By Eve Bell

We got married in Italy.

And for a country famous for love and grand romantic gestures, the wedding vows were surprisingly practical. I remember reading them for the first time and being a bit disappointed at how unromantic they were.

No poetry. No promises of eternal love. They were more like a job description. All about how we would care for the children we were yet to have. And how we would provide and look after them. But the vows were vowed and a great day was had.

It wasn’t until years later when I thought about them. Something must have jogged my memory. So I looked at them and somehow, there was a vow that I was living every day. It was the guiding principle of my parenting:

“The wedding imposes on both spouses, the duty of supporting, raising and educating their children, keeping in mind their natural abilities, their inclinations and aspirations.”

Like most parents, I felt like I was just winging it. For someone who reads anything and everything, I didn’t read any parenting books. I was just using my instinct knowing that I wanted to raise children who knew themselves. And could be themselves within the boundaries of our family values. It allowed them to show me who they were.

This led to me scouting eBay for every piece of sports equipment known to man, as my son went all in one different sport after another. He finally settled on golf. He’s always been precise. Screaming blue murder because my husband put a horn in the wrong place on a triceratops in his dinosaur era. That precision is serving him well now, as he makes strides on his path to work in the golf industry.

 My daughter loved dolls and playing house. But I will always see her as a little girl playing school in her Elsa costume. Telling teddy bears off for being naughty. For years I was certain she’d be a teacher. Now, at 15, she wants to be a football journalist. She has a strategy and an action plan for how she is going to get there. She has a very clear vision. They both have.

And then there’s me.

I’m turning 50 this year. And I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.

I’ve spent nearly two decades guiding them, often without realising I was doing it. Not pushing or shaping. Just walking alongside, noticing what lit them up. Then quietly backing it. That vow about supporting their natural abilities, their inclinations, their aspirations. It shaped how I mother without me even noticing.

And now, with one in first year at college and one just a couple of months away from finishing school, I can feel that part of my life shifting. The calendar isn’t filled with school events anymore. I’ve had my last ever parents evening and there are no more last-minute food tech ingredients to prepare.

I’m approaching a new season of parenting. They’re walking their paths now. They still need me to walk beside them, just in a quieter, less hands-on way.

So here I am, still walking too – but unsure where I’m going.

If you scrolled through my phone, you might think I was an avid signpost collector. It’s full of photos from my walks – signs pointing left, right, or onwards. I’ve always been drawn to them. Maybe it’s their clarity. The way they offer direction without drama. Maybe it’s because I’ve been looking for something, too. A sign. A sense of my own way forward. I’d never really thought about it until now. But maybe it’s because I’ve been searching for my path.

I always thought I’d be a teacher. Maybe I still will be. Or a librarian. I have a little library. Just not borrowers. I’ve been so many things already, but I can feel something new trying to emerge. Something that belongs only to me.

Maybe it’s time I hold those vows a little closer to myself now.

To support my natural abilities. To pay attention to my inclinations and aspirations. To notice what I’m drawn to. Not because it’s useful or needed by someone else, but simply because it’s what turns on a little light inside me.

I don’t know exactly what path I’m on, or where it’s heading. But I know how to walk beside someone with care. I’ve done it for years. And maybe now, it’s my turn to be gently guided.

To walk slowly. To listen in. To follow what feels right.

To honour the same vow. But this time, for me.