I walked along the shoreline, careful to not cut my feet on the shell debris. As much as “mom guilt” wanted to creep in and tell me I shouldn’t be there, the waves whispered something different.

The juggle between my role of wife, mom, employee and overall-put-together-human being had become increasingly difficult. Some days it was a victory to simply wear a clean shirt or pants with a button.

With my husband’s gracious insistence, I had added a few days onto my Florida work trip for much-needed “me time.” It took only a few whiffs of the Gulf breeze for me to surrender to the nagging thought I’d fought for so long.

I needed this.

With a Bible, journal and iPhone loaded with worship songs, I found a spot to sit and spend intentional time with the Lord. I focused on mindful breathing – in with His goodness and out with my stress. Eventually, I realized why I’d been so weary.

I felt like the broken shells beneath my feet. The chipped, ugly, unsightly shells piled up on the sand where the edge of the tide stopped. The shells nobody wants to take home, the shells trampled upon by birds and tourists.

No wonder I didn’t feel whole.

I became frustrated at my frustration. I loved God and became a Christian when I was a kid – why did I struggle so badly? Why did I feel worthless and of little value at times? Why did I think “me time” was such a bad thing? Why couldn’t I “get it together” like all of the other moms I saw on Instagram?

I wasn’t raising my daughter to believe self-defeating lies or live a life of comparison – yet these were the lies I was telling myself.

I began to analyze my negative thoughts, which came in as quickly as each wave. I prayed for God’s help and healing. Eventually, I felt a tight grip come upon my heart. It’s hard to find words that explain what it feels like when an invisible God makes you aware He’s right beside you. But that’s exactly what happened.

The moment changed my perspective on many things, one being the way I parent.

As much as I hated to admit it, I knew the negative thoughts I fought didn’t stop in my own mind. They were making an impression on my 7-year-old daughter, too.

This had been reflected in her attitude at school and comments at home. While her behavior was not my responsibility, I could see her struggling with similar things. My words encouraging her to see herself as beautiful and unique fell short when I could hardly look in the mirror without finding a flaw in myself. She was watching.

My instruction on asking for help and praying didn’t hold weight when I maintained a “can do” attitude about everything, leaving little room for others, much less God, to intervene. No wonder she felt the need to lie – she couldn’t be open with me.

I shuttered at the darkness hiding in our hearts. I began to fear but quickly, in a rush of peace, I heard God’s whisper,

“Come, take a walk with me.” So down the shore we went.

As I walked the shoreline again, I began to notice white, shiny shells hiding in the sand.

“This is you,” I felt God say to me. “When you surrender to me, I make you like these unbroken shells. The same goes for your daughter. Teach her about me with these.”

Promises of God came to mind. I picked up a shell to represent each one and soon I had a handful. I tucked them into my bag. I had a special plan.

When I got home, I asked my daughter to sit down with me. She was eager at first, knowing I’d likely have an overpriced stuffed animal from the airport- a traditional souvenir from my work trips (which I did.) But then I asked her to stay and talk. I’d brought something else.

“Hold out your hand please,” I asked her. As she spread out her little palm, I placed a white, shiny shell in the center of it. Her eyes lit up – she loved shells.

“This shell represents God’s love for you – God loves you just as you are.”

Although uncomfortable at first – we’d never done something like this – she eventually smiled. I shared personal stories about how it’s hard for me to believe God sometimes. She nodded as though she agreed. We repeated the exercise with all seven shells I’d brought home, each one representing a promise from God over her life.

When the wiggles hit, I’d hit the limit on her attention span so I let her run off to play. I unzipped my suitcase, small traces of sand fell out and reminded me of the shore. Warmth filled my heart; I yearned for more “me time” in the future. More time to spend intentional time with God. Because with Him, I wasn’t broken. Because of Him, I’d been made whole. And now I saw exactly how to teach my daughter that she is whole, too.