If I should have a daughter

If I should have a daughter, I would let her choose her own name — a first act of self-discovery, to make her own.

When she finds herself staring at an unknown path, afraid to walk alone, I’ll vow to be the tallest mountain, holding her high enough to see home is always within reach.

I’ll open doors to countless corridors of professions and passions, each one waiting to be explored, each one a piece of who she could become. My dreams and hopes would fill her world, like open windows letting in the light, but never as burdens she must bear.

I know there will be times when the world will make her feel like she doesn’t quite belong, like she’s an unfinished puzzle in a world of completed pictures. In those moments, I’ll wrap her in the soft armour of unconditional love and quiet assurance that she is complete as she is, that even in moments of doubt, she is enough.

And should others talk behind her back, I’ll arm her with resilience — a shield of self-worth and a sword of grace to move forward without the weight of their words, where love will build a sense of belonging so strong it endures beyond distance and time.

If others’ words try to tear her down, I’ll gift her the courage to move forward — to feel the lightness that comes from releasing from the constraints of what doesn’t serve her.

She would know her worth is unwavering; her heart is a sanctuary no one can touch, a place of unshakeable serenity.

And in her purse, I’ll let her carry small tokens, even the ‘useless’ ones, because of the comfort they bring, knowing being different in little ways is her own small kind of magic.

She’ll be the one to let others go first, knowing kindness long before it is ever reciprocated, — a quiet strength.

And when my steps slow with age, unable to carry her through crowded spaces or when she’s tired, I will carry her in my heart, in every lesson I pass on and in every place she calls home, near and afar.

To my daughter.

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