We had our distinct roles in the family. He was the one who encouraged our kids to hit the dance floor while I observed with a smile. He rode roller coasters while I managed the bags. He splashed in the pool and participated in parent-child softball games, sneaking off for secret trips to the local donut shop, while I packed nutritious snacks and drinks for our outings. My partner was the adventurous parent, while I took on the more responsible role. This dynamic worked for us—until it didn’t. Until he passed away.
Now, my two children and I found ourselves on the sidelines of a party, watching other kids dance freely. They looked to me for guidance, hesitating to join in as they clung to me, their shyness mirroring my own. They needed someone to lead them out of their shells, to show them how to embrace the moment without worrying about what others might think. They needed their dad—the adventurous parent. Instead, they had me, an introverted mother terrified of being the center of attention.
My heart ached in ways that have become all too familiar as a young widow and single parent. He should have been there, taking their hands and pulling them onto the dance floor, encouraging me to join in as I pretended to be annoyed but secretly enjoyed his presence. He would have been the goofy dad dancing in a way that made them laugh, teaching them that nobody is really watching, and even if they were, it doesn’t matter.
Time seemed to freeze as the weight of this moment settled around us. To outsiders, it might have appeared insignificant, but for me, it felt pivotal: Would my children choose to dance with their friends in the future or would they shy away, sitting on the sidelines? Would they jump into activities or hesitate out of fear?
There’s nothing wrong with being a spectator; I appreciate my introverted nature and want to teach my kids the value of observing from the sidelines. Yet, I also want them to experience both sides—the parent who dances and the one who prefers to watch. I want them to feel empowered to choose what feels right for them, rather than just mirroring my own tendencies.
I hesitated, torn between my learned behaviors and the desire to step outside my comfort zone. I thought about waiting for another occasion when perhaps a fun aunt could coax the kids onto the floor while I stayed back with a drink in hand. But I reminded myself that in this life I never chose, I was now both the fun parent and the responsible one. Embracing my new reality, I realized that stepping outside my comfort zone was becoming my new normal as a solo parent. My children deserve more than what I’ve been able to provide; they deserve everything.
That night, I finally stepped onto the dance floor, pulling my kids along with me. We found a spot just off-center, minimizing our visibility to the onlookers. We held hands in a circle, shimmied, and jumped, refusing to shrink away when the spotlight passed over us. We didn’t steal the show or sing into the mic, but we also didn’t linger on the sidelines for long.
That night felt like a small triumph. Not because I had become the adventurous parent—my partner had always held that title—but because I showed my kids how to step outside their comfort zones. I taught them that sometimes, for the people we love, we must do things we never thought we could. Maybe that’s enough.
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Summary
The author reflects on the loss of her adventurous partner and how their roles shifted after his death. As a young widow, she grapples with stepping outside her comfort zone to show her children that it’s okay to embrace new experiences, despite her introverted nature. She learns to lead them onto the dance floor in a moment that symbolizes growth and resilience.
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