Running Into the Past—and Not Shrinking

We took our son to a kid-friendly event later that day. Parking was easy. The weather was perfect. But I still carried tension. My husband tends to get visibly frustrated at outings—and that energy stays with me. I spend too much of those days bracing for impact.

Then I saw her. An old classmate from high school.

We were once moody, self-conscious teens trying to outrun our own insecurities. And back then? I assumed everyone hated me. I was obsessed with being liked—terrified of rejection. That mindset wasn’t born at school. It was inherited.

My mom was unkind. My dad didn’t speak up. I was a daddy’s girl, and his silence hurt more than her words. I didn’t just want approval. I needed it to survive. And when I didn’t get it? I collapsed inward.

But today? I stood tall. I didn’t shrink. I didn’t overcompensate. I didn’t scan her face for signs of disapproval.

That’s healing.

Not dramatic. Not loud. Just quiet relief. I’ve stopped trying to earn a place in rooms I already belong in. That’s the mother I want to be. One who teaches her son that he’s enough, because I finally believe it for myself.

We came home. My husband had friends over. I went to bed early, heart full.

This wasn’t a perfect day. But it didn’t undo me. And that is the deepest kind of progress.