It is Never Too Late…
I am someone who lives inside possibility.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve focused on what is possible—not on what feels broken, irreversible, or too far gone. This mindset has shaped the way I see the world, the way I parent, and the way I heal. But lately, I’ve been noticing how easy it is to slip into the opposite belief—that certain wounds are permanent, that certain mistakes are unforgivable, that if we didn’t get it right from the start, we’ve already failed.
Conversations swirl around me:
“Screens are ruining our kids.”
“If you weren’t securely attached to your caregiver as a baby, you’ll spend your life recovering.”
“Trauma in childhood rewires the brain permanently.”
I understand where these statements come from—there’s truth in them, research behind them, concern within them. But there’s also fear. And sometimes, when we’re swimming in fear, it’s hard to remember that healing is always possible.
My children were born as premature triplets. They spent their first weeks in the NICU, separated from my body, held more by nurses than by me. Years later, during the birth of my fourth child, I went into a coma. My intestines were accidentally cut during the surgery. I couldn’t hold my newborn. I couldn’t speak to my other children. For a while, I couldn’t even be with myself.
And still, I return to this: We are not broken beyond repair.
If I lived inside the belief that all of this doomed my children—that those early days sealed their fate—I would lose the very thing that has always guided me: the thread of possibility.
Are my children screwed up forever?
No.
No, they are not.
If you want to live inside the mindset that says it’s too late, that the damage is done, you have every right to stay there. But I won’t. I can’t. Because I’ve seen something different. I’ve seen how healing—real, embodied, generational healing—shifts everything.
We can move toward secure attachment.
We can repair relationships.
We can learn new patterns.
We can become the safe space our children need—even if we weren’t that space before.
And it doesn’t matter how old they are. Or how old we are. It’s never too late to come home to ourselves. And when we do, our children feel that return. They soften. They open. They heal right alongside us.
Healing doesn’t erase the past, but it changes the future. And that, to me, is the most hopeful truth of all.
So I’ll keep living inside possibility.
And if you need someone to remind you that it’s not too late, I’ll be here—holding that vision for you, too.
