On Letting Go
Happy Monday
Today is my son Dax’s birthday—he turned 10 at exactly 10:07am.
I had big plans to make the day super special. His favorite breakfast, bringing treats to his classroom, his favorite dinner, baseball practice, and wrapping it all up with family over for cake and ice cream.
But… best laid plans, right?
A Week of Worry
Dax hasn’t been feeling great for almost a week now. It started with anxiety about school, so I reached out to his teacher and set up time with the school counselor.
Then came nerves about a concert he was supposed to attend with his dad, aunts, and uncle on Friday night. We ended up canceling—he would’ve been out until 2am, and he had two baseball games and his birthday party on Saturday.
Next came worry about the 50-minute drive down to SkyZone for his party. So, we made a plan: each of his buddies got to pick a song for the drive to keep the vibes up.
The Party That Wasn’t Quite
During the party, he didn’t want to eat anything—not even the red velvet cupcake he had requested.
That night, the tears came back. He was overwhelmed with worry that the Easter Bunny might not show up.
(O.M.G.)
Sunday arrived. The Easter Bunny did come, and Dax had a great time. But his appetite was still off.
Sleepless Nights & Mama Reserves
Last night, he was hot, then cold, then had chills and said he felt like he was going to “you know what.”
(He refuses to use the B word and has a full-on phobia of ‘you know what-ing’.)
I was running on fumes from the weekend and had to dig deeeeeep to meet him where he was. He laid in bed with me, crying and shivering, asking why this was happening to him.
At 11pm, he finally fell asleep holding my hand.
At 2:30am, he was up again. More tears, more chills, more worry.
Finally, by 4am—back to sleep.
"My mama body was exhausted. My heart was heavy. My patience was paper thin."
Trying to Be the Fixer
Over the last few days, I’ve tried to do all the “right” things to help my son through whatever this is.
I’ve called on his support system.
Made plans.
Adjusted expectations.
Tried to anticipate what might help.
But when none of it works, I start to spiral.
I get panicky when I can’t soothe my kids. I’m always surprised when my hugs and love don’t just fix things. When I don’t have the answers, my brain kicks into overdrive:
What if he has an ulcer?
What if this is the beginning of a lifetime struggle with anxiety?
Did I cause this?
Am I missing something?
As I coach him to breathe in through his nose and out through his mouth, I find myself doing it too—trying to get grounded. Trying to pull from my toolbox. Sometimes I find something that works. Sometimes I come up empty.
But I keep trying. I keep adding tools.
Because this parenting gig? It doesn’t get easier—it just changes. Different phases, different challenges. Just when I’ve figured one out, a new one shows up, and I’m a rookie again.
My Flavor of Resilience
I’m grateful for what some call moxie.
Or chutzpah.
Or grit.
Or determination.
My husband miiiiiight call it stubbornness.
My dad used to call it bull-headed.
Whatever the label—this trait of mine, it’s served me well. It’s part of why I’ve been successful. If there’s a problem, I want to understand it. Solve it. Fix it.
Relearning What It Means to "Show Up"
Recently, I’ve started to realize something I never really gave myself permission to believe:
Sometimes, it’s okay not to have the answers.
I don’t always have to solve.
Sometimes, maybe the universe is teaching me something I can’t yet grasp or even see.
Maybe the search for answers is the answer.
Maybe the lesson is in the trying.
And maybe—just maybe—the harder I push, the harder it becomes.
But here’s the thing: pushing has worked for me.
Solving has brought me success.
I’ve risen to the challenge over and over again.
So of course I wonder—won’t everything fall apart if I stop holding it all together?
If I’m not controlling it all?
But I’m tired.
And I think I’m ready to do it differently.
I’m ready to release some of that stress and control.
To hand a bit of it off to the universe.
Yes, I’ll still show up. I’ll still rise.
I’ll still take pride in the things I do.
But I’m going to start loosening my grip—just enough to make space.
Space for a new way.
A new thought.
A new vibe.
It doesn’t all have to fall on me.And Today...
Today, I’m choosing presence over perfection.
Connection over control.
Love over logic.
I’m going to lay with my boy.
Not fix.
Not solve.
Just be.
Because sometimes the most powerful thing we can do
is simply show up—with our whole heart.
He’s going to be okay.
We are going to be okay.
And maybe, just maybe, we’ll even be stronger for it.
xoxo,
Jess
