The 3:37 AM Text That Held Fear and Pride
For every parent who's wrestled with holding on and letting go
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Eight years ago, I stood on top of a mountain in the Tetons and watched as a man launched himself off solid ground and into thin air with my then 11-year old daughter tethered to the front of his body.
I didn’t know the man. We’d only met a couple hours earlier during some small talk and a safety briefing where I legally acknowledged the inherent risks of this activity — including mechanical failure, collision, and the possibility of death.
It had all seemed perfectly well and good, right up until the moment my child quite literally was about to fly the nest in front of my eyes.
A tsunami of anxiety welled up inside me. Suddenly I worried that all the things that could go wrong, would in fact go wrong, and this would become the worst moment of our lives.
As I looked at my precious only-child harnessed and helmeted, my mind scrambled with all the urgent words I could say to keep her safe:
“Is your helmet on tight?”
“Give your harness one more tug!”
“Be careful, sweetie!!!”
But I didn’t say any of those things.
When the wind lifted the wing and her feet left the ground, she glanced back and waved just as she began to soar. I held onto my fear and called out instead:
“Have a great flight!”
Click to view the video below and you’ll be taken to the web page to watch it.
I share this paragliding story because it’s about the kind of mother I chose to be.
Growing up, whenever I wanted to do something with an element of risk, I usually heard all the ways it could go wrong — I might get hurt, get in trouble, or cross paths with someone who meant harm — before any thought was given to what might be gained.
Those warnings often added up to the same answer:
“No.”
Of course, it wasn’t every time. But it was often enough to be a pattern — one passed down from generation to generation. A style of parenting where love expressed itself through vigilance that slipped into control.
When my persistent “But why?” met the predictable response —
“Because I’m your mom and I said so!”
— I eventually stopped asking. If I really wanted to explore something, I just wouldn’t tell my parents so I could do it without carrying their fear with me.
I never doubted that I was loved. But love in my house entwined with fear. And when you’ve only ever known one model of parenting, it’s hard to imagine another way.
As I got older and met people raised differently, I saw another way of doing things — where kids were coached by their parents and treated like members of a family-team. They were guided with trust instead of control. These parents resourced their kids while also teaching them to be resourceful. They created space to fail, learn, and try again. Risk wasn’t met with “don’t,” but with curiosity, problem-solving, and encouragement.
The result was kids who seemed more skillful, confident, and willing to take chances.
I wanted that for my daughter. And that meant cultivating a new awareness in myself.
The fear wouldn’t go away, but I knew I could practice slowing down, pausing, and choosing a response rooted in love. One that aligned with what I ultimately wanted for her: a rich, full life where she trusted her own instinct and abilities.
At 3:37 AM on a Monday morning just a few weeks ago, my now 19-year-old daughter quietly sent a text to my phone:
“Summiting to the top of Half Dome! Can’t wait to show you pictures.”
By the time I woke up, a second message had arrived —
“Over half-way done!”
— followed by a video of her beaming with pride at 8,000 feet, just in time to watch the sunrise with her friends.
If you’ve never heard of Half Dome, picture a giant granite monolith — smooth, sheer, and impossibly curved — jutting 5,000 feet above Yosemite Valley in California. It’s one of the most iconic hikes in the U.S., not just for the views but for what it takes to get there.
The final push to the summit involves climbing a nearly vertical rock face using steel cables bolted into the granite. No ropes. No harness. Just your hands, your grit, and if you’re smart, a good pair of gloves.
It’s an 18-mile round-trip hike with serious elevation gain. People train for it, dream about it, and never forget it.
All the familiar voices rose in me as I re-read her texts.
What?!?! When did she decide to do this? Does she have the right gear? What about the right shoes? Who is she with? How much water does she have? And why on earth is she starting this hike at 11 PM?
But then I zoomed in on her video. Her face radiated pure joy against the backdrop of one of the most beautiful places on earth.
I saw the little girl who has always chased adventure. I thought about how many times I stumbled in trying to parent her. But looking into her eyes through a screen that morning, I knew I’d done my best and gotten enough of the hard moments right.
She believed she could summit Half Dome — so she did.
The tension between love and fear, freedom and safety, never goes away. We wobble between them, trying to find the balance.
Lean too far into fear, and we fill our children with our anxieties, clipping their wings before they can fly.
Lean too far into unbridled freedom, and we risk sending them out unprepared for the world’s very real dangers.
So we live in the middle space. The paradox. Trying to give our children the confidence to climb their own mountains while resisting the urge to hold them back at the trailhead.
When my daughter’s text came through that morning, I felt both the ache and the beauty of this wound of separation — the part of me that wants to keep her close, safe, protected, and the part that knows my role now is to let go.
We get to choose which voice we give our children: the one fueled by fear, or the one fueled by love.
I texted back:
“Wow!! What an accomplishment. I’m so proud of you. Can’t wait to hear more.”
Maybe the real summit of parenthood is learning to bless the climb, even when every part of you longs to keep them safe at the base.
Let’s show our children what it means to love life, not fear it.
~ Linzi
Love this. Wish I had read it many years ago.
Soooo proud of her and you💕 we have raised incredible humans! Mine are without a doubt my greatest accomplishment. I know you feel same even tho they give us those heart skip a beat moments now n then lol