Courtney McKee, a stellar mom, entrepreneur, and all-around human being, writes about the power of a recent note she penned to her daughter, Tuesday.

I’m lucky enough to be Mom to two incredible kiddos, one of whom hubby and I made and one of whom we adopted. Our son, Cooper, became ours the old fashioned way. He’s 14 now, and is a high school freshman. Our daughter Tuesday is 20 and became ours at age 8 when her mom, my sister, died unexpectedly. My heart swells with joy as those two get along beautifully together. I couldn’t have asked for my kids to love each other more.

Parenting in the age of technology is fraught with challenge, from having to talk to them about what is and is not okay to share online, to learning that, as they get older, they get a say in what I can share online about them, and all of the other complexities of easy access and little control. Add in the immediacy of communication, emojis, abbreviations, slang...it becomes challenging, quickly, to feel like the volume of communication is creating more meaningful connections. I believe part of this is truly about the changes in communication tools, and part may simply be that I’m older than I once was.

Recently, during a Sugar & Kiki letter writing workshop, I thought about my family. Tuesday has moved out of our family home and is learning some additional independence for herself, which is exciting to watch. It also feels challenging. Am I hovering? Am I too removed? Did she remember to pay each of her bills this month? Is she eating a well-balanced diet? And, as we don’t see her on a daily basis, many of my text messages to her (the easiest avenue for ensuring a response) are often about things that feel like deliverables, rather than moments for joy or celebration. Though the types of communication we utilize in our family may be efficient (daytime texts and face to face family dinners), they don’t include Tuesday anymore. Meaning the majority of what she hears me say, which may differ from what I mean, might feel like barking orders or being demanding. And though those items are important, that’s not the tone I want to be setting. Moment to moment, the things I’m generally asking about may be urgent but may not be truly important. I realized, sitting in that workshop, I had a beautiful opportunity to make time to say what’s truly important. So I decided to write a love letter to my daughter.

I told her how proud I am of her. I told her that I see her learning to define herself as a person and how beautiful her efforts are. I also acknowledged that I don’t tell her that I truly see her as much as I actually do. And I shared with her that I know her birth mom would be as proud of her as I am.

The most challenging part of writing the letter was stepping back from the normal tasks I do in my day to reflect on what I generally say and how that compares to what I truly mean. There’s a gap between the two and the letter I wrote to Tues was designed to bridge that gap and give her a peek into my heart. I gave it to her the next time she came for dinner and she loved it. I received a big hug and a “Thank you, Mama. That’s really sweet.”

I’m not sure if she appreciated reading it as much as I appreciated giving myself the opportunity to reflect on her and the young woman she’s becoming. I loved making a few minutes to simply consider Tues and what the last 12 years of our lives together have been like. More than that, I appreciated creating an opportunity to cut through the noise of daily life and make sure I’m saying what I mean, not just what I think needs to be said. Yes, we need to pay our bills and remember to wish our grandparents a happy anniversary. More than that, we need to hear that we’re loved. That we’re seen. That we’re precious.