A few days ago, we took a quick trip to the mall. It was my wife, Thy, our daughter Raeleigh, Royce, and me. We all walked into the mall, each of us on our own two feet. Doesn’t sound like a big deal, but for us, it was practically a parade.

Royce doesn’t normally walk on his own for long stretches. But lately, he insists on practicing his new skill. He’s getting good at it, wobbly but determined, like a baby giraffe who’s pretty sure he belongs in the Olympics.

On top of that, some new medication has helped keep my arthritis inflammation a little more controlled. And I’ve been working hard at significant weight loss, which has made mobility a bit easier on my good days. So that day, I walked into the mall with just my cane, no wheelchair, no scooter, just me and my cane.

Just getting to be part of the adventure was huge to me. I didn’t have to sit the trip out in the van while my family went in without me.

---

Once inside, Royce and Raeleigh headed to one store while Thy and I went to another. Then we met up in the middle, and I parked it on a bench while Royce toddled around on his leash.

He tried to stand on his head. He sat on the floor like he’d just moved in. He took off one shoe and tried to hurl it into a passing crowd. We collected the shoe and put it back on. He had the best time exploring at his own speed, without anyone having to sprint after him. And honestly, it also gave me a chance to listen to my body and take a breather on that bench.

And that day, everyone around us gave kind smiles and looks that said, Aww, isn’t he cute?

---

Of course, Royce was wearing his little red fox backpack leash, the same one he wears at parks and anywhere else that could double as a toddler obstacle course. It’s a sturdy canvas pack with bright red ears and a sweet fox face. There’s no long tail, just a simple leash that clips onto the bottom where a tail might be. He loves it. I love it. It keeps him safe and lets him feel like he’s big and independent.

Plus, he gets to carry his own snacks, which is pretty much his definition of living the dream.

---

But I know not all parents appreciate leashes. And maybe for them, they aren’t needed. Maybe these parents have endless energy, or maybe their kids aren’t neurodivergent little explorers. That’s not my reality. As a disabled parent, those backpack leashes are pure gold.

Every so often, though, someone shoots us a look. Or mutters under their breath. And when Raeleigh was little, someone actually yelled at me:

“It’s a child, not a dog!”

I get it. Before I had kids(or before I had these kids) I probably would have thought the same thing. A leash? On a child? It sounded absurd.

---

Until I became the mom (and the aunt) who was constantly out and about with two toddlers; Raeleigh and my nephew Sylas.

They were barely two when they decided they were done with the stroller. They wanted to walk. They wanted to explore. But they also wanted to run—in opposite directions, of course. I needed a way to keep them safe, let them have some freedom, and stay sane all at once. Enter the backpack leash.

It wasn’t about control. It was about freedom; both for them and for me. The freedom for them to toddle along and see the world. The freedom for me to know they wouldn’t vanish into traffic while I blinked.

---

Fast forward to today, and here we are again. Royce is a blur of curly hair, laughter, and fierce determination. He’s fearless, fast, and curious enough to qualify as his own search party. He’s the kid who sees a lake and wants to run right in. He’s so curious that he will wander off in the split second I take to talk to one of the other kids.

And I’m a mom who lives with chronic illness and a disability. I can’t physically chase a toddler across a field; or, let’s be honest, a food court. The backpack leash isn’t a punishment, it’s a tool. A way for him to safely explore and for me to breathe a little easier.

---

But here’s what’s been on my mind lately: it’s not just about the backpack leash. It’s about how quickly we all, myself included, can judge someone else’s choices without knowing the full story.

Because sometimes:

• The toddler in the harness is wearing it because his mom physically can’t run.
• The child melting down in Target might be autistic and overwhelmed by bright lights and crowds.
• The kid who eats crackers for every meal might have sensory food aversions.
• The parent handing over a screen at dinner might just desperately need five minutes of quiet so they don’t cry into their pasta.

And sometimes people are just… different from us. Different values. Different priorities. Different experiences. That doesn’t automatically make them wrong.

---

One of the hardest lessons I’ve learned as a parent, and as a human, is that there’s rarely just one “right way” to do things. Life is messier and more nuanced than that. And honestly? It’s a better place when we make room for those nuances.

So, yes. I walk with my child on a backpack leash sometimes, a sturdy little canvas fox, no less. And if you don’t want to use one for your child, that’s okay. Truly. We can still smile at each other at the playground. We can still share a bench at the park. We can still be kind.

Because our kids are always watching. And I want mine to grow up knowing that even when we don’t agree with someone else’s choices, we can still lead with compassion.

Thanks for walking this journey with me; leashes and all.

🌿❤️
Mimi