18/02/2026
This morning, I walked out of the shop and spotted a mum with her two daughters, about six and three. It was one of those mornings—cold, snowy, the kind where you wish you’d just stayed in. The eldest couldn’t resist those stone steps, itching to climb and jump, just to feel that small thrill.
But all she heard was, “Be careful! Don’t do that, you’ll fall! You’ll scrape your knee! You’ll ruin your new dress!”
Standing there, my heart ached. Of course, this mum was just doing her best to protect her daughter—who wouldn’t? But I could see, in that moment, the little girl shrink back, her excitement melting into disappointment. She came back and took her mum’s hand. And mum kept going, “So this is good, what if you had slipped and fallen? You would have been so sorry.”
I get it. Gosh, I have totally done this myself. It’s almost impossible not to let those words tumble out when you love someone so much and want to shield them. And yet—what does a little girl hear when her wings are clipped before she even gets a chance to try? “Don’t risk it. Don’t be bold. Staying clean and safe matters more than finding out what you can do.”
And that’s what sticks with me. A new dress? It can be washed. A scraped knee? It will heal. But that glowing curiosity, that fearless voice that says “I want to try!”—we can’t buy that back for them.
Let’s be honest—sometimes my own fear wants to shout louder than their bravery. But what if, instead, we learned to pause and just watch them take that jump? What if we quietly cheered instead of loudly warning? Maybe our children would trust themselves a little more, learn they are resilient, strong, more than their mistakes.
We’re not just protecting their skin and their clothes. We’re teaching them how to live. And maybe, just maybe, we could let them fall and find out that they can get up again, and again, and again. Isn’t that what courage really is?