01/27/2026
A Letter Every Son Needs to Read #73
W**d Is a Temporary High That Delivers a Stolen Future.
Dear Son,
Let me talk to you about w**d.
Not the way some school assemblies do, and not the way your friends hype it up. Just plainly.
W**d sells an illusion, and it sells it well.
It promises calm when your head is loud.
Confidence when you feel unsure.
Belonging when you feel out of place.
At your age, that offer sounds reasonable.
Life is intense.
Emotions come fast.
Pressure is everywhere.
Wanting something that takes the edge off doesn’t make you reckless, it makes you honest about how heavy growing up can feel.
But illusions work by showing you the feeling and hiding the cost.
W**d doesn’t solve anxiety. It postpones it.
It doesn’t give clarity. It delays it.
It doesn’t fix pain. It puts it on mute, temporarily.
And muted problems don’t disappear. They wait.
What w**d really does, slowly and quietly, is interfere with something precious you’re still building: your ability to sit with discomfort and think your way through it. At your age, your brain is still wiring judgment, motivation, and emotional regulation. That’s not a flaw, it’s a phase of growth. W**d steps into that process and says, “You don’t need to feel this. You don’t need to figure this out.”
That sounds kind. It isn’t.
Because every time you avoid discomfort chemically, you weaken the muscle that turns pressure into strength. You don’t notice it immediately. You still laugh. You still function. You still tell yourself you’re in control. The damage is subtle. It shows up later, as fog, lowered drive, emotional flatness, or a quiet dependence you didn’t plan on.
Here’s another illusion no one warns you about.
W**d pretends to make you deep.
Music sounds profound. Thoughts feel important. Conversations feel meaningful. But feeling deep is not the same as becoming deep. Depth comes from wrestling with ideas, sitting with questions, enduring boredom, and pushing through frustration. W**d makes you feel like you’ve arrived without doing the journey. And shortcuts always collect interest.
Watch the patterns around you.
Notice who needs w**d to relax.
Who needs it to sleep.
Who needs it to enjoy normal moments.
That’s not freedom. That’s adaptation to a crutch.
And here’s the part your friends won’t say out loud: w**d doesn’t steal ambition loudly, it negotiates it down. You stop reaching as far because “this is fine.” You stop feeling urgency because “tomorrow will do.” You don’t crash, you settle. And settling at your age is dangerous because you haven’t yet seen what you’re capable of becoming.
Let me be clear without exaggeration.
You are allowed to be stressed.
You are allowed to feel restless.
You are allowed to feel lost sometimes.
Those feelings are not bugs, they are signals. They push you to grow skills, build discipline, ask hard questions, and develop resilience. W**d interrupts that conversation between you and your future self.
This isn’t about morality. It’s about timing.
There are things you can experiment with later in life that are costly now because of who you are still becoming.
Right now, your greatest asset is your unfiltered mind, sharp, uncomfortable, curious, alive. Don’t numb it before it has finished building you.
Strength isn’t never needing relief.
Strength is learning how to regulate yourself without losing yourself.
If something promises peace but slowly takes your edge, your drive, or your clarity, it’s not helping you, it’s borrowing against your future.
Son.
Choose growth over escape.
Choose clarity over comfort.
Choose the harder road now so life doesn’t become harder later.
That’s not fear talking.
That’s foresight.
Don't trade your future for temporary high.
