For My Daughters, With Love and Boundaries

There are some lessons I never learned growing up - not because no one loved me, but because no one taught me how to love me.

So now, every day, I’m re-parenting myself while mothering my daughters. I’m learning to set boundaries without guilt, to choose peace without apology, to speak to myself kindly, and to rest even when there’s more to do. I changed for me. But I see now, I also changed everything for them.

Because I Chose Myself, They’re Learning to Choose Themselves

The other day, Hunter said, “Mommy, I’m gonna go take a break so I don’t get overwhelmed.”
Just like that. No shame. No overexplaining. No tears. Just clarity.

I had to sit with that moment. Not because it was dramatic, but because it was healing. A 10-year-old girl gave herself what I spent decades denying myself: permission.

I used to run on empty, thinking it made me strong. Now I pause, and so do they. They see me close my eyes and breathe. They watch me choose a bath over dishes. They hear me say, “Not right now, I need a moment.” And they’re learning that rest is not a reward, it’s a right.

The Bedtime Talks That Reflect My Healing

Bedtime used to be the finish line. The last sprint of the day before I collapsed into exhaustion. But lately, it’s something different. It’s the time when Harlem quietly climbs into bed beside me and just sits. No words, just presence. Or when Hunter curls up, wide-eyed, ready to talk about everything from school drama to the shape of the moon.

Sometimes their questions catch me off guard.
“Did you ever feel left out, Mommy?”
“Do you still have dreams?”
“Why do grownups cry in the shower?”

And I answer. Not to be perfect, but to be real. They don’t need me to be unbreakable. They need me to be human.

How Harlem Protects Her Quiet and Hunter Speaks Her Mind

Harlem is soft-spoken and observant. She guards her peace like I’ve only recently learned to do. She doesn’t jump into every conversation. She doesn’t people-please. When she says “no,” she means it. Watching her reminds me that silence is not weakness, it’s strength wrapped in stillness.

Hunter, on the other hand, is bold and curious. She questions everything. She questions me and I love that. She challenges assumptions and asserts her needs with a confidence I’m only just reclaiming for myself. She reminds me that being “too much” is exactly enough.

They are so different. And somehow, they are both showing me who I’ve always been underneath the noise, the hustle, and the expectations.

Why I Want Them to See Me Rest

I used to think being a “good mom” meant being always on. Available, reliable, selfless. But now? Now I want them to see me sit down. I want them to see me nap in the middle of the day without apology. I want them to know that caring for others never means abandoning yourself.

Because they’re watching. And one day, they’ll be women who might feel pulled in too many directions. I want them to have muscle memory - not of burnout, but of balance.

Teaching Them to Choose Joy By Watching Me Choose It

There’s a particular kind of joy that comes when you stop performing and start being. When I sing around the house or dance in the kitchen, it’s not for show. It’s for me. And maybe that’s why they feel so free to do the same.

I tell them: “Happiness is a choice.” But the truth is, they believe it because they see me choose it even when life is hard, even when I’m tired, even when I cry. They see me laugh again. Dream again. Get back up again.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s the legacy I’m leaving them: not perfection, but permission.

- - -

I changed because I had to. For my sanity, my health, my spirit.
But now I know every boundary I set, every rest I take, every moment I choose joy is a door I’m holding open for them, too.

They’re watching me heal.
And they’re growing up knowing they can, too.