Showing Up: A Quiet Moment in Presence

I’ve been consciously practicing presence—truly being here, right now, especially with my children. I want to show up for them with my whole heart, fully attuned, without distraction.

Today, I walked over to my 10-year-old son, who was curled up on the couch lost in his screen time. The moment he noticed me, he quietly got up and slipped away to his room, lying down on his bed. My heart sank a little, but I followed gently and said, “I just want to be with you for a few minutes.”

He didn’t look thrilled—he seemed uneasy—but I sat beside him anyway. I softly stroked his hair and arm while he played his game, saying nothing more, just letting my touch speak. At first, he was tense, a little uncomfortable. Then, slowly, he leaned into me, his body softening, as if quietly admitting he liked it after all.

After a few tender minutes, he murmured, “Okay, you can go now—you said only a few minutes.” I smiled and replied, “Okay,” then stood to leave. As I reached the door, he called out softly, “I’m sorry I’m being rude.” I turned and said, “It’s okay, no problem,” and left the room.

In that moment, my heart swelled with quiet presence and deep acceptance. I didn’t take his initial retreat personally. Yet, almost immediately, my ego whispered cruelly: *You’re failing as a mom. He doesn’t even want you near him. He doesn’t love you.*

The old ache rose up, sharp and familiar. I paused, felt it in my body, and took a slow, steady breath.

Then I spoke to myself gently, like I would to him:

*You are lovable exactly as you are. And the most important thing is that you showed up—for him, with love, without forcing anything.*

And in that breath, the ache softened. I felt proud—not perfect, but present. And that felt like enough.