This year I had my daughter.

While she was growing inside me,
I told myself:
Be perfect.
Be strong.
Be powerful.
Hold it all together.
I wanted her to arrive
and see someone whole.

I thought that’s what a mother should be.

But when she came,
she didn’t ask for perfection.
She didn’t need me to have it all figured out.
She didn’t come looking for strength.

She came looking for me.

When she wakes up and stretches,
there’s no fear in her body.
No shame. No story. No past.
Only presence.

She just wants to be touched.
She wants to be held.
She wants to feel safe,
to fit perfectly into the arms
that brought her here.

And I realized—
maybe my job isn’t to teach her
how to strive, achieve, or perform.

Maybe my job is to help her
hold onto that peace
for as long as this world will let her.
To make room for her to be
just as she is.

And maybe that’s enough.
Maybe that’s everything.