Before my daughter came along, the beach was my place. It was where I went when I needed to breathe, to think, or to just stop feeling lost for a while. I’d walk barefoot along the shore, the waves brushing my ankles, the wind tangling my hair, and I’d let everything fall away for a bit.
The sound of the ocean always seemed to understand me calm one minute, wild the next. I’m kind of like me back then. It mirrored my heart’s chaos perfectly.
When I didn’t know where else to go, I went to her my beach. She never asked questions, never judged. I’d sit on the sand until it was cold, and the sky turned that deep blue before night.
I’d listen to the seagulls, to the waves hitting the rocks, to my own breathing. Somehow, every time I left, I felt just a little more like myself again. It was like she was holding onto all the broken pieces I’d dropped along the way and handing one back each time I visited. The ocean became my quiet healer.
When I moved up north, I missed her so much. But she was always there waiting when I came home. The second my feet touched that sand again, it was like nothing had changed. It was peace. She was my oldest friend.
It was during one of those walks that I made the biggest decision of my life. I decided to become a mom on my own. I’d thought about it for a long time, talked it out with friends while walking that beach repeatedly.
I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but it felt right. I wanted to love someone so deeply that it changed me, and I knew I didn’t have to wait for a partner to do that. My beach already knew. She’d heard every word of my prayers long before I said them out loud.
And then came Laurel. My girl. My heart.
Being a single mom by choice has never felt wrong. Hard, yes. But wrong? Never. Every long night, every tired morning, every tear has been worth it. I haven’t missed having a man by my side or someone to share the load. The truth is, I’ve never felt more whole than I do now.
And she is so loved. More than I ever imagined she could be. Friends, family, people I hadn’t heard from in years, everyone came out of the woodwork to love her. Just the other day, a friend hugged me and said, “I think we all needed a Laurel.” She was right. Laurel isn’t just my miracle she’s everyone’s little reminder that love can find you in the most unexpected ways.
If I have one regret, it’s that I didn’t do this sooner. Motherhood moves fast. One day, you’re rocking a tiny baby, and the next, she’s running circles around you, laughing at her own jokes, covered in peanut butter. The days blur together, and suddenly you realize she’s not a baby anymore. She’s growing, changing, becoming her own little person and you’re just trying to keep up, knees cracking every time you get off the floor.
When I take her to the beach now, it’s like watching magic happen. She belongs there, just like I always did. Her giggles sound like the waves, her tiny snores like the tide coming in and out. Her hair catches the sunlight just the way the water does at sunset. Sometimes I look at her and think she must have come straight from the sea my wild, beautiful ocean child.
She leaves her little treasures everywhere, bits of snacks, tiny shoes, toys that somehow multiply overnight and honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way. The trail she leaves behind feels like home.
When she climbs into my lap and presses her sticky forehead against mine, I get those same sweet, salty kisses I used to feel from the sea breeze. Only now, they mean even more. She’s my calm after every storm.
I don’t go to the beach as much as I used to. I don’t need to. Everything I once went there looking for peace, love, healing I found in her. My sunshine girl. My reason. My heart
