As a parent, I will do anything to protect the body, mind, and soul of each of my children—but there aren’t seatbelts for the internal rollercoaster they are on. There aren’t helmets to block the mindless content that distracts them from schoolwork and relationships. There aren’t band-aids that stop the internal bleeding and heal their hurt overnight. There aren’t vitamins that protect them from the viruses of insecurity, self-doubt, and sadness. Their lives are stories waiting to unfold, and in many ways, I am so powerless to help write the bad things out of those stories and keep only the good plotlines.

As a mom of a newborn and a 2-year-old, I once said aloud to a room of peers, “Guys, these are the hard years…it’s all downhill from here.” The room erupted in laughter. How sweetly naive of me. In those days, I had control over the greatest threats to my kids. Less so today. And here’s the cruel irony…I love them more and have less influence than ever.

There’s no handbook for raising teenagers…in a way, they raise you at the same time you’re raising them. You’re learning on the fly…taking wrong turns, hitting walls, retreating, asking forgiveness, trying a new approach, and praying desperately “Please God, show me the dangers in their path.”

These sweet newborns I film and photograph are entire stories waiting to unfold—just like my own children. Every child is a page-turner. Not every page will be easy for their parents to read…the important thing is to read those hard pages with compassion…to instill hope in a Grace that grants new beginnings…and to fight their demons like a mother.