the opening
✨when the dream words are spoken✨
Last Friday night, I set myself up, fireside with my laptop, for what would be a late night of editing, trying to meet my Saturday morning deadline for that week’s essay: “the accusation”. But then my 14-year-old daughter got comfy next to me on the couch, and I sensed her desire to talk. Within ten minutes, I recognized that this conversation mattered more than my self-imposed deadline, so I closed my computer, quietly decided I’d publish on Sunday instead, and settled in as Mom.
You see, she’s beginning high school soon, and the course selection process is underway; her approaching new life-stage is sinking in. And admittedly, having just attended my first parents night at her future high school—and wandering the hallways alongside many other parents with vaguely discernible ‘How do I have a kid going to high school?’ expressions—the upcoming transition is feeling big for me too.
Luckily, my daughter’s self-motivation and self-awareness seem to be guiding this ship, but I’m also grateful that she wants my input as she’s making decisions about how she wants to embrace this next chapter. Because for her, yes, the transition to high school is significant, but there’s another change percolating within her.
I’ve written before about her voice in “the voice I don’t have”, “the joy” and “the dream”. My appreciation for her singing began in her toddlerhood. I’m—for sure—biased, but the kid’s got talent. Also, I inadvertently tiger-mommed the vocal performer right out of her by pushing for her to pursue singing with too much gusto. I learned the hard way that I cannot want a dream for my child, because essentially, about a year ago, she shut me down entirely, proclaiming that dancing is her thing—not singing. She expressed wanting to enjoy singing privately at home, and that’s it! She implored me to let it go—don’t ruin singing for me, Mom—and I have.
Well, the big screen arrival of Wicked, a few months back, changed her tune.
Although her vocals have always been the soundtrack of our home—a reality that drives her brothers bananas—her voice, of late, has gotten louder. Broadway tunes and Gracie Abrams ballads that had only been belted and swooned from behind closed doors were now being sung out in the hallways and shared spaces of our home. Her singing became so prominent that I casually asked her in a recent car ride if she wondered what her voice might sound like if she learned how to train the muscle of it. A floating question to which she replied, “yeah, kinda.”
Sensing the opening, and while trying my best to play it cool, I mentioned that if she ever wanted to take a voice lesson, we’d support it. All nonchalant, she said, sure. Okay, I said. And AS HARD AS IT WAS, I dropped it. We spent the rest of that car ride listening to her playlist, singing our hearts out, while I masked the inner gymnastics of my excitement.
Behind the scenes, I’d already stored the info of a voice coach in my phone, from a random parent who'd mentioned her in passing; this voice coach is young, professionally trained in opera, loves the same current pop musicians as my daughter, and will happily coach via FaceTime. I connected with her straight away. My daughter seemed skeptical that I’d arranged this lesson so quickly, but she agreed to meet this coach through the screen on the next Monday after school.
I forced myself to not interfere with their lesson—only lingering outside her bedroom to eavesdrop on their intros and warm up… then I let them be, I swear! Eventually, after the lesson, my daughter descended into the kitchen. Channeling my best casual cool vibe, I asked how it went. She broke into a glowy, easy, full-on smile and said that she loved it.
And now, a mere four lessons in, she’s officially sing-ing. She’s learning a ton about vocal mechanics and breathing and her range. She’s blooming quite voraciously. (Her brothers are more annoyed than ever, but I’m elated that she’s finally embracing this thing of hers.)
And between us, every part of my being has to resist gloating: “I told you so!” I’m no parenting expert, but I just know that inserting myself would tarnish her self-discovery. Rather, I’ve opted to quietly butt out, while being totally available to her; somehow, she instinctively knows this. (My casual cool vibe must translate as an eager obvious vibe to her. But I’m okay with that—I grew up with that kind of mom, and I’m a fan.)
So on Friday night, while perched nearby on the couch, she starts telling me how something inside her has happened. And I observe as my girl wraps her voice and mouth around words that have never before come out of her mouth: “I think I want to (insert her singing-related dream).” To which I smiled, and to which she smiled too. And we both kind of raised our eyebrows, and her eyes sparkled. And I actually felt—inside my chest—the energy and power of her vision for herself becoming known.
You may be all: what’s the dream? And I’m sorry to keep you in the dark, but it’s her personal dream, and she’d prefer I not share. But the specifics of her dream don’t matter—it’s more about the moment when I got to witness light and freedom emanate from my child as she spoke of her glimmering idea for herself. Wherever her path leads, I’ll probably remember that moment until the end.
Nothing has changed, and everything has changed. Life carries on, but she now has a knowing, a goal, a desire. She’s in the space where she gets to simply feel what it feels like to be someone who wants something very specific for herself. (And she may change her mind—of course! She’s not held captive to a spoken dream.) But in saying the words aloud, she’s given herself permission to imagine more for herself. And lucky me, I get a front row seat to her journey.
So, what about you? Are you keeping quiet about a dream for yourself? (And I don’t just mean the kind of dreams that young people with the bulk of life before them might have.) A dear friend of mine has had a dream for months to bake a divine loaf of sourdough, which is no small deal—ask any baker. And just this week, after much trial and error, she sent me this photo from her kitchen:
My sister dreams of getting good at tennis again, after a long hiatus since childhood. I have another dear friend who recently told me that she dreams of co-writing a screenplay. And my husband dreams of building a combustion engine. I say: yes, yes, yes.
What dream—big or small—are you needing to say aloud, for the sake of your growth and engagement in this life? I encourage you to wrap your voice around the words and say the thing out loud, even if only to the encased air of your bathroom. And feel how it feels. Give yourself that glimmering gift.
And perhaps, the small brave act of voicing your dream, will create an opening. An opening that you’ve been waiting for. An opening that you’re ready to step into.
Let’s grow.
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Other ways I can support your inner self today:
Cozy up with me and my dog for stories on Becoming Everwell with Linds.
Enroll in my FREE Masterclass: The 5-Step Framework to Thriving as a Midlife Mom. Or, take my QUIZ.
Get support writing the letter you’ve always wanted to write with my Forever Letter Writing services.
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I love that you were able to reserve your comments and feelings as best you could manage and allow her to reach the same conclusion on her own. That takes a lot of willpower and patience!