Healing is a Practice
It's possible to be who you didn't have...
Tomorrow, my oldest daughter will turn 17. Seventeen. Saying it out loud feels surreal. This month has been an emotional whirlwind. I've been trying to hold it together, but the weight of this milestone has me tender in ways I didn't expect. I am so deeply blessed to be this human’s mama. She truly is a light—not just in my life but in the world. Watching her grow, evolve, and bloom has been one of my greatest honors in life.
What makes me so emotional is the fact that Char is so much better than I was at her age—that truth fills me with awe and pride. In her, I see the evidence of healing. Of growth. Of redemption for my lineage. Of possibility. Her very existence reminds me that it's possible to rewrite the story. It's possible to be who you didn't have. It's possible to mother children in the ways we were not mothered.
There's so much on my heart these days. So much reflection. So much joy. So much gratitude.
When I was 17, I was lost. Completely untethered—from myself, my body, hope, and joy. If you’ve read my book, After the Rain, you’re familiar with some of my story. I spent a lot of my life in fight or flight mode. Trauma is an intense place to live in. I've done so much unlearning over the years. I hold so more grace for my younger self these days, watching my daughters, especially my oldest, grow up. At Char's age, I was so broken. I thought I knew everything. I had no one guiding, loving, or really interested in investing in me. I had no idea how much I didn't know. I was also pregnant by someone I barely knew. A few months after turning 18, I gave birth to a sweet and calm baby girl. From birth, Char’s energy was grounding, sweet, and warm. As a 35-year-old woman looking back at that young, scared version of myself, I am flabbergasted by what we overcame. Being a teen mother was unhinged, chaotic, and hard. But I knew I had to find a way forward—not just for me, but for her. If I'm being honest, I just started shaking the shame of teen motherhood and my careless decision-making about 5 years ago.
What I learn daily is that healing is a practice—a lifelong teacher.
Char is the reason I started healing. She's the reason I stepped into a therapist's office at 19, terrified but determined. She's the reason I worked to become the kind of person I could be proud of—the kind of person she could look up to, trust, and feel safe with. I didn't want her to inherit my wounds or my shame. I didn’t want her to grow up thinking that the only way to be loved is by giving yourself away to people who don’t deserve you. I wanted teen pregnancy, family trauma, abuse, and dysfunction to stop with me. I wanted her to experience something different—something better. Something loving and healthy and freeing.
I wanted to be the soft place for her to land. And so, I got it together—for her. For me. For us.
This young woman is extraordinary. She's emotionally aware, compassionate, artistic, loving, smart, hilarious, and courageous. We grew up together in so many ways. I became a woman while raising her, and she became the reason I kept pushing to grow. Our bond and closeness are sacred to me.
Over the summer, we had a conversation after a disagreement. It left me reflecting on how far we've come. It was one of those talks where everything clicked—a moment of clarity between two people who deeply love and respect each other, even when we don't see eye to eye. During that conversation, I told her something that I hope she remembers until the end of time:
Before you are my daughter, you are your own. Before I am your mother, I am a woman. Even when we aren't on the same page, let's always do our best to love, honor, and respect each other's humanity and individuality.
After I left her room, I cried, not out of sadness but because it's in those sticky parenting moments when I see what healing can really do for a family. Char and I see each other. We hear each other. We respect each other. As a mother to daughters, that's everything to me. I want my children to always feel and see unwavering love.
I feel so grateful to be on this side of parenthood, to witness the beauty of what healing has done for me and what it's allowed me to pass on. Raising emotionally stable, regulated children is no small task. It requires patience, self-awareness, and an endless capacity for love and repair. Coming from where I come from, discovering those qualities has been a gift.
On November 20, 2007, my life changed in ways I couldn't imagine—and over the years, my life has only grown sweeter. Cheers to my young queen turning 17. She is my heart walking around in the world, and has made every moment of this journey worth it.
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The images in this post are by Birch Thomas, an amazing photographer located in Washington, DC. She’s also the founder of Rooted, a Substack centered around telling stories and keeping hormones balanced one day at a time. Thank you, B. We love you!
Happy Birthday to your beautiful daughter. Kudos to you! So much of this is relatable to my own journey. I had a daughter at 22 and raised her on my own. I was completely directionless other than knowing I wanted to be a different Mother than my own. My daughter gave me purpose, a sense of self, a level of determination and strength I didn't even know I possessed. She is now 31 which blows my mind to even say out loud. Many blessings to your daughter and you!
Thank you was the rest of my comment!