The Unconscious Judgements We Make.

When Pride Turns Into Pressure: A Hard Look in the Mirror

I remember how proud I felt at my daughter’s first cheer competition. She was seven, dressed in a sparkly, glittery uniform, beaming with pride to be part of a team she’d worked so hard to join.

I was cheering and crying all at once—one of those heart-swelling parenting moments you never forget. And like every modern parent, I had my phone out, filming the performance.

Later that night, sitting on the toilet (as all great reflections seem to happen there!), I rewatched the video. I zoomed in and focused just on Ella. I wanted to relive that proud feeling.

But something strange happened.

As I kept watching, I noticed things I hadn't before. Ella was a bit behind at times. She turned the wrong direction. She missed a step. The more I watched, the more concerned I became.

Was she the weakest one on the team? Would others judge her? Was she holding the group back?

The joy I felt earlier faded into worry—and, if I’m honest, judgment. 

Then came a rare brilliant idea: what if I watched the video again, but chose a different child—one I didn’t know—and pretended she was mine?

I did. And guess what? I felt the exact same concern. That child, too, seemed to make plenty of mistakes.

So I picked another. This time, the one I thought was the best performer. I watched her with a caring heart, imagining she was my own.

And she too? Full of little hiccups. Off-beat turns. Slightly mistimed moves.

And then it hit me.

It wasn’t Ella. It wasn’t the performance.

It was me.

Parenting Through the Lens of Our Own Fears

I care deeply. I want her to shine. I want to protect her from judgment, from failure, from not being the best.

But in trying to shield her from all those things, I was silently doing to her what I feared most from others—judging her.

And suddenly, I saw clearly: our kids don’t need our goal-oriented protection. They don’t need us to analyze their performance. They need us to see their beauty—even when they stumble.

Even Baby Angels Fall

That night on the toilet (still possibly my wisest hour to date), I realized how much pressure I was putting on my daughter without ever saying a word.

There she was, seven years old, giving her best, showing up with courage and joy—and here I was, lost in worry and self-created expectations.

Children don’t need perfect performances. They need open fields, fresh air, and space to fall and rise again.

A truly wise parent, I believe now, is someone who can still celebrate even when their child forgets the routine, falls on their face, or stops the whole performance.

Because the beauty isn’t in what they do. The beauty is in who they are.

Every child is a baby angel, just learning to fly. And no angel learns to soar without falling a few times.