When I first began writing children's books, I wasn't writing for children at all.
I was writing to my inner child.
The poems that eventually became my books were born from quiet conversations with the younger version of myself—the little girl who carried fears, questions, dreams, and uncertainties. They were the words I wish someone had spoken to me when I needed reassurance, encouragement, and understanding.
Over time, I realized something profound: the wisdom we offer children is often the wisdom we ourselves are still learning.
One of the guiding principles I live by is, "When the student is ready, the teacher will appear."
Most people assume that children are the students and parents are the teachers. While that is certainly true, I have found that the relationship is much more reciprocal than that. Parents and children spend a lifetime teaching one another.
As parents, we guide our children through their formative years. We teach them how to navigate the world, make decisions, communicate, and build relationships. We teach them values, traditions, and life lessons that we hope will support them long after they leave our homes.
But children are teaching us too.
They teach us patience.
They teach us flexibility.
They teach us where our fears live.
They teach us what beliefs we have accepted as truth without ever questioning them.
Children arrive in this world naturally curious, imaginative, and connected to possibility. They are often less concerned with limitations and more interested in exploration. Their questions challenge us. Their creativity stretches us. Their desire to express themselves freely can sometimes push against the structures and expectations we have built around them.
What we often label as rebellion may actually be a child's natural attempt to discover who they are.
And that discovery can be uncomfortable for parents.
Sometimes their interests don't align with our expectations. Sometimes their dreams don't mirror the dreams we had for them. Sometimes their personalities challenge our ideas of success, safety, or achievement.
In those moments, we have an opportunity to ask ourselves an important question:
Am I responding to my child, or am I responding to my own fears?
As a parent myself, I have had to confront this question many times.
I had to examine the beliefs I was projecting onto my son. I had to recognize that some of the limitations I was placing on him were actually reflections of limitations I had placed on myself. I had to learn the difference between guiding his journey and attempting to control it.
That lesson changed the way I parent.
Today, I encourage parents not only to help children master reading, writing, mathematics, and other important life skills, but also to nurture the creative journey of their child's soul.
Spend time discovering what lights them up.
Listen to their dreams.
Ask about their ideas.
Pay attention to what naturally inspires them.
Because children often reveal their purpose long before they have the words to explain it.
As a therapist and social worker, I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge the role trauma can play in a child's development. Trauma, loss, fear, and adversity often shape the way children express themselves. Their behaviors, emotions, and creative outlets may reflect experiences they do not yet have the language to articulate.
When concerning behaviors or expressions emerge, therapeutic support can help us better understand what is beneath the surface.
The same is true for parents.
Sometimes our own unresolved wounds make it difficult to fully see our children. We may unintentionally interpret their uniqueness as defiance, their sensitivity as weakness, or their creativity as distraction.
In those moments, healing may be required on both sides.
Seeking support is not a sign of failure. It is often an act of love.
At the heart of this message is a simple belief:
Every child arrives here carrying a piece of God's vision for the world.
Parents are entrusted with helping that vision unfold.
You cannot fail your child.
Your child cannot fail you.
What we can do is become so focused on what is wrong that we overlook what is beautiful.
Instead of constantly asking, "What's wrong with me?" or "What's wrong with my child?" perhaps we can begin asking different questions:
What is right within us?
What are our greatest strengths?
What brings out the best in me?
What brings out the best in my child?
And how can we create more opportunities to meet each other in that space?
Because when we do, we stop seeing parent and child as opponents standing on opposite sides of growth.
We begin to see them as fellow travelers.
Two souls learning from one another.
Two teachers.
Two students.
Growing together in love.