I see it in the way you move now. How your little hands, once so tiny, now reach up, eager to do things on your own. You’ve started to brush your own teeth, try to put on your own shoes, walk just a little bit faster than I can keep up. I’m standing here, watching you go down the slide by yourself with a giant grin on your face. It used to be me, right beside you. Guiding you the whole way down. Now, I watch from the top as you go on without me. There are moments when you ask for help, but more and more, you try to do it yourself, and I can see you want to. You want to stretch into the world in a way that’s all yours.
It’s strange, isn’t it? How you used to need me for everything, and now, not as much. I thought I would be ready for this shift. I thought I would feel proud when you finally let go of my hand to walk on your own. But there’s a tug, a quiet ache in my chest, every time I see you take another step away from me. Not because I want to hold you back, but because I’m learning how to hold back myself.
There’s a part of me that wants to step in when you stumble, when the puzzle piece won’t fit properly, or your words don’t come out right. I want to wrap you up and carry you, tell you that it’s okay, that I’ll fix it. But I know better now. I’ve learned that there are moments when it’s not about fixing but letting you find your own footing.
You don’t need me to step in at every turn. You need me to trust that you’ll figure it out. That you’ll fall sometimes, but you’ll get back up. I need to step aside, even if it feels unnatural, even if I want to keep you safe and small in the space we’ve always shared. Because if I don’t, I risk holding you in a place you don’t need to be. And you deserve to grow—without me standing too close, without my shadow falling over you all the time.
It’s a kind of letting go I never understood before. Letting go isn’t always about distance; it’s about timing. Knowing when to hold on tight, and when to step back and trust that you are ready to take the next step on your own. You’ll need me again, I know. There will be days when you run back to me with scraped knees and tears, and I’ll be there to pick you up. But there will be more days, I think, when you’ll run ahead, and I’ll watch you from a distance, quietly proud and quietly scared.
I’m learning that this, too, is part of being your parent. To let you grow without clinging to the way things used to be. It’s not about losing you. It’s about giving you the space to become who you are. Slowly, I’m letting go—learning how, when, and where. I’m letting go, and in doing so, I think I’m learning what it really means to love you. To trust that you’ll always know where home is, even as you wander farther away from it.
The CJBuzz 