I’m late (again), frantically gathering bags and snacks for a playdate while yelling out shoe commands like a mom-sergeant. Meanwhile, my kids are suspiciously quiet—never a good sign.
I finally wrangle everyone to the door and look up to see my 3-year-old son beaming with pride… and covered in mermaid tattoos. Cheeks, arms, neck—he’s basically transformed into a glittery sea creature.
Cue the inner cactus. Sharp. Dry. Rigid. “We are NOT leaving the house with mermaid tattoos on your face!” I declared. He stood his ground. I stood mine. He screamed. I lectured. And then I did the unthinkable—I actually left him at home (with my husband) in meltdown mode. The look on my older kids’ faces as we pulled out of the driveway still breaks my heart.
A few miles down the road, I could finally breathe. And when I could breathe, I could hear the gentle whisper of the Holy Spirit: “This isn’t who you are.” It wasn’t condemnation. It was clarity.
The guilt hit hard. But so did the grace. I realized that beneath my reaction was a belief I hadn’t questioned in a long time: “If you change your mind, you lose control.” Somewhere along the line, I picked up the idea that real parents—good parents—don’t backpedal, don’t “give in,” and definitely don’t apologize to a toddler. That’s how the parenting books said we’d raise entitled kids, right?
But here’s what that belief didn’t tell me:
Standing your ground at all costs can actually cost you the ground you’re trying to stand on—your relationship.
That day, I didn’t just feel rigid. I was rigid. Like a cactus: self-protective, sharp, and too dry to offer real comfort. The moment called for something different. Something stable, not stubborn.
What I’m Learning Now
Rigidity says: “Control the outcome.”
Stability says: “Be the safe place.”
Rigidity demands compliance.
Stability invites connection.
Rigidity is afraid to look weak.
Stability knows that strength often looks like softening.
It’s not easy, but I’m slowly learning to trade my cactus posture for something more like a willow tree—rooted in love, flexible in the moment, and safe enough to sway without snapping.
So, did I turn the car around and go back for my tattooed sea prince? I did. And that without making him scrub his cheeks. But more than that, I looked him in the eyes, held him close, and said, “I’m sorry. I messed up. Can Mama start over and try again?”
And you know what? That apology didn’t undermine my role as a parent. It strengthened it.
An Invitation for You
If you’ve ever had a moment like mine (or ten), I hope you know: you’re not alone. Parenting isn’t a performance—it’s a relationship. And relationships grow not through perfection, but through repair.
Maybe you’ve been living in cactus-mode lately. Maybe the pressure to hold it all together has made you sharp. I get it. But today, there’s a gentle whisper waiting for you, too:
“You don’t have to be rigid to be strong. You don’t have to get it all right to be a good parent.”
Let’s raise our kids like willow trees—firm in our roots, flexible in the winds, and always growing toward the light.
At Listening Hearts Family Coaching, I help Christian parents just like you move from reactive to responsive, from rigid to rooted, from overwhelmed to emotionally equipped. Together, we’ll build a parenting foundation that reflects God’s love—one that fosters connection, stability, and joy in your home.
“Blessed are those who trust in the Lord and have made the Lord their hope and confidence. They are like trees planted along a riverbank, with roots that reach deep into the water. Such trees are not bothered by the heat or worried by long months of drought. Their leaves stay green and they never stop producing fruit.” Jeremiah 17:7-8
