“Let me lead.” I plead.
Do you trust me? Then, let me lead.
Faith over fear.
We’re in this together. I explain to her.
It’s not me against you.
Instead, me with you.
I walk alongside you, child.
I witness your growth, next to you.
Encouraging you. Believing in you. Cheering you on.
Not against you. With you.
Arms linked, we march towards your bright future.
Until I let go. And you lead.
I trust you.
Faith over fear.
You lead.
Y’all. They cute but let’s be real.
This is the most thankless job I’ve ever signed up for.
I guess this is what the mid-life crisis is? When you’re too far to turn around and make a different choice?
I was almost a screenwriter. An actress. Famous.
Instead, I’m a mom. A coach. A teacher. A writer.
Oh, wait.
My life isn’t over just because I chose differently.
It’s different, yes. Richer, yes. Harder, yes.
But I’m not done.
I’m just getting started.
This is the most thankless job I’ve ever signed up for.
But I’ll be damned if I don’t embrace the choice I made and inspire children to follow their own dreams.
Let’s be real.
They cute, ya’ll.
“Unfair!” “Bad call!” “These refs are the worst.”
All sentiments I heard from my players last basketball season.
Victims.
At our last practice, I gave each girl a flashlight.
“Ultimately, you choose what you shine your light on. Are you going to shine it on what is out of your control? Unfair players and referees? Offensive injuries? Or, instead, are you going to shine your light on what you CAN do. Are you going to see the possibility?”
In the heat of the moment, the lesson remains true: Focus on what you alone can control.
This same principle applies to my daughters with nightmares.
Can we control the terrible thoughts that enter our heads? Not always.
But can we allow them to pass by us like a moving thundercloud without allowing them to rain on our parade? Yes.
We can choose to shine our light, our thoughts on something that brings us joy.
A recent trip to the beach, the taste of ice cream, a memory of snow. The possibility.
No, we cannot control that which offends our personal space.
But we surely can control how we respond to it.
It’s our light.
And we choose where it shines.
Ballers.
I try.
I keep trying to see that little face amongst the venom that spews from her mouth.
But she’s not my little girl anymore.
No, she is her own.
And boy, does she have a lot to say.
How do I tell her?
How can she know, I am the mother I never had?
Oh, but wait.
This is her story, not mine.
I was 30 hours into labor when my midwife dropped that truth bomb on me.
“This is not your story, Lauren. It’s hers.”
Good God.
Nice to know, now.
I gave birth to a new human.
Not a continuation.
Instead, our contribution.
We try.
We listen.
We recognize.
She has a lot to say.
This is her story.
Not ours.
Nice to know.
Always.
New Leaf Parenting 