I’m working on my book Project Empty Nest, a stage of life I’m rebranding as the “open-door” stage.

As I always do, as I write, I’m trying to spot the Secrets of Adulthood that I’ve learned as a parent.

One of my most important secrets is to remember that my children live in the sunshine of my love. This realization came to me in a low moment.

I have a deep dislike of tattoos, and everyone in my family knows that—and then Eliza, who was then about 24 years old, got a tattoo. She told me over the phone, and although I felt tremendous dismay, I pictured something delicate and easily hidden. Then she came over to our apartment and I saw her arm with a big, bold tattoo. 

I tried to hide my shocked reaction until she left, then I fell apart. “It’s forever!” I wailed to my husband, Jamie. “She’ll regret it. It’s so awful, it’s so big. I can’t even look at it.”

“So many people have tattoos,” he said. “To many people, this is no big deal.”

“Obviously I know that,” I snapped. “But it’s a huge deal for me!” 

“Get hold of yourself, remember what’s important,” he said quietly. “Don’t let this get in the way of your relationship.”

The minute he said it, I knew he was right, and I calmed down in an instant. That moment clarified a value for me and has shaped my actions ever since. My daughters live in the sunshine of my love.

I remind myself that nothing can cloud my love; nothing can come between me and my daughters and cast a shadow.

The fact for our parents is that it’s very likely that our children will reject or be indifferent to something important to us—whether religion or Radiohead. The warmth of our relationship matters more than any one disagreement.

I feel this truth with all my heart, and even manage to live up to it, though I still have to avert my eyes from the tattoo—I don’t even know exactly what it is, because I can’t bring myself to look at it. Plus last year, Eliza got a second tattoo, on her other arm.