Matilda: Catalyst for a Inner Transformation

What seemed like a casual conversation with my 4 year old daughter turned into a deep reflection on love, judgment, and compassion.

A few days ago, we were watching Matilda for the fifth time (at least), when my four-year-old daughter asked me a question that stopped me cold:

"Mom, why don’t Matilda’s parents love her?"

I was stunned. First, by the depth of perception it took to ask such a question at her age. She didn’t say it accusingly or with sadness—just with the genuine curiosity of someone trying to understand the world.

My first instinct was to respond with what many people might say: "Because they’re bad people." But the moment that thought crossed my mind, something inside me pushed back. I didn’t feel comfortable saying that. Not because there aren’t people who do terrible things, but because "being bad" felt too simple, too closed, too final. So, I stayed quiet.

My husband, who was with us, jumped in: "Because they’re confused." His answer struck me—and made me wonder: confused about what?

And then, without overthinking it, the answer that felt truest came to me:

"Because they don’t love themselves."

That’s what I told her. That Matilda’s parents couldn’t love her because they didn’t love themselves. And sometimes, when someone doesn’t love themselves, they don’t know how to love anyone else.

I sat with that thought for a long time. Thinking about how different it’s been for me to grow up seeing people as "bad" versus seeing them as hurt, confused, and disconnected from their own worth. That first perspective puts me on alert. On the defensive. In fear. It makes me live expecting attack, always trying to protect myself. The second one, on the other hand, awakens compassion. It reminds me that behavior doesn’t define essence. It invites me to understand that, as Gabor Maté says, pain that isn’t expressed becomes pain that’s passed on. And often, those who hurt others are the ones carrying the deepest wounds.

It’s not that I justify what Matilda’s parents did (or what the real-life versions of them do). It’s that I choose to look from another place. A lens that doesn’t trap me in fear but gives me tools to create a different reality. Because how I see others greatly shapes how I experience life. And because I know that I create my own reality with my perception and my thoughts.

If I live in a world where people are inherently bad, I live defensively. But if I live in a world where people are disconnected from their self-love, then I can also live as someone who can be a bridge. A light. A reminder. A presence that reflects back what others have forgotten.

And sure, philosophizing about Matilda might sound like a stretch. But I believe those are the most important questions—the ones our kids ask us. They are, after all, our best teachers. The ones that make us look deeper, challenge our automatic answers, and choose which lens we want to use to see life. Because those lenses don’t just shape what we teach—they shape what we create. And they will shape what they create for themselves as well.

So yes: I’d rather teach my daughter that some people don’t know how to love themselves, than tell her there are bad people. Because the first opens paths. The second closes them. And I want her to grow up knowing that even in chaos, she can choose to see with love. Because when I change the way I see others, I transform how I relate to myself.

And to me, that’s real philosophy.

Levase your comments below, tell us what you think about this.

In the meantime, here’s some good vibes 😎 from me to you.