Love, Limits, and Letting Go: A Parent's Reflection
I almost didn't record this one. I sat down three times and closed the laptop, thought about it again. I've spent this whole season teaching parents how to raise scholars, and this summer, my daughter taught me what I still had to learn.
I'm recording this the day after one of the hardest days I've had as a parent — not because of anything catastrophic, but because my baby girl is leaving for college. And I'm learning, in real time, what it means to hold love and limits in the same hand.
Where It Started
Let me take you back to where this actually began. A few years ago, my daughter was in an acting program in DC, and we were living out in Maryland, so I was driving her back and forth every single day. I remember being in the car one afternoon, feeling completely unappreciated, and I said something to her — look, do you know how much sacrifice I'm making for you? That was the trigger. One word: sacrifice. From that point on, she took it as being told she was a burden. And our relationship changed.
It may have started shifting even earlier and I just didn't notice, but that's the moment I remember it turning. She began to pull away. She stopped sharing as much. She'd close her door and not want to talk, and slowly, there was this invisible wall between us. I tried everything — being nice got on her nerves, being strict got on her nerves, it felt like everything got on her nerves. I chalked it up to her being a teenager, a mother-daughter thing. I'm sure a lot of you know that feeling. But what happened last night took it to a whole other level.
The Night Before She Left
She leaves for school tomorrow morning, and she was getting all her things together — rushed, overwhelmed, probably not as put-together as she wanted to feel. I had actually blocked off this entire week on my calendar. I wanted to protect it, to focus on her before she left. Instead, most of the weekend, I ended up sitting at home while she hung out with her friends. It didn't look anything like what I'd pictured. And the very last thing I wanted, on top of everything else, was an argument. But that's exactly what we had.
It started over her passport. She wanted it — I'm grown, it's my passport, she said. And she's right, it is hers. But I told her there were still some things I planned to hold onto a little longer, just for fairness, and I wasn't ready to hand it over. That set her off. In the middle of all the back and forth, she said the thing that cut me to the bone: I don't need you.
I've spent years teaching her to be independent. A lot of what she can do on her own is exactly what I was aiming for. And in that moment, hearing it thrown back at me like that, I felt like a hypocrite — here I am, telling other parents everything I've learned, and I was standing in my own kitchen struggling with the exact same thing.
Why I Decided to Share This Anyway
I almost didn't put this into a recording at all. I kept asking myself if I was oversharing, being too personal for a podcast. Then last night I got on the phone with a friend who recently sent her own daughter away, and she's going through nearly the same thing. I'm not a psychologist, but I'd guess some of what my daughter's feeling is separation anxiety — not just from family, but from her friends, moving into a whole new city. That's almost certainly part of what's underneath this.
But mostly, I remembered why this podcast exists in the first place. It exists because I didn't have it all figured out, and I still don't. My baby girl is leaving, and I am still figuring this out in real time. The lessons I share with families over and over need room to breathe outside of the moments when everything's going smoothly, too — because this show exists so other parents can learn from my mistakes, not just my successes. I'm not a perfect parent. I'm probably a perfectly imperfect one. And I say it all the time: your child doesn't need a perfect parent. They need a present one. That includes being present about the days it's hardest for you, too.
Going Back to My Own Framework
Even with all the friction, I went back to the same framework I hand every family who walks through my door. First, regulation before rigor — I did some breathing exercises and got myself together before I tried to fix anything. I reminded myself what I actually wanted for that night: to send my baby girl off knowing she's loved, supported, and cared for.
We used to say sticks and stones may break our bones, but words will never hurt us. That's not true, and I'm not going to pretend it is — I don't need you landed exactly where it was aimed. But I also know she needs me. Just not the way she needed me at two, or even at eight. It's going to look different now. It already does.
And here's the harder, more generous read of that same fight, the one I could only get to once I'd calmed down: autonomy over assistance is still a great pillar, even when it stings in the moment. If I'd done what I was supposed to do all along, she was always going to figure a lot of this out on her own — including how to stand her ground with me. That's not a rejection of everything I taught her. In a strange way, it's proof it worked.
What I Wrote Her
I sat with everything that happened, and this morning I woke up with that nervous flutter in my stomach, the one that shows up right before something big. But before she left, I wanted her to have something from me — in case my words come out wrong in person, in case there's a moment I'm too emotional to say all of it out loud. Maybe she'll read this one day and know exactly how much I love her.
Beans,
I've been sitting with so many words, and none of them feel big enough for this moment. I want you to know that watching you grow into the woman you are has been the greatest honor of my life. Not a sacrifice. A privilege. A choice I would make a thousand times over.
I know things between us haven't always been easy. I know I haven't been perfect, and I'm still learning to be better. But everything I've done has come from a place of love so deep I don't have the words for it. You're not a burden. You never were. You are the reason I get up, the reason I keep going, even when it's hard. DePaul chose you because you are exceptional. Chicago is about to meet someone remarkable, and I already know what they're going to find.
I will always be your safe place, no matter what's been said, no matter what's happened between us. My door, my heart, my arms are always open to you. Go be great. The world has been waiting for you. I love you beyond measure, beyond words, beyond anything I could write on this page.
All my love, always. Love, Mommy.
If you're in this season too — the one where you're watching a child pull away right when you thought you'd have more time — I want you to hear this: they will always need you. It's just going to look different than it used to. Some days that difference is going to sting, and some days it's going to be the proudest you've ever felt. You don't have to get it all right on the way there. You just have to keep showing up. Your child does not need a perfect parent. They need a present one.
Listen Now
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Raising Scholars helps parents of elementary school kids build confident, independent learners without nightly battles. New full-length episodes every Tuesday and Sunday Reset episodes every Sunday.
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