I Forgot What I Taught My Kid
Not in a confetti-and-champagne way. More like a "hey, we made it through today, that counts" way.
I had a kid. And I was trying to teach him something important — that wins don't have to be big to matter. That noticing the good stuff, even the tiny stuff, is how you build a life that doesn't crush you.
Got through a hard homework assignment? Win.
Made it to school on time? Win.
Chose kindness when it would've been easier to be a jerk? Big win.
I wasn't just teaching gratitude. I was teaching him how to see his own life. How to find proof that he was doing okay, even on the hard days.
And it worked.
But somewhere along the way — between survival mode and starting over and losing things I thought I'd have forever — I forgot.
I stopped counting my own wins.
I stopped noticing.
I got so focused on how far I still had to go that I forgot to look back at how far I'd already come.
And here's the thing about gratitude that nobody tells you: it's not about being positive. It's about being accurate.
When you only see what's missing, what's broken, what's not working yet — you're not being realistic. You're being selective. And your brain will build a whole worldview out of that incomplete picture.
But when you stop and say "I woke up. I showed up. I did one hard thing today" — that's not toxic positivity.
That's just true.
I'm relearning this. Awkwardly. Imperfectly.
I slept until 6pm yesterday. My whole day was sideways. But I still got up. Still wrote something. Still pinned it. Still kept building this thing I'm building.
That's a win.
Not a big one. Not a glamorous one. But real.
And I'm done waiting for the big wins to feel proud of myself.
The small ones built me.
The small ones kept me alive.
The small ones are the whole damn point.
From mess to majick — one tiny, unglamorous win at a time.
🖤
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