"Fireworks mummy!" shouted my 3-year-old excitedly. "I want to see!"
I felt SO guilty. This was Saturday just gone, the weekend after Bonfire Night, and I'd just taken my little man up to bed.
I thought we'd got away with it – we'd had a busy day with lots going on, and I had hoped he wouldn't remember that it was 'fireworks weekend.' Theo absolutely loves fireworks, and had been learning about Bonfire Night at his nursery school. I had meant to get us all out to a display, or even just to get some sparklers for the older kids to light in the garden at home, but intentionality slipped out of the window this week, and by Saturday night I'd completely run out of brain power and energy.
As he listened excitedly to the fireworks outside, I could feel myself tensing up. I knew he wouldn't be able to see anything out of the window – we live on a development of high-roofed houses, and don't overlook any gardens. I couldn't bear for him to be disappointed.
But he wouldn't be stopped. Climbing up onto the windowsill, he pressed his nose to the window.
"Listen mummy!" he said. "I can hear the fireworks!"
"Come away, baby," I said. "You won't be able to see anything from there. We'll find you some fireworks to look at another time. Let's look at one of your books."
How Perfectionism Blocks Connection
I could hear my tone changing, a sternness creeping in that was entirely the result of my own shame eating away at me, and had nothing to do with him at all. As a reformed perfectionist who spent years beating myself up for not being good enough whilst holding myself to impossibly high standards, I'm mostly able to keep it realistic and healthy these days. But when it comes to my kids, I still find those old patterns creeping in. Needing to be the 'perfect' mum. Wanting them to have everything that the other kids have. Not wanting to let them down.
In that moment, I wasn't actually responding to Theo at all. I was responding to the stories in my head - the ones telling me I was a failure, a bad mother, a let down. I find it fascinating how quickly we can spiral - how a simple moment can become loaded with all our fears about not being good enough.
"But mummy...they sound like WHEEEEEEEEEE! Then BANG. Listen mummy!"
He giggled, contagiously.
Choosing Presence Over Perfection
I caught myself before I doubled down. Stopped. Took a deep breath. Recognised the choice I was about to make - and made a different choice.
This is something I've been practising for years now – allowing myself a moment between 'what's happening' and 'how I'm choosing to respond.' Trying, where I can (though goodness knows children test this to the nth degree!), to choose confidence over fear, connection over shame. It's hard, and I often don't get it right. But this time, I did.
That was how my baby boy and I ended up spending a glorious, silly, brilliant twenty minutes together listening rapturously to the sound of fireworks going off a couple of blocks over. Laughing, copying the sounds, and eventually collapsing into cuddles before he drifted off to sleep.
A friend asked him the next day whether he'd seen any fireworks this weekend.
"Yes!" he said happily. "They went 'ssssssss' and 'wheeeeeeee!'"
Why We Underestimate Simple Moments
It was so damn humbling. I'd been so locked into my own feelings that I'd completely underestimated my son, his ability to find fun and enjoyment in unexpected places, and the strength of our connection.
I'd assumed he needed a particular experience – a proper display, with crowds and hot chocolate and sparklers and the whole shebang. I'd assumed that anything less would be a disappointment - and that my failure to provide this would damage him somehow, or at least diminish his experience of childhood joy.
But Theo didn't have any of those assumptions. He was just delighted with the fireworks he could hear, and a mum who – once she got out of her own way – was willing to listen with him.
When Guilt Creates More Distance Than Connection
I'm sharing this because we all have moments where our worry about what we're 'supposed' to do, our guilt about not doing it, and our shame about not being good enough, can actually create more disconnection than it does connection.
It plays out in our lives in:
- Feeling guilty about not seeing a friend, so when we do finally get together, we're apologising and explaining and performing from a place of guilt, rather than actually being present with them.
- Worrying that we're not doing enough in a relationship, so we push ourselves to exhaustion trying to be everything to everyone, and end up too depleted to actually connect.
- Having fixed ideas about what quality time should look like – the perfect date night, the elaborate 'night out' plans, the Instagram-worthy experiences – and when we can't deliver that, we tell ourselves the time we do have doesn't count.
We're so busy mentally cataloguing our failures and inadequacies that we completely miss the connection that's available to us right now, in this moment, exactly as we are.
What Actually Creates Real Connection?
I've been on a long journey over the last few years of building a more centred, conscious, deeply connected life. And one of my most powerful pieces of learning is that real connection often doesn't happen when we're 'doing,' 'thinking,' or 'performing.' It happens when we slow down, when we engage, when we're present and enthusiastic about what's actually in front of us – even if it's not as we planned or expected it to be.
In that moment, my son didn't need the 'perfect' firework experience. He needed me to stop trying to fix something that hadn't even yet become a problem, and simply to share his joy.
What Changes When We Let Go of 'I Should?'
When I let go of my story about what should be happening and allowed myself to be with what was happening, everything shifted. The tension in my body released. The harsh edge left my voice. The shame that had been clouding my vision cleared, and I could actually see my son – not as a problem to be managed or a disappointment to be mitigated, but as a joyful little human having a genuinely delightful experience.
Once I made that shift, the experience became delightful for me too. There was an intimacy in those twenty minutes that wouldn't have existed at a crowded display. There was a shared sense of wonder that came from creating the experience together, rather than passively consuming something that had been created for us. There was a beautiful reminder that my son's capacity for joy isn't dependent on my capacity to orchestrate elaborate experiences - and that that's something I need to encourage.
When we let go of how things 'should be,' we make space for 'what is.' And that's often so much more interesting, quirky, exciting and unexpected than what we had originally planned in the first place - with so much more scope for connection.
It's saying yes to the spontaneous invitation even when it doesn't fit our image of what we 'should' be doing.
It's letting go of our agenda for how a conversation 'should' go and following the thread of genuine curiosity instead.
It's sharing what's actually true for us rather than presenting the polished, acceptable version.
It's being willing to be delighted by something simple and unexpected, rather than holding out for something impressive.
Finding Connection in Everyday Moments
Here's what I'm left with after my fireworks epiphany: what if the connection we're seeking is already available to us, and we're missing it because we're too busy looking for something else?
What if the people in our lives don't need us to be perfect, but they do need us to be present?
What if we're already enough, exactly as we are, and the real work isn't about doing more or being more, but about showing up more fully to what's already here?
Where in your life might you be so focused on getting it 'right' that you're missing out on real opportunities for connection? What would it feel like to let go of the 'should' and simply be present with what is?
Sometimes, the most powerful moments of connection happen when we stop trying, and simply allow ourselves to be here, now, with each other, exactly as we are.
Even if that means listening to invisible fireworks.
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