Dear Little Mama,

Stop looking for the final landing strip of this parenting journey—it doesn’t exist. I know you think it does. You see airplanes landing all around you… safely, smoothly, touching down on milestones and achievements you can only imagine.

I know you’re tired. I know you’re anxious, always scanning the horizon for the moment when everything finally feels calm, safe, and settled. You’re hoping for the day when your child is “normal enough,” when the house is quiet, the schedule predictable, and you can finally take a deep, unbroken breath.

Here’s the truth: that day isn’t coming. And it’s okay. You will survive. You will hold hands with both grief and joy and eventually learn to live in peace. It will take years. You think it will break you, but it won’t—it will only change you.

You will have seasons of coasting through the sky. The wind will be at your back. You’ll feel steady, confident, and supported. Your child will thrive in these moments, basking in the warmth of a protected, controlled environment. Those times are beautiful gifts. Treasure them. Celebrate them. Remember—they are real and meaningful, even if fleeting. Just because they don’t last forever doesn’t mean they weren’t real.

But you will also have seasons of turbulence. Crises that spiral out of the sky. Days when nothing feels stable. Times when you crash-land in unfamiliar terrain, surrounded by confusion, fear, and uncertainty. You will patch wings you didn’t know needed mending. You will refuel in strange places. You will navigate storms you never imagined.

And yet—you will survive. You will rise again. You will learn to trust yourself and your instincts even when the horizon is unclear. You will cry until you are certain there are no tears left, and then you will cry some more. You will grieve until you understand that release is your only option. Release, Little Mama. Release is not surrender—it is freedom.

There is no permanent landing strip in parenting a child impacted by trauma. The journey is never straight, and there is no final moment of arrival. The only certainty is the love you carry for your child—and the gratitude that they are yours. Gratitude, though sometimes elusive, will be your most faithful companion, your strongest ally against the erosion of self. It will anchor you in the beauty that exists here and now, helping you see what is present instead of dwelling on the ruins of what you once imagined.

With all my love,

Your Older Self

P.S. No, there isn’t another Mom in the world who would do this better than you!  I know you think that often.  Your inability to fix your child is not a measure of your success as a parent.  Your success as a parent is your persistent love for your child and your constant extension of grace.