“Can I have my breakfast dessert please?”

This kid.

I swing around to tell my son there’s no such thing as breakfast dessert, but then I see him proudly holding up his empty plate. He’s not trying to pull one over on me, he’s following the logic he learned from me: after you finish a healthy meal, you can enjoy a small treat.

Who decided you can’t have breakfast dessert anyway? I challenge the marketing minds behind Pop Tarts and Lucky Charms to tell me these breakfast foods are any more nutritious than the scoop of sorbet I’m about to serve my kid.

But the bigger question here has nothing to do with breakfast: why was it my instinct to say no?

My shoulders drop with the disappointing realization that I’m a full-fledged authority figure. A grown-up who doesn’t understand. A parent who’s made a habit of saying “no.”

It’s unfortunate because I know in my heart that kids are the gurus of joy whose ideas should be celebrated. Their lack of experience gives way to a pure and imaginative curiosity that eventually fades over time. We need to bottle and treasure it!

The prospect of having a two-way conversation with younger me is intriguing. What wisdom have I lost chasing adulthood?

If she could see me now, what would younger me say?

You need to be more spontaneous. Kids yearn for the day they can be their own boss and don’t have to follow someone else’s schedule or rules. The irony is that now that I can do whatever I want, I don’t. My life is generally bound by routines, predictability, and the same five meals in rotation. It certainly doesn’t feel boring, but I know younger me would shake her head in judgment if she could see me now.

I want to defensively insist that she just doesn’t understand the mayhem of being a working mom. But I resist and consider her perspective. For her, every day is a fresh start. She doesn’t carry mental baggage from one day to the next. In the moments she’s free from adult intervention, she breathes in the uninhabited possibilities and doesn’t sweat the small stuff. That sounds pretty wonderful, and I begin to wonder if indulging in my whims could be an antidote to the pressure of the daily grind.

Let yourself be the hero. Whether it’s a recap of winning the big game or an unforgettable college essay, the young can tout – or embellish! – their accomplishments with ease. In fact, from pre-school through college we’re groomed to amplify our achievements. As a kid, there was no shame in being the star, slaying the dragon, or crushing an exam, yet for many of us our self-confidence gives way to self-deprecation as we move into adulthood. Modesty is the gateway drug for imposter syndrome, and before we know it, we’re convinced of our own mediocrity.

Younger me has been told she can do and become anything, but a crystal ball would reveal scenes of me peddling my shortcomings in the name of being relatable. That’s not right. I’ve had some really impressive moments in my life, and frankly, I do hard things every day.

Just yesterday I dressed and fed two aggressively uncooperative children. I conducted two works calls from the car, then flawlessly parallel parked, arriving three whole minutes ahead of my scheduled appointment. I impressed a client, persuaded my kids to eat a vegetable, and ended the day strong by finishing the novel that’s been sitting on my nightstand.

Damn, I am a hero.

Just be you. Make no mistake, I struggled to navigate the social constructs of childhood and young adulthood, as many kids do. I toyed with different personas and hair colors, searching for my fit and longing to understand who I was meant to become. But along the way were the echoes of my parents and teachers whispering, “just be yourself.” Regardless of whether I knew how to do that, I trusted the veracity of those words.

Present-day me continues this journey of self-discovery, though it’s now fueled by unfounded expectations and comparisons on social media. Finding my purpose is a worthwhile endeavor, as long as it’s enriching my life. But admittedly, I often find myself scrolling past messages that suggest I should be doing more than I can, striving to discover some higher version of myself. What’s wrong with who I am right now?

Younger me’s purpose was to make it to Friday so I could go roller skating. Some days it was to fake being sick so I could lay on the couch watching Price is Right all morning. My purpose was to live. Now, when I find that my purpose can’t be distilled down to my career, my goals, or my parenting, I feel like I’m failing. I can just hear younger me criticizing present-day me for doing things that only serve to poke holes in my self-worth. “Just be yourself,” she’d say. “You’re enough.”

Listen to your kids. Oh, if our kids aren’t a reflection of our own truths! Somewhere between the farts and the yelling, my boys are able to remove all the bullshit and distill a messy grown-up problem down to its core. If only I take the time to listen. The irony of all ironies is that these valuable messages from younger me could have been written by my own children. I can see them all dancing around the room, banding together in silliness as they scold me for losing sight of the simple lessons that feel so difficult to carry through to adulthood.

What I’m learning is that if I truly lean in, these little people have a distinct point of view that offers the insights that – if given a chance – younger me would want present-day me to hold tight.

Join the spontaneous performances in front of the bathroom mirror.

Celebrate my talents, feats, and accomplishments.

Embrace my enoughness.

Understand that as I raise my kids, they’re raising me too.