There I was—just trying to make a quick stop at Meijer. You know, in and out for one thing and somehow walking out fifty-six dollars later with two candles, a snack I absolutely did not need, and a throw pillow that whispers fall—even though was May at the time.
But before all that damage to my bank account was done, nature called. I ducked into the bathroom, took my spot in the stall, and settled in for 30 seconds of quiet when I heard it.
A voice—bright, urgent, and brimming with enthusiasm:
“Let me hear you tinkle! Tinkle, tinkle! Drip, drip!”
Now listen. I’m not proud of what happened next.
Because I lost it. Not loudly, but silently—painfully—the kind of laugh where your body shakes and you can’t breathe because the only thing holding it in is the social contract that says you should not, under any circumstances, snort-laugh in public restrooms.
Through the stall wall, I could just imagine what other shoppers might be thinking if they didn’t hear the soft little toddler voice that responded. Thank goodness the kid chimed in with, “I did it!” Because otherwise, this was going to be a very different kind of story. And not one I’d ever write down. But once I composed myself and washed my hands (while still trying to hide my smirk), I kept thinking about that mom.
She was all in. Not halfway. Not whispering. Not embarrassed. She was cheering her child on like they had just invented indoor plumbing. And here’s the thing—to that child, they kind of had.
The Celebration Gap
It got me thinking about how much of adulthood feels like we’re doing hard things in silence. Tiny victories with no parades. No applause. No sticker chart for showing up when we’d rather crawl back under the covers.
As a mom of two college-aged kids, I’ve crossed the finish line on the potty training years. I’ve logged the late nights and soggy sheets and grocery-store emergencies that end in hushed whispers and panicked sprints to public restrooms. I’ve also survived the teen years and the college move-ins and the moments where you question every decision you’ve ever made since birth. But even now—especially now—I’m reminded that the little things are still the big things.
So why don’t we celebrate them?
Why don’t we call our partner into the room when we fold the laundry right after the dryer finishes, like “LOOK WHAT I DID!” Or text a friend with a proud selfie after calling the insurance company and surviving it without screaming? Why don’t we get gold stars for updating the budget, renewing the car tags, or actually opening the mail when it’s just bills and junk?
The truth is, grown-up victories rarely come with theme music. Nobody gives you a standing ovation for paying the electric bill on time, or for finally calling the dentist to schedule that appointment you’ve rescheduled four times. No crowd cheers when you show up to work on a Monday after a hard weekend, or when you make a home-cooked meal instead of grabbing takeout again.
There’s no applause for choosing the high road. No balloon drop for cleaning out your inbox. No confetti when you answer that awkward email with professionalism instead of sarcasm.
You just do it and keep going, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth cheering for.
Potty Training, Shame, and Becoming a Grown-Up
Here’s what else struck me: that kid had zero shame. She wasn’t apologizing for needing encouragement. She didn’t feel silly about being celebrated. She didn’t second-guess whether she was worthy of the praise.
And that mom? She didn’t hold back, either. She didn’t say, “You should have done that already.” She didn’t roll her eyes or rush the moment. She celebrated what was. She honored progress.
When do we unlearn that? When do we start tying our worth to our performance instead of our effort?
It’s somewhere in the slow slide from childhood to adulthood that we start whispering instead of cheering. We start judging instead of applauding. We start believing we’re only allowed to be proud if it looks perfect. And I’ll be honest—I’m just now learning to unlearn that in my 40s.
Parenting, Marriage, and the Art of Noticing
That bathroom moment reminded me how much our relationships—especially parenting and marriage—are shaped by what we choose to notice.
We can notice what’s wrong, or we can notice what’s growing. We can call out the mess, or we can celebrate the progress. We can shame, or we can say: “Hey, I see you and I’m proud.”
I’ve done both. I’ve been the mom who lost her cool and the wife who got passive-aggressive. I’ve also been the mom who sent “just because” texts and the partner who left Post-its on mirrors and kissed a forehead during a hard season without needing words.
But I’ve never once regretted celebrating someone else’s progress. I’ve only ever regretted being too tired, too frustrated, or too distracted to notice it.
A Tiny Practice for the Big Things
So I’m trying something new. When I feel the urge to rush or critique or skip over the small stuff, I’m asking myself: What would bathroom mom do? Would she cheer? Would she make it fun? Would she clap and say, “Drip, drip!” like it mattered?
Because honestly, it does matter. The way we show up in the tiny moments becomes the way we shape the big ones. When we treat progress like it’s worth noticing, people start to believe they’re worth noticing, too. And isn’t that what we all need? A little more joy in the journey. A little more grace in the process. A little more noise in the quiet places where people are quietly doing hard things.
So, whether you’re potty training a toddler or housebreaking the voice in your head that keeps peeing on your confidence, maybe the practice is the same: Notice the effort. Celebrate the win. Keep clapping, even when it feels silly.
You never know who’s listening from the stall next to you.
Rachel L. Richard is a small-town farm girl turned suburbanite, a delightfully irreverent optimist, Mrs & Mama, floppy dog ear scratcher, lifelong learner, channel surfer, wanderer, believer, occasional creative, out-of-practice musician, cupcake addict, book devourer, and lover of all people.
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