The Work in Progress Mommy

This past weekend, I received one of the most powerful parenting lessons, not from a book or a podcast, but straight from the lips of my 3.5-year-old daughter.

She’s always had a mind of her own. She knows what she likes, what she doesn’t like, and if there’s one thing she absolutely cannot stand — it’s being ignored. Especially when it comes to her likes and dislikes.

It was Saturday night. The three of us — my husband, our daughter, and I — were snuggled up in bed. Lights off, the usual bedtime routine underway. She asked for a story, and very specifically, a particular story. The one she always asks for. The one her dad doesn’t really like narrating, and so, he told her another one instead.

And just like that, she burst into tears. Loud, guttural sobs, the kind that wring a mother’s heart. I was already half asleep, trying to get some rest after returning from Kuala Lumpur and still battling the 2.5-hour time zone difference. But I pulled her into my arms and began softly singing to her. Eventually, she calmed down, nestled into me, and we drifted off.

I didn’t think too much of it until the same thing happened again the next night. Same setup: she asked for her story. He told her his. And once again, she cried, this time, longer and louder.

When my husband stepped out of the room, I asked her gently, “Cookie, what’s wrong? Why are you crying like this?”

She looked at me with those big eyes brimming with frustration and hurt and said, “Daddy doesn’t listen. He sushes me all the time. He doesn’t tell me the stories I want to hear. He tells me the stories he wants to tell me. I don’t like it. He doesn’t listen to me. And that makes me sad.”

Her words hit me like a thunderclap.
She didn’t stammer.
She didn’t fumble.
She just said it — plainly, powerfully, truthfully.

And I, a grown woman with decades of leadership experience, sat there humbled by the clarity of my three-year-old.

She was not just asking for a story. She was asking to be seen. Heard. Respected.

And isn’t that what all of us really want, as adults, as parents, as partners? We don’t always need people to agree with us. But we want to be listened to. We want our preferences to matter. We want to feel that our voice, however small, holds space in the room.

That night, my daughter became my teacher.

It’s so easy, especially in the whirlwind of parenting, to override a child’s preferences with our own logic — what’s easier, faster, or more comfortable for us. But children, just like us, are individuals with their own thoughts and desires. And when we dismiss those desires, however trivial they may seem (like a bedtime story!), what we’re really doing is sending a subtle message that their voice doesn’t matter.

Of course, my husband meant no harm. He was just trying to help, and perhaps hoping to speed up bedtime, like all of us do from time to time. But what we both learned that night was this:

Listening is not about convenience. It’s about connection.

And that connection starts young, at bedtime, over stories, in moments that seem inconsequential. Because to a child, those are the moments that build their world. And in that world, how we listen becomes far more important than what we say.

So now, I’m trying — really trying — to honour her voice. To pause. To ask. To let her choose the story. Even if it’s the same one every night. Because if it matters to her, then it matters. Period.

Sometimes the smallest people in our lives end up holding the biggest mirrors.

And last night, mine held one up for me, crystal clear.