Five years ago, I found myself leaning on my child.<\/p>\n
I\u2019d recently had foot surgery and was confined to a bulky walking boot. In a spur-of-the-moment decision, my then 14-year-old daughter and I boarded a plane to visit people who loved us unconditionally.<\/p>\n
With my foot confined to a bulky walking boot, I knew traveling wasn\u2019t going to be easy. What I didn\u2019t know was who would end up carrying whom.<\/p>\n
Through the long corridors,
the tall escalators,
the daunting ticket lines,
Avery never failed to offer me her arm.<\/p>\n
Again.
And again.
And again.<\/p>\n
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<\/figure>\n<\/div>\nIf you were following my work back then, you know those were difficult years. We were living through the aftermath of something that changed our family in ways we never expected. Avery and I were both learning how to find solid ground again.<\/p>\n
In the face of so much pain and uncertainty, I often wondered if I was taking the best possible steps, saying the right things, and loving her as supportively as I could.<\/p>\n
I worried constantly about what those difficult seasons were taking from her.<\/p>\n
During that time, I held on to this belief:<\/p>\n
A child\u2019s path to independence can be tumultuous <\/em> At the time, those weren\u2019t words of certainty.<\/p>\n They were words of hope.<\/p>\n Last week, I watched that hope\u2014now 19 years old\u2014walk into a summer camp for children with cancer and their siblings.\u00a0A camper in Avery\u2019s unit had huddled inside a bathroom, unwilling to return to the cafeteria. Avery said she couldn\u2019t blame her. It was loud, chaotic, and overstimulating.<\/p>\n So, Avery sat with her. Rather than demanding she return to lunch, she explained the situation and offered her a little more time.<\/p>\n And when they finally walked back together, Avery asked,<\/p>\n \u201cCan I walk with you?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOk,\u201d said the middle schooler.<\/p>\n Up until that moment, she had only wanted to walk by herself.<\/strong><\/p>\n Later that night, Avery told me about the interaction. Amazed by her instinct, I asked how she\u2019d known what to do.<\/p>\n \u201cI explained that I was in a tough spot. I told her I understood\u00a0the lunchroom was loud and hard for her, but I needed to get back because the other counselors and campers needed me. I asked her, \u2018How can I help you and still do what I need to do<\/em>?\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n Then Avery added something that made me pause.<\/p>\n \u201cI just treated her like I wanted to be treated when I was struggling.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n I\u2019ve been thinking about those words ever since.<\/p>\n Years ago, I worried that life\u2019s hardest seasons were taking something from Avery.<\/p>\n Looking back, I can see they were giving her something, too\u2026<\/p>\n They taught her to recognize overwhelm before it became defiance.\u00a0<\/p>\n They taught her that inviting someone into the solution builds trust.<\/p>\n They taught her what it feels like when someone steps back instead of pushing harder.\u00a0<\/p>\n They taught her that sometimes the bravest question isn\u2019t,<\/p>\n \u201cWhy won\u2019t you cooperate?\u201d<\/p>\n It\u2019s,<\/p>\n \u201cHow can I help?\u201d<\/p>\n In that moment, I saw the connection.<\/strong><\/p>\n Five years ago, Avery offered me her arm.<\/p>\n Last week, she offered someone else the same steady presence.<\/p>\n Different gesture. Sometimes the very experiences we wish our children never had become the source of their deepest empathy.<\/p>\n When I told my friend Kerry Foreman, a therapist, how naturally Avery seemed to connect with the campers, Kerry didn\u2019t even hesitate.<\/p>\n \u201cWalking through hard things builds you for this stuff.\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n Avery wasn\u2019t relying on a training manual or camp protocols in that moment. She was drawing from the hard places she had already walked through.\u00a0<\/p>\n She remembered what it felt like to be overwhelmed. Because she remembered, she knew how to help.<\/strong><\/p>\n As parents, we often wonder whether our children who go through hard things will be okay. We rarely get to see the answer all at once. Instead, it arrives in pieces.<\/p>\n In the way they speak to someone who\u2019s frightened. Looking back, I realize the hope I carried five years ago was well placed.<\/p>\n A child\u2019s path to independence can indeed be tumultuous\u2026<\/em> And part of the beauty is this:<\/p>\n Healing doesn\u2019t always look like leaving our hardest seasons behind.<\/p>\n Sometimes it looks like carrying what those seasons taught us into someone else\u2019s life, My hand in yours, Hearing Avery tell me about that camper reminded me of a lesson that has carried my family through some of our toughest seasons:<\/p>\n Fear wears disguises\u2026 so does grief\u2026 so does anxiety.<\/strong><\/p>\n When we learn to see the human beneath the behavior\u2014whether in our children, our partners, our parents, or ourselves\u2014everything begins to change.<\/p>\n In this month\u2019s Treehouse Teaching & Reflection Gathering on\u00a0Sunday, June 28 at 4 p.m. Eastern<\/strong>, I\u2019ll share the story that first taught me this lesson, along with two practical tools that have helped my family return to connection when fear, grief, or anxiety speaks through behavior instead of words.<\/p>\n One of those tools prompted a mother to write after moving her daughter into college:<\/p>\n \u201cInstead of taking control and being mom with a zillion questions and demands, I just asked her, \u2018How can I help?\u2019 Then she turned to me and said she was anxious and trying not to let that make her angry or lash out. She thanked me for asking what I could do. We both smiled and hugged. Thank you for your article, which helped us stop the anxiety from becoming something else and helped me focus on her needs rather than my own fears.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n I\u2019ll share the practices behind that shift and provide both tools in a downloadable PDF so you can keep them nearby whenever you need them most.<\/p>\n If you\u2019ve been thinking about climbing my Treehouse ladder, this would be a wonderful month to join us.<\/p>\n For\u00a0$5 a month<\/strong>, you\u2019ll become part of Rachel\u2019s Treehouse<\/a>\u2014a place where we walk beside one another through life\u2019s hardest seasons, strengthen our relationships, and practice returning to ourselves with compassion.<\/p>\n Whether you join us live or watch the replay later, I\u2019d love to have you with us. Zoom link will be sent via email on Saturday. Replay sent on Monday. Subscribe here.<\/a> <\/p>\n \n<\/div>\n
and still end up ok<\/em>\u2026
if we\u2019re willing to stay present through the pain.<\/em><\/p>\n
Same love.<\/p>\n
To feel vulnerable.
To wish someone would explain instead of demand.
To need understanding more than instruction.<\/p>\n
In the way they notice the child standing alone.
In the way they instinctively choose connection over control.<\/p>\n
and still become something beautiful.<\/em><\/p>\n
so another person doesn\u2019t have to make the journey alone.<\/p>\n
Rachel\u00a0<\/p>\n\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.handsfreemama.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/06\/7B4285C2-B91B-41F7-8060-AAADBE6B3A5C_1_201_a-2.jpeg)
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