Between Intention and Impact
For a long time, I believed that if I learned enough—read the right books, reflected deeply, went to therapy, and led with good intentions—my life would stay more or less on track and under control.
And for a while, it did.
I had meaningful relationships, rich experiences and adventures, and a genuine sense of contentment.
Then I became a parent.
Motherhood was the most intentional and joyful chapter of my life up until that point—and also the most disorienting.
Since childhood, I had imagined myself as a mom and a teacher. I’d dress our kitties in doll clothes and push them around in a stroller, and line my stuffed animals up and teach them how to read, do math, and be kind to each other. Much later, I had carefully laid out plans and dreams for our family.
But once I was in it, there were moments when my nervous system wouldn’t cooperate. I’d feel overwhelmed by something small, before I even had the time or internal resources to pause or choose differently. I didn’t feel at my best.
It was confusing to struggle with something that I resonated with so much. But I trudged on, grasping for ease, answers, and support. From time to time, I felt alone and out of my depth.
As a teacher, I had training, skills, and experience. Yet none of that seemed to translate seamlessly into my own home. I could set clear, healthy boundaries with other people’s children, but my own kids sometimes eluded me. I was mystified by the space between us. When it felt too wide, it frightened me. When it felt too close, it suffocated me.
Eventually, I realized it wasn’t a skill problem. And it wasn’t a willpower problem.
It was my nervous system.
My children are now 22 and 24, and the journey has been and continues to be exactly that—a journey! There are things I did really well, and things I completely bombed. Over time, I’ve learned to hold both with compassion. We can talk about all of it now, which is a relief to me. Sometimes with honesty and openness, and sometimes even with humor.
Self-acceptance has been an essential ingredient along the way: recognizing that I did the best I could with the resources and tools I had at the time. And the good news is, those tools and my awareness continue to grow.
The self-acceptance I speak of required me to make peace with my own parents as well. They are both in spirit now, and I miss them. While I’ve carried resentments at times, I can also see how hard they tried amidst the chaos. Some things they got really right; others not so much. But I can live with that.
Parenting, I’ve learned, lives in that imperfect space between intention and impact.
That gap—the space between what we mean to do and what actually happens—sparks my curiosity.
I continue to practice living in alignment with myself: untangling old patterns, softening outdated beliefs, and caring for a nervous system shaped not only by my own experiences, but by the generations before me.
This is one of the reasons I do the work I do now—supporting people in coming home to themselves, in knowing and accepting themselves, and in supporting their nervous systems so their lives and relationships aren’t run by those old, outdated survival strategies.
Connection with our children doesn’t come from perfect parenting. It comes from living with integrity, self-awareness, and self-responsibility. It comes from modeling what it looks like to be in relationship with yourself.
I believe this may be one of the greatest gifts we can offer our children: knowing, loving, and honoring ourselves, even when—maybe especially when—we are imperfectly human.
That’s the path I’ve been on.
And it’s the path I now walk alongside others.
