I'm thankful I don't have parents that I feel I need to get

In the words of Cierra Ramirez, there is a blessing spoken with humility and awareness: “I’m thankful I don’t have parents that I feel I need to get their attention. They’ve always been there for me.” Though simple in its phrasing, this statement holds the weight of ancient truth, for it speaks of the sacred bond between child and guardian, and of the immeasurable gift of love freely given. To be thankful for parents who are present is to recognize a treasure greater than riches, for it is the root of security, identity, and strength.

The origin of this wisdom lies in the universal need of the human heart: to be seen and heard by those who brought us into the world. Many spend lifetimes seeking approval, striving to earn affection withheld. But Ramirez declares that she never needed to chase such acknowledgment, for her parents gave it freely. In this, she testifies to the rare and noble gift of unconditional presence—a foundation upon which she could build her life and career without the chains of insecurity.

This truth finds echo in the stories of the past. Consider Alexander the Great, whose mother Olympias gave him unwavering devotion, telling him from his youth that he was destined for greatness. Whether or not her words were prophecy, her presence filled him with an unshakable confidence that shaped his destiny. In contrast, countless rulers, warriors, and artists have been haunted by absent parents, their lives driven not by inspiration but by the desperate need to prove themselves. Ramirez’s gratitude honors the gift of presence that many long for yet never receive.

Her words also remind us that attention is not the same as love. Attention given conditionally—when earned through achievement or performance—can wound more than it heals. But attention rooted in love, freely given and constant, becomes the soil in which a child flourishes. Ramirez’s statement is a song of thanksgiving for this very soil, for parents who did not demand she earn their gaze, but who chose always to be by her side. This is the kind of love that liberates, rather than binds.

There is also here a hidden teaching about the nature of gratitude itself. Gratitude is strongest when it is directed at what is easily overlooked. Many who are given constant love begin to assume it, forgetting that such devotion is not universal. Ramirez refuses to fall into this blindness; instead, she lifts her voice in thanks. In this way, she honors her parents twice: once through their presence, and again through her remembrance. Gratitude is the echo of love received, and by voicing it, she ensures that love is magnified.

The lesson for us is clear: we must not take the presence of those who stand by us for granted. Whether parents, guardians, or chosen family, if they have always been there, then we must pause, remember, and speak our thanks. To live without such gratitude is to walk blind to our greatest blessings. To live with it is to honor not only those who gave, but also the love itself that sustains us.

Practically, this means taking time to acknowledge those who have been constant in our lives. Write them a letter, speak your thanks aloud, or simply sit with them and let your presence be your gratitude. And if you did not have such parents, the lesson still remains: strive to become that steady presence for others, so that the next generation will never have to wonder if they are seen.

Thus the wisdom of Cierra Ramirez shines: “They’ve always been there for me.” These words are not just about her parents, but about the universal longing for steadfast love. May we, too, give thanks for the ones who have never turned away, and may we seek to become such anchors for others. For in the constancy of presence lies the deepest power of all—the power to shape lives with love that does not falter.