A creative fervor is upon me. I feel it in everything I do, need it with an intensity, a voraciousness. Without it, nothing feels quite right.

“It’s going to get better,” I reassure her. “It just takes time.”

I can still remember my seventeen-year-old self swearing that I’d never be like my mother or parent like her.

My children like my husband more than me.

Personal space is not an idea that many children concern themselves with, especially when it comes to invading the personal space of their parents.

When my husband suggested that we both check out of our family life for a weekend away after a work conference he would be attending in San Francisco, I was thrilled.

In that moment, I knew that I would always be okay.

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Now I can see the strength in a calm center, the strength in a quiet voice, the strength in a deep breath, the strength in releasing emotion through tears.

I only have a glimpse of it now but I think I’m starting to understand that we are parents forever.