Mummyfried

There’s a particular kind of ache no one warns you about in parenting—the ache of quiet disappointment. Not because your child isn’t good enough, but because you see their potential, their gifts, their strengths… and they don’t. Or worse, they can’t be bothered to try. My daughter is smart. Naturally bright, curious, funny. Charismatic, some said. Get her tested, others advised. Push her, a few insisted. Let her be a child—she’ll always be smart, said many. I did a bit of everything. I gently encouraged her. I gave her every opportunity I could afford. And she did… nothing. I saw her gifts early on. I believed in her. I still do. But I also saw what she wouldn’t admit: she didn’t want to try. Like so many parents, I saved where I could, sacrificed in ways no one could see, and supported her softly. I tried not to overwhelm. No pressure—just faith. The quiet, steady kind. I gave her room to grow—space I never had. And she knew. She knew what I gave up. She knew the belief behind eve...