Confessions from the Passenger Seat
This series initially began as a release. A confession, really. A way to name the mess and maybe find grace in it.
Years ago, before a reset, before I deleted the past, I journaled about my road rage. The guilt of screaming at a driver, even if it was just for my ears. I’ve come a long way from honking horns and flailing hand gestures. Now it’s more of a muttered ‘idiot’ or ‘Are you a moron?’ Still not great, but better than the explosive expletives that used to fly. Progress, however imperfect.
But today, I need to confess something deeper.
[13] “Whoever conceals his transgressions will not prosper, but he who confesses and forsakes them will obtain mercy.” — Proverbs 28:12
[9] “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” — 1 John 1:9
The Mirror I Didn’t Want to Hold
A while back, I noticed my daughter had put on a few pounds. I didn’t say anything at first. I just watched, her daily visits to the guest bathroom where the scale lives, her growing interest in becoming ‘thick’. She’s always been slim, beautiful in a way that felt complete. So I worried. Was this really her desire, or was it social media whispering lies about worth and shape?
I tried to bring it up gently. She doubled down. I backed off. It’s her body, after all.
Weeks passed. I hadn’t seen her properly in a while, and when I did, the thought, “you look fat”, flashed through my mind. I didn’t say it. I tried to soften it: “You’re looking a bit heavy.” She responded with vulnerability, saying she might have body dysmorphia. I told her she was taking it too far.
Later, my mum and sister echoed my thoughts. That gave me the false confidence to say it outright: “You are bordering on fat.” I thought I said it playfully. She didn’t. A week later, she brought it up and let me have it. Instead of listening, I got defensive. I brought up her short skirts, her leggings, her cellulite. I weaponised my observations, and my back stayed up for days.
The Shift I Didn’t Expect
One morning last week, my son told me he wanted to go to his dad’s at the weekend. I was annoying him, nagging about missed homework and teacher calls. I told him it wasn’t fair to be annoyed at me when he hadn’t done what he was supposed to. But my voice cracked. I was holding back tears.
Cue the battlefield of the mind: I’ve failed as a mum. I’m doing a bad job. I’ve let him down. Why doesn’t he care about school?
I don’t remember what I prayed, but I know I did. Then I showered. That broke the cycle of the onslaught of negative thoughts.
Normally, I wave goodbye from the top floor window. But today, I didn’t want to. Still, by the time I got out, I changed my mind. What if something happened and I hadn’t said goodbye?
Just before he left, he said, “Bye mum, I love you.” I said it back. Then came the message: “I didn’t mean to blame u like that. I’m sorry.” I replied, “Don’t worry. I understand it’s stressful and I’ll try and do better. Just know I love you always.” He said, “Nah it’s my fault. I said sorry. Just accept it.” I did. And I meant it.
That exchange shifted something in me. I was proud of him. Exams aren’t everything. He’s smart, perceptive, kind. His teachers say he’s respectful and pleasant. I need to give him credit. And I need to be thankful.
Because that moment cracked open my heart toward my daughter.
Listening Past My Opinion
I hadn’t been able to hear her. She said her body makes her feel good. Strong. She asked me to respect her boundary: don’t talk about her weight.
While I don’t think it’s a good idea, it is her body. Her choice. I apologised and quite frankly, I could do with getting fitter myself. Maybe my job isn’t to disagree. Maybe it’s to love her anyway.
[21] “Death and life are in the power of the tongue,
and those who love it will eat its fruits.” — Proverbs 18:21
It’s got me thinking about our day-to-day issues.
In the Last Few Days
I was woken at 1 a.m. over the weekend by the sound of the door banging. She had lost her key—again. I’d placed a Tile tracker on it because she’s prone to misplacing things, only to discover the tracker had broken off and was buried somewhere in the mess of her room, separated from the key itself. When I went downstairs to let her in, her sheepish look and quiet “I’m sorry,” coupled with the fact she was tipsy or drunk, led me to say: “You can’t stay here anymore. I’m not doing it.”
Then came the latest episode in an ongoing issue: her disregard for the no-food-in-bedrooms rule. When I say her room is like a waste site, I’m not exaggerating. She’s about to turn 26, and I am exhausted.
This time it involved me trying to explain how to dispose of trash. To give you context, We’ve always had a recycle, waste, and garden bin system, but the council recently updated us: food waste can no longer go in the general waste bin, it must now go in a separate food waste bin. I tried to explain, but she cut me off. I walked away, only to glimpse her doing it incorrectly. Intervention was necessary; I’m not going to be reprimanded by the council for her failure to adhere. It sounds petty, but every misplaced wrapper feels like disrespect.
We got into it. I said, “I am not enabling incompetence.” That escalated into a back-and-forth of jabs and insults, hers I couldn’t even recall, mine I regret. I was enraged for a moment, but when she said she was moving out of her own accord, I felt both relief at the prospect and sadness that we can’t live together peacefully.
“[1] A soft answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger” — Proverbs 15:1
Love Her Anyway?
I do. She’s my only daughter. More often than not, I say nothing; trying to be patient, offering reminders. I leave post-its so the message is delivered without sarcasm or a tone that incites escalation. But I am tired.
[16] Therefore, confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed.” — James 5:16
[4] Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.” — Philippians 2:4
✨ Closing Reflection
The weight of words is heavy. They can wound, they can heal. Confession is not just about admitting failure, it’s about opening the door to mercy, patience, and love. My daughter’s body is her own, my son’s apology reminded me of grace and my words though flawed can still be redeemed.
The Eleven One 
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