As I plunge beneath the surface, the cold water takes my breath away. I swim a few strokes before turning back. When I resurface, my daughter is beaming, jumping with pure joy.
“See,” she exclaims, her voice bubbling with excitement. “It feels amazing, right? I absolutely love this!” She tilts her head back, raising her arms triumphantly and shouts, “I LOVE THIS!!!”
“It’s wonderful,” I reply, and she wraps her arms around me in a warm, full-body hug that sends us both underwater.
We play a game of follow the leader along the shimmering shores of Tahoe, with her swimming just ahead of me. I can’t help but admire the young girl she is blossoming into. She pauses occasionally to point out a fish, a uniquely shaped rock, or a log that resembles an eye. Her smile is infectious, and I find myself grinning along with her.
“I love you,” she says as we take a moment to catch our breath. The sincerity in her words radiates from her, and I feel my heart swell. It’s as if I have been waiting forever to witness her embrace the adventurous spirit within her. I’ve longed to see her shed her fears and welcome life’s experiences with open arms.
My heart dances with joy at her growth. My girl. How I cherish you.
For many years, I’ve battled with the feeling that I’m failing as a mother—especially as her mother. There are countless aspirations I have for her, yet I often feel ill-equipped to guide her on that journey.
I see her fears—spiders, heights, talking to strangers—and I worry that I’ve let her down. My dream of raising a confident, fearless girl often feels like it’s slipping away, plunging me into a spiral of doubt. Am I setting a solid example? Am I pushing her too hard or not enough? Does she feel accepted? Am I trying to mold her into someone she’s not? Does she feel loved? The weight of these questions is overwhelming, and I desperately want to get it right.
She deserves the best version of me, and I don’t always deliver. I often find myself lost, unsure of how to proceed.