I peeled potatoes while my daughter practised a speech in the next room

Dear Delyara, She kept starting again. Same sentence, different tone. Then a sigh. Then another try. I stood in the kitchen peeling potatoes and listening to her nerves move through the wall between us. It made me feel tender in that painful mother way. She is still young enough to need me and old enough to want dignity while needing me. I could hear both in her voice. I didn’t interrupt. I didn’t call out encouragement. I just kept peeling and listening. That is a large part of motherhood now, I think. Not entering. Staying close enough that if they open the door, you are still there.