Finding Peace with My Children
The year was 2021, and I sat with my children in my son’s bedroom. He was perched in his loft bed, wrapped in blankets and surrounded by his stuffed‑animal friends. My daughter had found her own cozy spot on the floor across from me. We took deep breaths together and turned on our nightly meditation.
For my son’s whole life, sleep has been a struggle. When he was a toddler, I would sit beside his bed holding his hand until his breathing shifted into that deeper rhythm of sleep. Only then would I gently let go, inch my way toward the door, and pull it closed without a sound. Sometimes the click of the latch woke him, and I’d whisper through the door, “I’m still here, little one. Rest. I’ll stay until you’re asleep.” I’d sit on the other side of the door, waiting for his breathing to settle again before tiptoeing to my own bed.
We did this for years. Through all his struggles, I was judged more than once — told I was coddling him, that I was too gentle. But whether anyone else understood or not, he did eventually find sleep. And more importantly, we were building safety and trust between us, one quiet night at a time.
So in 2021, after the start of a pandemic and the end of my marriage, we found ourselves together in one room again — breathing, reading bedtime stories, crying sometimes, holding hands, giving hugs and kisses, and waiting for the moment when breathing shifted and lights could be turned off. I’d slip into my own bed, only to hear little feet pattering down the hall, the soft creak of my door opening, and feel him climb in beside me. Neither of us could sleep without the other.
Bedtimes have changed since then. I used to wish for the day I could simply say goodnight and close the door — and those days have come. But I miss the bedtime stories, the meditations, the simple joy of finding peace beside my children. They’re getting older now. One is in college. The other just turned fourteen and is somehow taller (and more sarcastic) than me.
And then there are my two stepdaughters. How I wish I’d had more time with them when they were small. When I first met them, they would climb eagerly into my lap with tiny toys in their hands, listening to bedtime stories with their dad or asking each night, “Please tell us one of your stories!” They wanted the familiar tales of happy moments they’d shared. I got to be part of that ritual, and it was a gift.
Bedtime is such a sacred part of the day. It’s when we unwind, let go of stress, release worries, and drift toward dreams. It’s when imagination softens the edges of the world and our minds find their quiet places.
I’m starting to think we all need those simple routines — even as adults. My husband and I have our own bedtime rhythm now, one we’ve kept for five years. It’s evolved, and we’ve added our own meditations. But the heart of it is the same.
Isn’t it comforting to fall asleep feeling safe and loved?
Over the years, those quiet moments with my children grew into something unexpected — a way of offering comfort even when I couldn’t be right beside them. That’s how Little One’s Meditations began: gentle bedtime stories and calming practices I recorded for my son so he could hear my voice whenever he needed it.
If you or your child could use a peaceful moment before sleep, you can find those meditations on my website, tucked into their own little corner of calm.
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