It’s been a tough week for me.
I’m starting there because honesty is the whole point of what I want to share with you.
Yesterday my daughter came over. We’ve been watching a series together, one of those small rituals that has quietly become ours. She already knew the week had been hard. The day before, she had noticed something in my body language. I wasn’t myself, and she saw it before I said a word.
So there we were, her settled on the couch, the two of us talking, and somehow the conversation drifted from keeping it together to holding steady. To not letting the cracks show, not even to her.
And she said, “Yeah. You’ve been that way my entire life.”
Her mouth said that. Her eyes said something else entirely.
Her eyes said, in the softest and most loving way: It’s time to let go. It’s okay. I’m giving you permission to exhale.
What We Inherit
I want to be clear about something. I have always been vulnerable with my daughter, sometimes to a fault. We talk about real things. I’ve never wanted to raise her behind a curtain.
And yet.
As an African American woman, I was raised inside a quiet inheritance. Never let them see you sweat. You have to be faster. You have to get up earlier. You have to be stronger. Most of us never hand this down on purpose. We absorb it from our mothers, and without ever deciding to, we pass it to our daughters. It lives in our posture, our pace, and the way we answer “How are you?” with “I’m fine” before the question is even finished.
So even with all the openness between us, some part of me was still holding the line. And she saw it.
The Hug
I didn’t have words. And before I could find any, she reached over and wrapped her arms around me.
I leaned into it. I didn’t realize how much I was leaning until I was fully held, and it wasn’t until I was wrapped in her arms that I understood just how much I needed it.
She read me, and she read me correctly.
There was no reason for me to keep pretending I wasn’t tired or rundown. My daughter is one of the safest places in the world for me. I’m fortunate to have two, places where I can simply be me. No words, no lights, no cameras, no action. Just Jewel.
And I have spent her whole life trying to be that same safe place for her. I know she knows that.
But yesterday, she turned it around.
The Changing of the Guard
What she offered me, in her loving and subtle way, was a changing of the guard. Not me stepping away from being her mother. Never that. Rather, an invitation for care to flow in both directions now.
Let me be there for you, Mom. I can be there for you. Let me take care of you.
Something shifted in me. Subtle, but real. An exhale I didn’t know I’d been holding.
When Our Children Grow Up and Turn Around
You’ve seen the videos and memes about parenting adult children, and about being parented by them. Many are hilarious, and plenty are painfully true.
This hit differently.
If we’re fortunate, a moment comes when the child we raised turns around and offers us what we spent years offering them. It doesn’t announce itself. It shows up on an ordinary evening, on the couch, in the middle of a show.
This Weekend, I’m Listening
She also gave me some sound advice and a few loving demands for this weekend. And I am going to obey.
Her instructions were clear. Fully decompress. Take a long, relaxing bath. Stay in bed until the afternoon if I choose. Unplug. Watch and listen to the things I haven’t had time for, the things that simply bring me joy.
In other words, she told me to do exactly what I tell my clients to do: pour into yourself.
It turns out the coach needed coaching. And my daughter was the one who showed up for the session.
I’m going to do for her exactly what I always hoped she would do for me. Listen.
To the Mothers, and to the Daughters
To the mothers reading this: strength was never meant to be a solo performance. Letting the people who love you see you tired is not a crack in your foundation. It may be the most honest thing you ever teach them.
To the daughters: you may already be holding permission your mother doesn’t know she needs. Offer it softly. She may just stay in the hug.
I know I did.
Consider This Your Permission
My daughter gave me permission yesterday. Today, I’m passing it on to you.
You have permission to be tired.
You have permission to say “not today.”
You have permission to let someone else carry the load for a while.
You have permission to be held.
And if someone in your life has been holding it together for as long as you can remember, you have permission to notice. Sit with them. Look them in the eye. Tell them it’s okay to exhale.
Then stay in the hug.
Has someone you love ever given you permission to set it down? Or have you been that person for someone else? I’d love to hear your story in the comments.
Jewel Quackenbush, MCC
Founder, Quackenbush Coaching