I Don’t Want My Kids to Play Small

Okay.

Let me talk to you the way I would if we were driving home from a long day from work and the sun was setting and everything felt honest.

I do not want my kids growing up thinking small is normal.

I do not want my students believing “good enough” is the ceiling.

And I had to look at myself first.

Because for a long time, I was good with comfortable.

Not miserable. Not failing. Not desperate.

Just comfortable.

I knew how to operate inside the lines.

I knew how to be agreeable.

I knew how to work hard without being disruptive.

I knew how to stand in front of the mirror and critique myself quietly instead of doing something about it.

I knew how to stay in my lane professionally and not push too hard.

And that version of me was responsible. Reliable. Safe.

But she was not bold.

And here is what hit me.

If I keep modeling safe, they will choose safe.

If I keep shrinking, they will shrink.

If I keep playing small in rooms where I have something to say, they will learn to measure their voice before they use it.

I do not want that.

I want my kids to walk into rooms and own them.

Not with arrogance. With presence.

I want my students to step into arenas and careers and relationships knowing they are allowed to expand.

I want the people around me to look at growth and think, if she can do that, so can I.

And that means I cannot stay stagnant.

Stagnant is not acceptable anymore.

Comfortable as a resting place is fine.

Comfortable as a lifestyle is not.

There is a difference between peace and passivity.

Peace is intentional.

Passivity is slow erosion.

The cages we sit in are often self built.

We build them out of fear of judgment.

Fear of being talked about.

Fear of failing publicly.

Fear of looking foolish.

Fear of being too ambitious.

And then we normalize them.

We call it being realistic.

We call it being practical.

We call it being mature.

But deep down, we know when we are playing smaller than we are capable of.

We feel it.

That quiet restlessness.

That hum of more.

I felt it.

In my body.

In my career.

In how I showed up socially.

In how much space I allowed myself to take.

And I had to own that no one was holding me there.

Not really.

Yes, circumstances exist. Yes, life is layered. Yes, responsibilities are real.

But growth is still a choice inside all of that.

So I am choosing it.

Not recklessly.

Not dramatically.

Deliberately.

I am choosing to speak more.

To build more.

To strengthen my body instead of criticize it.

To stop apologizing for ambition.

To stop asking silent permission to expand.

And I want the people around me to feel that shift.

Not pressured.

Inspired.

Because boldness spreads.

When one person stops tolerating mediocre, it makes everyone else look at their own ceiling.

When one person starts using their voice, it gives others courage to test theirs.

When one person steps outside the bubble, the bubble gets thinner.

We have one life.

One shot at this version of ourselves.

I do not want to look back and say I played it safe so everyone else stayed comfortable.

I want to look back and know I expanded.

And I want my kids and my students to say, she showed us how to live boldly.

Not perfectly.

Boldly.

If I am tiptoeing out of the box, fine.

But I am not staying in it.

And if you are around me, I hope you feel that nudge.

Because comfortable is not the goal anymore.

Becoming is.