I was at the farmers’ market last Saturday when I noticed something that made me pause.
A little girl, maybe three or four, was having a full meltdown over a broken cracker. Instead of shushing or hurrying her along, her dad knelt down to her level, validated her feelings, and waited patiently while she processed the moment.
It reminded me of something I try to practice with Ellie and Milo: that big feelings deserve big space.
But here’s what really struck me. That kind of response, that patient presence, it doesn’t just calm a tantrum in the moment.
It shapes who that child becomes decades later.
There are small, everyday patterns that quietly reveal whether someone grew up feeling deeply loved and secure.
These aren’t grand gestures or perfect childhoods. They’re the subtle ways early care shows up in how someone moves through the world as an adult.
And honestly? Recognizing these patterns has helped me understand not just the people around me, but also the kind of foundation I’m building for my own kids.
1) They handle conflict without shutting down or exploding
Ever notice how some people can disagree without it turning into a war or a silent standoff?
That ability usually starts in childhood.
When kids grow up in homes where feelings are allowed, where adults model repair after arguments, and where conflict doesn’t equal abandonment or rage, they learn something crucial. They learn that disagreement doesn’t mean disconnection.
Ellie’s only five, but I’m already seeing this play out. When she’s upset with me, she’ll tell me. She doesn’t shrink or blow up because we’ve practiced staying connected even when things are hard.
I’m not perfect at it, but I try to say things like, “I hear you. Tell me more about what’s bothering you.”
People who were deeply loved as children tend to approach conflict with a sense of safety.
They can stay present, express their needs, and work through tension without feeling like the relationship is at risk.
It’s not about never getting angry. It’s about trusting that the relationship can hold the mess.
2) They maintain structure without rigidity
There’s something grounding about routine, especially when you’re young.
Kids who grow up with regular daily routines are less likely to struggle with time management or focus issues as adults, according to research from University at Albany.
But here’s the thing: the best routines aren’t about control. They’re about consistency that feels safe.
I think about our evenings with Ellie and Milo. Bath, stories, songs, back rubs. It’s the same rhythm most nights, and there’s a comfort in that predictability.
But if someone’s having a rough day or we need to shift things, we adjust. The routine serves us, not the other way around.
Adults who were loved well as kids often carry that balance forward.
They can create structure in their lives without becoming inflexible or anxious when plans change. They know how to hold boundaries while staying adaptable.
That’s the gift of growing up with routines that felt like care, not just rules.
3) They’re comfortable being alone without feeling lonely
This one took me a while to understand.
Solitude and loneliness are not the same thing. And the difference often comes down to what happened in early relationships.
When a child feels securely attached to their caregivers, when they know they’re loved even when they’re not physically together, they develop what psychologists call “object permanence” in relationships. They internalize that love. It stays with them.
So later in life, being alone doesn’t feel threatening. It feels like breathing room.
I’ve noticed this in myself since becoming a mom. On the rare mornings when Matt takes the kids out early and I have the house to myself, I don’t feel anxious or abandoned. I feel refilled.
That quiet isn’t empty because I carry the fullness of connection with me.
People who were deeply loved can be alone without spiraling.
They don’t need constant validation or presence to feel okay. They’ve already been given the message that they matter, and it stuck.
4) They show up for others without losing themselves
Here’s a tricky one.
There’s a difference between generosity and self-abandonment. And deeply loved children tend to grow into adults who know where that line is.
When you grow up in an environment where your needs are seen and met, you learn that caring for others doesn’t mean erasing yourself.
You learn that you can hold space for someone else’s emotions without taking responsibility for fixing them.
I’m still working on this myself. I grew up in a home where my mom was anxious and my job, unconsciously, became making her feel better.
I’m learning now, in my thirties, how to show up for people without disappearing in the process.
But I see what it looks like when it’s done well.
Friends who can support you without making your pain about them. Partners who listen deeply but don’t carry your emotional weight as their own burden.
That balance is rooted in early experiences of being both seen and separate. Of mattering without having to perform or sacrifice yourself to earn love.
5) They ask for help without shame
This is a big one.
Asking for help feels vulnerable. And if vulnerability wasn’t safe in your childhood, asking for help as an adult can feel terrifying.
But people who were deeply loved? They learned early that needing support doesn’t make you weak or burdensome.
They watched caregivers respond to their needs with patience, not irritation. They internalized that it’s okay to not have it all figured out.
I think about the way responsive, back-and-forth exchanges between a young child and a caring adult play a key role in shaping brain architecture, as noted by researchers at Harvard’s Center on the Developing Child.
When a baby cries and someone comes, when a toddler reaches out and someone responds, they’re learning a foundational truth: my needs matter, and asking gets me what I need.
That trust doesn’t disappear with age.
Adults who carry that early security can call a friend when they’re overwhelmed, admit when they don’t know something, or ask their partner for reassurance without feeling like they’ve failed.
It’s such a gift, really. The ability to be human with other humans.
6) They’re genuinely curious about other people
There’s a warmth that some people carry. An openness.
They ask questions and actually listen to the answers. They’re interested in who you are, not just what you can do for them.
That usually traces back to being seen as a whole person when they were young.
When kids grow up in homes where their thoughts and feelings are valued, where adults are curious about their inner worlds, they learn to extend that same curiosity outward.
They don’t see people as objects or obstacles. They see them as complex, worthy of attention.
I try to practice this with Ellie. When she comes to me with a story about her day, I put my phone down. I ask follow-up questions. I let her know that what’s happening in her world matters to me, even if it’s just about the caterpillar she found or the tower she built.
It’s such a small thing. But over time, those small moments add up. They teach her that people are worth paying attention to.
And I see that same quality in adults who were loved well.
They make you feel like you matter, because someone once made them feel that way too.
7) They don’t need everyone to like them
This might sound counterintuitive, but stay with me.
People who were deeply loved as children often grow into adults who are less desperate for approval.
Not because they’re arrogant or detached, but because they already have a core sense of worth that doesn’t depend on external validation.
When you grow up knowing you’re loved for who you are, not what you achieve or how well you behave, you develop an internal anchor.
You don’t need to twist yourself into shapes to earn affection. You already have it.
Research from the University of Illinois shows that children do better academically, socially, and motivationally when their parents are more involved, regardless of background or income.
But it’s not just about involvement. It’s about the quality of that presence. It’s about showing up in ways that say, “You are enough as you are.”
That kind of early love creates adults who can be themselves without apology.
They don’t people-please or shrink to fit. They know that not everyone will like them, and that’s okay. Because the people who mattered most already did.
Final thoughts
None of this is about perfection.
I’m not suggesting that deeply loved children had flawless parents or idyllic childhoods.
Life is messy. Parents are human. We all mess up.
But love, real love, leaves traces. It shows up in the way someone navigates conflict, handles solitude, asks for help, and moves through the world with a quiet confidence that they matter.
And here’s what I keep coming back to as I raise Ellie and Milo: it’s never too late to offer that kind of love.
Not to the children in our lives, and not to ourselves.
Because whether or not we received it perfectly as kids, we can still practice it now.
We can be the adults who respond with patience, who create safe spaces for big feelings, who show up consistently even when it’s hard.
That’s the work. And it matters more than we might ever fully know.
