04/03/2026
My letter to my beautiful children, Miranda and Cameron. I am posting so that all of the parents who struggle with feelings of inadequacies, know they are not alone. And so all the children of said parents, know they are loved. But most of all. I post so the world knows how very much I love being the mom to my two wonderful kids and how much I appreciate them and am proud of them.
Miranda and Cameron,
I’ve been thinking a lot about motherhood lately… really, parenthood.
It’s hard.
Not just the diapers or the sleepless nights. Not just the stages, or the moments where you have to take a breath because you love your kids so much it almost overwhelms you—even when they’re pushing every button you have.
It’s the balance.
Teaching independence while asking for respect. Letting them become who they are while still trying to guide them. Holding your tongue when they need to learn something the hard way. Crying on the inside when they’re hurting, while staying steady on the outside so they know they’re safe.
You bandage their wounds when they’re little.
You try to give them tools when they’re older.
And somewhere in between, you realize… you don’t always get it right.
And that’s the part no one prepares you for.
The guilt.
The wondering.
The late-night thoughts of “What could I have done differently?”
Because even when they grow up—especially when they grow up—it doesn’t stop.
You still feel their pain.
You still worry about their struggles—relationships, money, mental health, the weight of the world.
You still want to fix it… but you can’t.
And maybe you’re not supposed to.
Because what I see now—what I feel most—is this overwhelming gratitude.
Gratitude that I got to be your parent.
Gratitude that I was allowed to learn, stumble, and yes… fail sometimes.
And more than anything—
I feel pride.
So much pride.
Because despite every imperfect moment, every lesson learned the hard way, every challenge life has placed in your path…
You have become incredible human beings.
With hearts that are big and kind.
With strength that keeps showing up, even when it’s hard.
With a resilience that doesn’t make excuses—but also knows when to reach out, when to lean in, and when to rise anyway.
You have learned how to carry your own weight…
and how to keep walking forward. And how to ask for help when you need to.
And that matters more than perfection ever could.
I wanted to be your North Star…
the one that always showed you the way.
But somewhere along the journey, I realized—
you learned how to find your own direction.
And that is the most beautiful thing I could have ever hoped for.
I hope—truly hope—that in some small way, I helped give you even a piece of that.
Not by being perfect.
But by loving you.
By trying.
By showing up, again and again.
I will always be here.
Not to control your path.
Not to walk it for you.
But to stand beside you…
to support you when you need it…
and to remind you—especially on the hard days—
that you are capable of more than you know.
I love you. Always.
And if I’ve done anything right…
it’s that you don’t need me to carry you—
because you learned how to rise on your own.
