A Weighted Gym Bag

She would hold on tightly to the shoulder strap of my gym bag as we walked uphill to our exercise class. I was always rushing—pushing out those last few minutes of laundry or tidying—before flying out the door, picking up momentum as we climbed the hill. We had to get there early to claim our places in the front row. That’s when she’d grab my bag and hang on, pulling me back down to her pace.

Years later, the child who once weighed down my gym bag is married and a nurturing mother—creative, loving, and patient. She seems to know instinctively what relationships need. Now, she watches carefully how I mother her younger sisters, questioning me with comments wrapped in humor.

It feels like my grown daughter is still tugging at my gym bag, reminding me to walk slower, not to rush through the inertia of life.