Every day, a mother gives birth to a baby who is completely innocent and full of life.

From that moment forward, the life that child experiences is shaped by the adults around them. Some babies are born into peace. Some are born under distress. Some come into the world through routine procedures, emergencies, fear, trauma, or chaos. But no matter how they arrive, every child deserves to be met with love, safety, and room to become themselves.

I was seventeen when I became a mother.

I slept through contractions until I woke up yelling, “Get the nurse! I don’t know how not to push!”

I had no real experience taking care of anyone but myself. From that day forward, I took care of my children. Then, somewhere along the way, I gave all of myself to anyone who took care of me too.

For a long time, I did not have the space to express myself as a full person. I was too busy surviving, parenting, pleasing, fixing, and carrying everyone else. I had been doing it for so long that I lost sight of myself.

When I was very young, I was expected to be my mother’s shadow. I do not remember having the same freedom, energy, dancing, singing, and joy that I feel inside me now. I used to love singing in chorus, but I never wanted to be center stage.

Now, as an adult, I feel like everyone is watching me anyway.

So why not put on a show?

In my old life, everyone had an opinion.

Now?

Who cares?

My youngest child does not need to be tempered by negativity. He deserves the ability to dream freely, explore safely, and discover what makes him genuinely happy.

If letting my son wear blue nail polish reminds him of his momma’s love while he is away from me, then I am okay with that.

If he ever chooses to wear skirts, I will help him find choices that allow him to express himself safely and confidently. Not because I am trying to make him into anything, but because I refuse to shame him for curiosity.

His father and grandmother are so worried about me “messing up my child” that they cannot see what I see.

I see a child being allowed to explore harmless self-expression in a safe environment.

I see a child learning that love does not disappear when he is different.

I see a child who does not have to wait until adulthood to ask, “Who am I allowed to be?”

If a teenager wants to wear makeup, why not? If a child wants to paint their nails, why should that become a crisis? If my seven-year-old wants his toenails painted as a reminder of his mother’s love while he is at his dad’s house, I am okay with him being a little different.

He wears socks most of the time anyway.

Everyone is so busy trying to assign gender roles that we forget every person has their own natural skills, preferences, abilities, strengths, weaknesses, passions, and personality.

Some women would rather use a weed whacker than stand in the kitchen. Some men are natural caretakers, housekeepers, or stay-at-home dads.

Doctors are men and women. Lawyers are men and women. Soldiers are men and women. Parents are men and women.

So why are we still acting like cooking, cleaning, caretaking, yard work, parenting, creativity, softness, strength, or self-expression belong to only one gender?

We do not live in the 1900s anymore.

Women go to war. Men stay home with children. Families look different. Work looks different. Survival looks different. Love looks different.

The problem is not that roles have changed.

The problem is that some people still assign roles to children before those children even know who they are.

They do not stop to ask:

What does this child like?
What makes this child feel safe?
What are they good at?
What do they love?
What are they curious about?
What makes their little soul light up?

I believe the best way to raise children is honestly, lovingly, and without regret. We should show them affection, respect, and support for their curiosity from the beginning.

Even in the smallest moments.

The first time they show us they like one vegetable more than another. The first time they choose their own shirt. The first time they dance to a song. The first time they ask a question that makes an adult uncomfortable.

Those moments matter.

They are not threats.

They are openings.

I cannot say I have done a perfect job raising my children. I know I am nowhere near finished. I hope I live long enough to keep learning from them. I hope they teach me more with each passing day.

I am scared of whatever might happen next. But I also know the next chapter could be amazing.

I hope I live long enough to see a million dreams come true.

Not all of them mine.

I want to see my children achieve more than they ever imagined possible.

I wrote and published my first book and its rewrite. I am working on book two, a few series, and a whole future full of ideas I once thought I had to bury.

So I will not bury my children’s dreams for the comfort of adults who are afraid of color, softness, curiosity, or change.

Children should not have to earn permission to become themselves.

They should be loved while they discover who they are.

So I will ask you this:

If you were never held back, what would you do with your life?