🌼 The Dandelion
How a childhood moment shaped my relationship with my own joy:
When I was four years old, I found the most beautiful flower.
It was an early summer day, and a bright yellow dandelion caught my eye. It was vibrant, cheerful, and yellow was my mom’s favorite color.
I immediately thought of her.
I carefully picked it and ran into the backyard, holding it out with all the pride a four-year-old could muster.
“Look what I picked for you, Mom!”
She looked at it and replied matter-of-factly:
“It’s a weed.”
I remember the feeling more than the words.
The excitement left my body. My shoulders dropped.
“Oh… well, isn’t it beautiful?” I asked.
There wasn’t much more to say.
She didn’t take the flower.
I dropped it on the ground.
Without realizing it, I made a decision that day:
Don’t be impressed by dandelions.
It seems like such a small moment.
But childhood is filled with small moments that become big beliefs.
As children, we don’t have the perspective to think:
Maybe Mom was having a hard day.
Maybe she just sees dandelions differently.
Maybe this isn’t about me at all.
Instead, we often make meaning from what happens.
Maybe my joy was misplaced.
Maybe my offering wasn’t good enough.
Maybe I was foolish for seeing beauty where others didn’t.
Years later, I can look back at that little girl with so much compassion.
She wasn’t wrong.
She saw beauty in something ordinary.
She wanted to share wonder with someone she loved.
And what I know now is that finding beauty in everyday moments is one of my greatest gifts.
Not everyone will notice what I notice.
Not everyone will value what I value.
And that’s okay.
Beauty really is in the eye of the beholder.
Now, as a mom, whenever one of my kids hands me a dandelion—or any little treasure they’ve found—I receive it with the same excitement they give it.
We put it in a tiny container of water on the windowsill.
Every time I walk by, I smile.
Not just because of the flower.
But because somewhere inside me, that little four-year-old is learning:
Her way of seeing the world was never the problem.
What I learned
For a long time, I didn’t realize how much this small moment shaped the way I moved through the world.
I learned to question my own joy.
I learned to look outside myself for validation before trusting what I saw and felt.
I learned that what mattered to me might not matter to someone else.
But through my own personal growth work, I’ve learned something different:
The moments that shape us are not always the moments that define us.
We can revisit the beliefs we formed when we were young.
We can ask:
Is this still true?
Does this belief support the person I want to become?
Or is it a story I learned before I had the ability to question it?
That little girl who loved a dandelion wasn’t naïve.
She was connected.
She was curious.
She was able to find beauty where others overlooked it.
That’s not something to outgrow.
That’s something to come home to.
Coaching takeaway
So much of coaching is not about becoming someone new.
It’s about reconnecting with the parts of yourself that got quiet along the way.
Many of the beliefs that influence our choices today were formed in moments we barely remember:
A comment someone made.
A reaction we interpreted.
A time we felt unseen, misunderstood, or not enough.
Over time, those moments can become beliefs:
I need to achieve to be worthy.
My needs are less important than others’ needs.
I shouldn’t trust myself.
I shouldn’t take up too much space.
But beliefs are learned.
And what is learned can be examined, challenged, and transformed.
The work isn’t about blaming the past.
It’s about understanding yourself with compassion so you can choose what comes next.
Reflection questions
Take a moment to reflect:
What is a small moment from childhood that shaped how you see yourself today?
What meaning did you make from that experience?
Is that belief still true—or is it a story you learned long ago?
What part of yourself might you be ready to reconnect with?
If your younger self showed you a “dandelion” today—a gift, a dream, a desire, a way of seeing the world—how would you respond?