it’s there, and his clean-shaven chin when it’s gone.

I happen to have a small mole on my face. My little one likes to sit on my lap and gently point to my eyes, nose, mouth, teeth, and always, always, my mole. Lately, he’s been especially focused on it, pressing gently to see if it changes or what it feels like. He’s exploring my face like a map he’s just starting to learn. Sometimes, I forget it’s even there. It’s been unchanged for more than two decades.

My husband is the sweetest and gentlest companion. There’s nothing I can’t share with him. He’s the kind of soul I can seek refuge in. I’m safe. He knows I’ve been quietly learning how to see myself, how to make peace with my body. He encourages me to make choices that are kind, thoughtful, and good. Never once has he brought up my mole.

One morning, while my husband was making breakfast, our toddler sat facing me on my lap. He was pointing to all the familiar features, my nose, my ears, the things he always finds. Then he found my mole again. He climbed down, walked straight to my husband, and said, “Dad, Dad, Dad…” then pointed back at me, “Mommy!”

I filled in his words aloud: “Dad, Mommy has a mole.”

Without skipping a beat, my husband smiled and said, “I know, baby! Mommy does have a mole. It’s very flattering on her. It makes her unique. She’s so beautiful with her mole.”

That was it. The simplest compliment.

No pause, no ceremony. Just love, spoken easily.

As if the words had been waiting in his heart for a long time, and finally had the chance to come out.

And then?

The gentle rhythm of our morning continued. The conversation, just like any other morning, the menu. Scrambled eggs. Toast. “Do you want milk with your breakfast?”

Life went on.

But I carried that moment with me.

Over the years, I’ve learned the value of a kind word from him. He doesn’t just offer them to me—he lives by them. He speaks them to others, too. He believes in encouragement, and offers it freely.

It’s not every day that we hear compliments.

And more often than not, we aren’t giving them to ourselves either.

Why not?

What if we made kindness a habit?

What if we spoke with gentleness to ourselves, and to others?

Not just when they’re listening, but especially when they might overhear?

What would the world feel like if we chose to speak sincerely, to name the goodness we see in others, and say it out loud?

The world doesn’t need to compete with your character.

There’s room for gentleness.

There’s room for softness in a world that so often prizes noise and sharpness.

Speak the kind words.

Speak the gentle words.

Speak the ones that build up.

It might be the first time in a long time they’ve been heard.

Take some flowers for your table.