There’s nothing quite like hearing “I’m proud of you”, from a parent.

We’ve all strived for it at some stage of our life, even as adults, that one sentence can transport us back to that inner doting child smiling up at them.

I always wanted to do better, to be better. Maybe this is where it all started, my need to achieve, to get the good grades, to better myself from yesterday.

And when I didn’t?

When I fell short?

Was I worthy of being proud of then?

I want my children to know love, not because they pined for it after it was taken away but because it sits with them always.

Being proud of them will be no different.

I want it to be the warmth that spreads through them, no matter what.

The unconditional giving that has nothing to do with a destination but of the journey.

Like their first steps, before they fell into my arms, I couldn’t have been prouder.

And they will have many first steps in this life.

I want them to know I’m proud of them for taking them, even if it doesn’t get them where they’d hoped.

If they want to do better, if they want to achieve, I’ll be proud.

But I want them to do it for them, not me.

Because the journey we were on together, the one right before we met, the one we did without really understanding how, both crying as we laid eyes on each other.

That’s when I first became proud of them.

I don’t think that feeling will ever go away,

And I’ll always be proud to be theirs.

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