a true story about big feelings
The Bubble That Wouldn't Blow
Every other kid had a giant floating bubble drifting over the grass. Hers just went pfft.
the realization
When I stopped showing her the "right" way and just sat in the disappointment with her, she came back to it on her own. She didn't need a better technique. She needed me to stop making her feel behind.
We were at the park and the other kids had these giant, wobbling bubbles floating up over their heads. Mia dipped her wand, blew, and hers popped before it even left the ring. Pfft. She tried again. Pfft. Then she threw the wand in the grass and announced she didn't even like bubbles.
have you ever felt this way too?
So of course I did the thing. It's easy, baby. Blow softer, look, like this. I got down and demonstrated. Twice. And the more I showed her the perfect way, the smaller she got, shoulders curling in, chin down, not even watching my hands anymore.
So I put my wand down in the grass next to hers. I said you wanted a big one like theirs and yours kept popping, and that's the worst. I didn't fix anything. We just sat there with the popped bubbles for a second.
One slow breath together. And then a tiny one puffed up and popped right on her nose, and we both cracked up before either of us could help it. She wiped her nose and picked the wand back up.
what I found myself saying
"You wanted a big one like theirs, and yours kept popping. That's the worst."
"I put my own wand down and just said, okay, we'll sit here a minute."
"One slow breath, baby. We don't have to make a big one right now."
