The conversation with a stranger that completely shifted my perspective on parenting.

"Mummy, can we go to the beach?"

It wasn’t an unusual request, as we live in a beach town. But as the words left my son’s mouth, my body stiffened with hesitancy.

Ugh. It was the last thing I wanted to do.

I looked at his innocent face, his excited, blue eyes, and said, "Fine. But only for one hour."

There’s always so much to do around the house. I really didn’t have the time.

Two words. That’s all it took — two words from a perfect stranger — to completely shift my perspective.

Watch: How to be a 'good mum'...

She emerged slowly out of the ocean wearing a full-length wetsuit and a kind, wide smile. "Is he yours?" she asked, with heavy breath, pointing back toward Simon on a surfboard in the water.

"Yep, he turned eight yesterday. He got the board for his birthday," I replied, fascinated with her hair.

Did she have dreadlocks? Or just tight, curly hair that evenly separated when wet?

Distracted.

I could smell faint patchouli, and maybe lemon, in the breeze blowing from behind her back.

"Ah, a Virgo. September babies are special gifts," she smiled.

Huh?

How do people know the zodiac off the top of their heads? Does she have it memorised?

I can’t even memorise my number plate.

Watching Simon in the water, I was thinking about dinner. That end-of-the-day dread started to push the peacefulness of the salty air of my psyche:

I think I have chicken in the fridge. How will I make it? Do we have potatoes? Maybe I’ll just make rice. Simon didn’t finish his homework. I think his book report is due tomorrow. He’s nearly done, that’s good. There are clothes in the dryer. It’s garbage night. Is his soccer uniform clean? We have plans this weekend. I have to arrange a babysitter.

The mental load can strike at the most tranquil of places.

"Simon!" I yelled, waving my arms back and forth. I impatiently pointed to my wrist, vacant of a watch, yet indicating time. "We need to go. C’mon!"

"Do you live around here?” the woman asked. Her voice was gentle and hypnotizing, like a therapist in a movie. Her eyes were so kind, outlined by flattering crow’s feet.

"Yeah, we live up the road. We don’t normally come to this spot. But he heard the waves are better." I used air quotes around the word 'better' to emphasis how preposterous it is for an eight-year-old to chase waves.

I’ve been treating his passion like a burden — a burden in my life — that has nothing to do with him.

Listen to This Glorious Mess: Big Kids, where the hosts discuss on growing boys to men. Post continues after podcast.

She gracefully squatted to lower her surfboard down in the sand. Absentmindedly combing the sand with her fingertips, she watched him in the water.

What's she staring at? It’s a kid on a board who should be doing his homework.

Looking over her shoulder, she said to me, "He’s a natural out there. Nurture it."

"Oh, I do," I lied.

Nurture it. Isn’t that what mothers are supposed to do? Nurture.

I’ve been nurturing — Here, I’ll prove it.

I’ve nurtured his body with prenatal vitamins, breastmilk, and home-cooked dinners.

I’ve nurtured heart with a loving home, affection, and daily reassurances that he is loved.

I’ve nurtured his education with trips to the library and nightly reading sessions.

I’ve nurtured him socially with team sports, playground visits, and filling our home with friends and laughter.

I’ve nurtured his wellbeing with adequate sleep, clean washing, and family movie nights.

I’ve nurtured his childhood, knowing it is fleeting, with lazy morning snuggles and helping make the sandcastles.

On paper, I was crushing the nurturing game.

Wasn’t I?

But, what about his soul? I was so busy painting him the perfect childhood, that I was neglecting what should have been my most urgent priority.

"Nurture it," the woman’s voice lingered in my head.

I looked out in the water. I saw him lying on his board, his head resting on his right temple, eyes closed, bobbing up and down with the tide, like a piece of driftwood about to wash ashore. So peaceful.

What I was missing all along.

Simon has always loved the ocean. We live in a beach town on the East Coast. He’s been exposed to it since the days when he’d shriek with unadulterated joy slapping the white water with his chubby wrists and dimpled knuckles.

He fell in love with surfing last summer. After years of observing the teenage surfers from the safety of his bright, red boogie board, he bravely decided to graduate. He borrowed a used surfboard from a neighbour.

It was love at first ride. And, he was actually pretty good.

Now he incessantly begs me. He haunts me. He drives me insane. He doesn’t care if it’s before school or approaching dark. This kid needs to be in the water.

I’ve been treating his passion like a burden — a burden in my life — that has nothing to do with him.

I was allowing the mental load to win.

When Simon was four, he loved basketball. We installed a hoop in the driveway and, using chalk, we drew him a court that washed away with every drizzle.

I could be cooking dinner, or folding the washing and I’d hear the thump-thump-thump of the basketball dribbling up and down the driveway. I’d hear the clatter of the fiberglass backboard rattling with every shot.

Through the sounds of his play, I could keep my eye on him.

But I can’t just send him off to the ocean unsupervised — regardless of how close we live.

Nurture it. I must nurture it.

Has he found his passion at only eight-years-old? Not a passion that will make him rich and famous. No, way better than that — more priceless than that.

Has my son found his escape? Has my son found what his soul will need when life gets to be too much?

When the cruelty of adolescence creeps into his clueless, nurtured life, will he turn to his surfboard for a temporary break from the pain?

Nurture it.

When his peers are turning toward booze and substances, will he decline, knowing there is a greater high waiting for him in the swell of the sea?

Has he found a passion that will spark him to travel to exotic beaches, stoked to meet beautiful people, just to catch a high in their waters?

Nurture it.

Nurture it for his mental health and sanity.

Washing is not more important than my son. Dinner is not more important than my son. We have clothes to wear and pizza will do.

The mental load will not prevent me from feeding his soul.

He has found what most adults are searching for. Happiness — a passion that brings genuine happiness and peace to the soul.

Yes, he loves his team sports with his buddies, and those activities are immeasurably important.

But this... this is a calm he’s found within himself, that he can enjoy without the company of others.

What does he think about out there in the water? What goes through his mind? Perhaps nothing at all. How wonderful is that?

***

Simon approached me, droplets of water rolling down his wetsuit, teeth chattering behind a giddy smile on his cold, blue lips.

I was waiting for him, like I always do, with a towel spread open wide in my arms for him to disappear into. I felt the wetness through the towel as he pressed against me. I wrapped him up in a standing swaddle and squeezed him tight.

"How was it today, buddy? How’s the new board?" I asked him, looking at him differently.

I suddenly felt less rushed, less go-go-go. And, I honestly wanted to hear his answer. I wanted to soak in his words. I had a new baby to nurture.

"Mummy, did you see? Were you watching? Did you? Did you see the wave I caught at the end? It had a barrel," he said, excitedly.

"I did see. You were incredible. Happy Birthday. I’m so glad you like your new board," I replied.

"Can we go again tomorrow?" he asked.

"Of course we can, sweetheart," I said then, and I’ll say forever.

This post originally appeared on Medium and has been republished with full permission.

For more from Emme Beckett, please visit her website, Twitter or Medium profile. 

The feature image is a stock image. Source: Getty.