Its the summer I turn 45.
Its the summer she turns 20.
It’s the summer before her senior year of college.
It’s the summer before we both prepare for the next adventure.
There’s something about this season that feels different. The air feels heavier with memory. The light seems warmer, more golden — like it’s shining a little longer on the moments we’re trying to hold close. This is a summer not just of milestones, but of movement — emotional, spiritual, and in many ways, unspoken.
Parallel Journeys
When she was little, I led the way. I held her hand as she took her first steps, helped her choose her first day of school outfit, and stood in the doorway, blinking back tears as she walked away with confidence I wasn’t yet ready for.
Now, I watch her lead more often than not. I marvel at the choices she makes — bold, thoughtful, sometimes messy, but always hers. She’s carving out her future with determination, and I’m quietly carving out mine too. Our paths run side by side this summer, but they’re headed toward different destinations — hers marked by possibility, mine by reinvention.
What I Want Her to Know
If I could bottle up everything I feel and hand it to her, I would. But instead, I’ll write it here, in hopes she hears it someday — or maybe already does.
I want her to know that growing up doesn’t end at 20 or 30 or even 45. I’m still figuring things out, still getting it wrong sometimes, still starting over. Life doesn’t come with neat answers, but it rewards those who show up with curiosity and courage.
I want her to know that strength doesn’t always look like doing it all — sometimes it looks like asking for help, taking a breath, or changing your mind. I want her to give herself the grace I sometimes struggled to extend to myself.
And most of all, I want her to know how proud I am — not just of what she’s done, but of who she is.
Who I Am Becoming, Too
We don’t talk enough about what happens to mothers when their children grow up. There’s a quiet shift that happens — in the mirror, in our homes, in our hearts. I’ve spent so many years pouring into her world that now I’m rediscovering how to pour into mine.
This summer, I’m asking myself different questions. What brings me joy? What have I put on hold? Who am I when I’m not showing up for everyone else? These aren’t questions I’m afraid of anymore — they feel like invitations.
At 45, I’m not chasing youth. I’m chasing depth, creativity, and purpose. I want to wake up to possibility again — not just for her, but for me too.
This Summer, We…
We are on different coasts so we have FaceTime dates that turn into hour-long conversations about life, work, relationships. We share playlists, send entirely too many reels on IG, and laugh at old stories. We share our latest boba likes. We are each other’s biggest and loudest cheerleaders.
This summer isn’t about doing big things. It’s about noticing. About being present. About watching her from a place of quiet awe — and watching myself too, as I learn how to be her mother in this new chapter, and my own woman in the one that’s unfolding.
A Final Thought
This summer will come and go. She’ll return to campus, and I’ll return to my routines. But something will be different. We will have changed — a little softer, a little stronger, a little wiser.
And years from now, when we both look back on this in-between summer, I hope we remember not just what we did, but how it felt:
like a pause between heartbeats,
like sunlight through leaves,
like love that grows quietly, deeply, and without end.
Mommy Daughter Adventures 