Skating Between Control and Freedom: Learning to Move with, Not Against, the Chaos

In a flash, the empty ice rink was overrun. School kids–some skating confidently, others wobbling on unsteady legs–transformed the frozen surface into a swirling frenzy of tag, tumbles, and the occasional skater proudly showing off their hard-practiced moves.

It was a sharp contrast to the era of skating I grew up with. When we were young, skating had rules. One direction only, switch when the attendant blew the whistle. You stayed out of each other’s way, gave space to those who needed it. But these kids? They were everywhere, zig-zagging, careening, reveling in their lack of boundaries.

At first, I caught myself trying to impose some order. A polite suggestion to one child—"Kicking your blade in the air while belly-sliding across the ice might hurt someone”—was met with a shrug and a skitter away. It felt like watching myself age in real time. I wanted their chaos to conform, not because it was inherently wrong, but because it made me uneasy. It was loud, unstructured, and unpredictable—a mirror to my own discomfort with letting go.

It hit me that these kids don’t want me shouting out rules or trying to steer the chaos—they want me to skate confidently, be there when they need me, and otherwise mind my own business.

The next day, I read an essay by Miranda Featherstone on my go-to blog, Cup of Jo. Her writing always strikes a chord, and this time was no different. In her piece, A Motherhood Realization I Had While Ice Skating, she reflects on her daughter’s fearlessness on the ice, her own internal conflict about whether to rein her in, and the delicate balance between teaching awareness of others and allowing space to take up the world with confidence. “What I want for both of them,” she writes, “is to master a balancing act, to be tenuous but not unsteady on two thin blades: take up space, while also allowing space for others.”

After reading this, I looked back at that version of me dodging kids on the ice and thought—I need to practice being steady. Not just for my child, but for myself.

It’s a strange, inevitable shift: one day, you realize you are both the steady presence and the child still learning to skate. You are the parent while still needing to be parented. The business owner who thrives in deep conversations with clients, yet still needs a coach to help navigate the path ahead.

I’ll be back on the ice next week, moving with the chaos instead of resisting it, learning as much from the kids as they might from me. In the days between, I’ll be parenting and Coaching, figuring out what it means to evoke awareness without shrinking, to make space for others without disappearing myself. I want my child to move boldly, but not recklessly—to skate fast, but with care. And I want the same for myself.