Lately, I have been thinking about what it actually means to grow up.
Not for our girls but for us.

Somewhere along the way, adulthood started to feel like a performance. We walk around pretending we are polished, competent humans who naturally know how to do things like pay bills on time and make phone calls without rehearsing what we are going to say five times in our heads.

But if I am being honest, most days I still feel like the twelve-year-old version of myself who is waiting for an actual adult to step in and make the final decision. I may be old enough to be the mom of my entire staff, most of our volunteers, and half the parents at practice, but inside my brain I am still thinking, “Who thought it was a good idea to put me in charge? I am just a kid with a calendar and too many tabs open.”

And the longer I do this work, leading girls, training coaches, running a council across seven counties, homeschooling my daughter, and caring for my husband as he heals, the more convinced I am of one thing.

Girls do not need perfect adults.
Girls need grown-ups who are still growing.

If you have talked to me at all recently, you know that my daughter and I are knee-deep in homeschool life. There are books everywhere, Sharpies hiding under furniture, half-finished essays perched on every flat surface, and a volcano project we have been about to build for three weeks running. And the funny thing about homeschooling is that it does not just teach your child. It teaches you.

I find myself learning things I did not know I did not know, re-learning things I forgot somewhere around 1998, and realizing that sometimes my daughter is actually the one teaching me how to think something through. Honestly, some days I am pretty sure she is the mom. LOL. If you have met her, you know this checks out.

People sometimes assume that once you run an organization you magically unlock this secret adulting level where everything finally makes sense. As if someone hands you a binder titled How to Be a Fully Functioning Grown-Up and suddenly you understand HR, budgeting, boundary-setting, how to always say the right thing in the right tone at the right time, where all the team bag markers disappeared to, how the practice water bottles pulled a Houdini act, and why the leftover t-shirts in the storage unit seem to be having babies..

And supposedly this imaginary binder also teaches you how to write an email without rewriting it nine times and without using exclamation marks like you are yelling “I am friendly. Please like me” through the screen. I still have not received my binder.

In the meantime, I run my blog posts through Grammarly so it appears I have at least a loose grasp of the English language and so no one worries that I am educationally neglecting my daughter.

Leading Girls on the Run often feels like juggling flaming batons while riding a unicycle and smiling politely so no one panics. Some days I look surprisingly competent. Other days I am googling things I probably should have mastered years ago while answering twelve messages, scheduling a Zoom, actively trying to drink my water and remember that exercise exists, talking with a coach about a little girl with some really big feelings that are not being addressed, and whispering, “Okay Lord, please do not let me break anything important today.”

Running a nonprofit while raising a family and homeschooling is beautiful and meaningful, and also messy, loud, and humbling. My life frequently looks like a mashup of a leadership conference, a homeschool co-op, and a yard sale someone forgot to clean up. I drop things. I learn things the hard way. I grow.

And that growth is the whole point.

Lately, I’ve found myself spending more time reflecting on the past year before jumping into the next one. I’m asking what worked, what didn’t, and what needs to change as we move forward. Not because I have all the answers, but because growth asks us to look honestly before we leap.

Growth is not something you graduate from. It is a posture you choose.

It is humility.
It is curiosity.
It is the willingness to be new at something even when you are over fifty and everyone assumes you have life mostly figured out.

Our girls see everything. They see when we are overwhelmed. They see when we get it wrong. They see when we take a breath and try again. They watch how we repair, how we respond, and how we practice resilience in real time.

Growing adults show girls what grace looks like.
Growing adults show girls what courage looks like.
Growing adults show girls that mistakes are not the end of the story.

At Girls on the Run, I hear so many women say, “I cannot coach. I am not a runner” or “My life is a mess. I cannot teach anyone anything.”

Same, friend. Same.

But the girls do not need polished adults. They need people who will show up. People who will breathe and try again. People who are learning, apologizing, laughing at themselves, and growing right alongside them.

A girl who sees her coach take a breath before responding is learning emotional regulation.
A girl who sees her caregiver apologize is learning humility.
A girl who sees her teacher try something new is learning courage.
A girl who sees an adult laugh at themselves is learning joy.

A girl who sees grown-ups practicing and stretching and messing up and recovering and trying again will do the same.

The best thing we give our girls is not perfection.

It is permission.

Permission to learn.
Permission to grow.
Permission to not get it right immediately.
Permission to be human.

This season, as I watched our girls cross finish lines, navigate friendships, manage big feelings, and surprise themselves with what they can do, I realized something true.

Their growth mirrors ours.
They grow because we grow.
They try because we try.
They are brave because we are trying to be brave too.

And this spring, we are leaning into that truth even more. We are bringing back our Grown-Up Guides so families can follow along with each lesson and grow with their girl. There is even a little running plan in the back so parents can train with their girl for the 5K.

Which is great because it has been an embarrassingly long time since I have stepped on a treadmill. If your girl can train for a 5K, then surely we can too. Right? Right?

So here is to the grown-ups, the caregivers, the parents, the coaches, the teachers, the grandparents, the volunteers, the neighbors, and the tired humans who are still learning, still stretching, still showing up even when life does not feel easy or polished or tidy.

You do not need to be perfect for a girl to thrive.
You only need to be willing to grow.

Maybe that is the greatest gift we give them.
Not a flawless adult but a faithful one.
Not a polished example but a present one.
Not a finished product but a fellow traveler.

Because the strongest girls are raised by grown-ups who are still becoming.
And the truth is, that is all any of us ever really are.