HOOK

me stay connected to that inner voice. In the mornings, before the house s/rs, I some/mes place my hand over my heart, breathe deeply, and simply ask: What is needed today? Not in the sense of tasks or schedules, but in the deeper sense what love, what energy, what presence is being asked of me? When I feel unsure if one of my children is struggling and I'm torn between step- ping in or stepping back, I pause. I close my eyes, breathe into s/llness, and let my thoughts se0le like snow in a globe. O en, a gentle knowing rises. Some/mes it's just one word, wait or listen or trust. That's in- tui/on. It never shouts, it whispers. And when I follow it, things usually unfold with more ease. S/ll, even as I trust, tender- ness hums beneath the surface, a re- minder of how much love has lived in the daily doing, the caring, the closeness. It's not a sorrow to be pushed away, but to be honored. It tells me that something precious has mat- tered, that my heart has been deeply invested. I o en take a few minutes, five or ten at most, to pause and return to my center. I can't always set inten/ons or light a candle, or take a walk in nature, though I love when I can. Over /me, I've learned to flow and let go — to remember that all I really need is myself. It's that sim- ple. Some/mes (actually most of the /me) my prac/ce happens while washing the dishes or filling the car with gas. I've realized it doesn't need to be elaborate, espe- cially with a family of four children and work. These small pauses are necessi/es, they clear the noise so I can feel my way rather than think my way. Paren/ng from intu- i/on means ge1ng quiet enough to hear the truth be- neath the fear to sense what our children truly need instead of reac/ng from habit. The more we prac/ce, the more we hear. And it doesn't have to be complicated. Recently, my daughter made a decision I didn't agree with. Every cell in me wanted to offer my opinion, to guide her toward what I believed was right. But some- thing inside whispered, She needs to find her own rhythm. So I stayed quiet. A few days later, she came back to talk, not because I told her to, but because she wanted to. I realized that trust is its own kind of guidance. When they feel our faith in them, they begin to trust themselves too. Le1ng go gracefully doesn't mean detaching or loving less. It means loving from a wiser, quieter place, one that honors both our child's journey and our own. Every /me they cross a new threshold, so do we. Our rela/onship shi s, stretches, and grows with each change. I o en think of it like the seasons. There's a /me for holding close like summer's abundance, when everything feels full, busy, and alive. Then autumn arrives, and na- ture reminds us that le1ng go is part of the rhythm. The trees don't resist, they release their leaves with ease, trus,ng what comes next. Maybe par- en,ng asks the same of us to loosen our hold not in sorrow, but in gra,tude for what was, and faith in what's s,ll unfolding. When I look back, I see a trail of small goodbyes, first to the crib, then to the car seat, then to the backseat cha-er, and as they started driving themselves. Each goodbye made room for something new. Each release deepened our rela,onship in a different way. And so, I prac,ce, le.ng go with tenderness, not fear and trust- ing their strength and my own. Listening for when my presence is needed and when silence is the most loving response. Allowing space for grief not as something to escape, but as a sign of the love that has shaped us both. Be- cause love, in its truest form, is never about possession. It's about witnessing the unfolding of another soul while remembering that ours is s,ll unfolding too. Paren,ng is, at its core, a spiritual prac,ce in surren- der. We are called to guide, then to step aside. To hold, then to release. To teach, and then to watch them teach us what freedom really looks like. And through it all, we grieve soly, silently, some,mes unexpectedly. But even grief is holy. It's the echo of love expanding beyond the proof that what we've poured in, will al- ways live in them, and in us. Le.ng go gracefully isn't the end of paren,ng. It's simply another beginning, one that invites us to trust, to breathe, to feel, and to keep our hearts open to the ever changing art of love. NOTE: Dana Daly is a writer, teacher, and mother of four. She holds a Master's in Educa,on and is a cer,fied yoga instructor and Reiki prac,,oner. In Hook's The Art of Paren,ng column, she explores the tender, transforma,ve moments that shape both parent and child. HOOK 31 Parenting, I'm realizing, is not a straight path but a series of thresholds we cross together, first steps, first heartbreaks, or first moves away from home. With each one, we are both changed. They step into new independ- ence, and we step into a new kind of love, one that trusts in- stead of controls, witnesses in- stead of directs.

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