For two years, “give it time” was the kindest thing anyone said to me. So I held onto it. I told myself I was being patient, not passive - that a good mum waits, doesn’t push, lets her child find their feet. What no one tells you is that waiting isn’t neutral. While I was being patient, something was being practised. Every morning we didn’t go, her world got a little smaller and a little safer, and the way back got a little further away. I wasn’t giving her time. I was giving the pattern time. And before you think this means I should’ve pushed harder - I didn’t, and I wouldn’t. Forcing her through the door would’ve set off the exact same alarm, just louder. The answer was never more pressure. It was less alarm. The hardest part to sit with now is that I had the training to understand what was happening - and I still didn’t see it, because “she’ll grow out of it” is so much easier to believe than “this needs me to do something.” Hope felt like love. Doing nothing fel...