A letter to my daughter

That first morning of daycare, I sat in my car and cried.

I turned to your dad and whispered, "If this hurts this much, how will I ever survive sending her to college?"

The truth? I won't survive it easily. But that's exactly as it should be.

Because what I want for you isn't what so many parents seem to chase – the perfect grades, the prestigious college, the lucrative career. What I want is simpler and infinitely more complex: I want you to be whole.

I want you to find joy in ordinary moments. To get excited about bugs in the garden and paint under your fingernails. To try things that scare you, knowing it's okay if you fail. If your best effort earns you a C in science but you loved learning how stars work – that's a win in my book.

I want you to be curious about everything. To ask questions that make adults uncomfortable. To wonder why the sky is blue, then wonder why we see blue the way we do, then wonder if everyone sees it the same way.

I want you to know that success isn't measured by your achievements, but by your capacity for joy, your kindness, your ability to pick yourself up after falling.

So yes, I cried that first day of daycare. I'll cry even harder when you leave for college. But between my tears, I'll be smiling – because watching you become wholly, authentically yourself is worth every ache in my heart.