Her Story

As Olivia gets older I realize that I’m not sharing nearly as much of her story with people the way I did when she was younger.

For example, when someone comments on her hair and how pretty it is, I encourage her to say thank you and we go about our day.

A year ago (or maybe less) I’d gush over how amazing it is that she stopped pulling it out and tell them all about the horror I felt when she was doing it for over two years.

These days, she’s very much cognizant of what I’m saying and I don’t want to embarrass her. I feel like she’s at a point where this is HER story. It’s always been her story but she has a voice now, a voice she chooses to use when she feels like it and it’s no longer up to me to share her story nearly as loudly as I once did.

I will still obviously advocate for her at school, be her voice to get her the therapies, the tools she needs to succeed but the other moms at gymnastics don’t necessarily need to hear about how far she’s come. Some of them know, they’ve known her for years, they’ve watched her hair grow out and witnessed her gait become smooth and unaffected. They’ve listened to her whisper to me and know that the fact that she’ll speak, out loud, in front of others is a big accomplishment for her.

But the others? They don’t know and that’s okay.

Of course I want everyone to be proud of her, to know how amazing she is, how much she’s overcome in these six short years but why? So I can blow my own horn? Not really. I want them to see HER, to know how strong, how smart she is.

And yet…it doesn’t matter if others don’t see this. I see it. I know it. And getting to see her continue to do amazing things is definitely enough. I no longer need to shout it from the rooftops. I can sit quietly and cheer her on, letting her tell her own story as she goes, letting her build her own fan base, letting her shine for anyone who cares to look long enough and deep enough see.