The Woman in the Airport

I was traveling over a decade ago when I saw her.

A mother, clearly overwhelmed, trying to wrangle a toddler who was darting in every direction, refusing to listen, squirming out of reach, loud and free in the way only children can be. She looked exhausted.

Old me, the version shaped by unspoken shame and a need to feel in control, would have judged her.

I would have leaned on the silent superiority that comes from thinking, “She has no control over her child.” That internal commentary was once my armor, a way to avoid feeling the tenderness of my own inner chaos. It was easier to judge than to empathize. Easier to feel “above” than to admit how often I, too, felt lost, messy, unsure.

But something in me had shifted by then.

When I looked at her, I didn’t see failure.

I saw someone trying.I saw a woman doing her best, under the weight of public eyes and tiny hands.I saw someone who maybe hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten, hadn’t had five minutes to herself in days.

I saw a mirror, not of who I was, but of how far I’d come in my healing journey. And in that moment, I felt compassion, not just for her, but for the earlier version of me who judged because she didn’t know how to be gentle with herself.

That moment will stay with me forever. It was the quiet, ordinary kind of profound. The kind that slips in during everyday life and reaffirms what matters most: the way we see each other when we learn to see ourselves more kindly.

This is why self-compassion is an integral part of my work with women. Because we all carry stories beneath our surfaces: messy, painful, beautiful stories and until we learn to greet our own with gentleness, it’s hard to extend that grace to anyone else.

We heal through understanding, not perfection.

And sometimes, it starts in an airport, watching a woman hold it together the best she can.

These moments matter. They are the quiet milestones of healing.If you’re on your own journey of self-compassion, know that you don’t have to walk it alone. This is the heart of the work I do with women: unlearning shame, releasing old roles, and making space for tenderness, even in the mess.

You are welcome in this work, just as you are.