Because she is not my mini-me. She is not me. She is her.
My fear of failure seeped out of me and crept its way into her and my encouragement melted into pressure, confusing her along the way. My desire for perfection and approval became a weight around her ankles, and I tried to force her reflection to resemble mine.
So, I had to learn to let her be average at things I loved and amazing at things I didn’t understand. I had to let her fail at things, excel at things, and fall flat on her face without picking her up. For her to soar with the wings I helped her grow, I had to learn to let her be her and accept that she is not me.
Because she is not my mini-me. She is not me. She is her.
She is not my mini-me and I never want her to be. I want her to be the most unique her she could possibly be. My heart will forever skip a beat when someone expresses our physical similarities or tells her they hear my voice when she speaks. She is her, and I am me, and speckles of who I am might be sprinkled on her face like freckles on freshly sun-kissed skin, but she is a masterpiece all on her own.
And with one hand placed gently on her back giving her a nudge, and one hand high in the air cheering her on, I’ll take a step back and watch her be her.
Because she is not my mini-me. She is not me. She is her.
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This post originally appeared at Alamo City Moms Blog, published with permission.
