Exactly nine years ago, I facilitated a leadership training with my baby beside me.
Last Thursday, that same baby asked if she could join me on stage.
Nine years ago
My husband could only stay for the first two days. On the last day, he had to return to work and I knew I would be alone with my daughter and a full leadership program to run.
So I did what many women do: I found a way.
I planned the sessions around breastfeeding breaks. During the final morning session, I included her in the experience. While the young participants were reflecting, she was calmly there — quietly part of it all.
Yesterday
Yesterday, nine years later, I was speaking to nearly 100 seniors from another generation about resilience and emotions.
And this time, my older daughter — the same baby from that leadership training — asked if she could participate.
I said yes.
I had just explained Dan Newby's definition of acceptance: 'It is so, even though I might not agree, endorse it or like it.'
My daughter raised her hand and said she knew exactly what that meant.
At school, she explained, sometimes she wants to play one game and the other children want something different.
'So I accept,' she said. 'Because playing is more important than not playing.'
Sometimes children live acceptance in ways adults are still learning. And I thought to myself — that might be one of the clearest explanations of acceptance I have heard.
Under the table
When she wasn't on stage, she was under the table — holding my dress. Watching me speak.
Later, she described me as 'dancing on the stage while talking about emotions.' And yes — in the middle of all of this, I had forgotten my high heels back home. So there I was, facilitating in my flat shoes.
Turns out, you don't need heels to stand tall. 😅
The next day
The next day, she gave a presentation at school to about 40 students — about Switzerland. And she owned the stage.
'Mami, I asked them how many presidents they think Switzerland has. Some said 1 — I said more. Others said 10 — I said less. Someone said 6 — I said more. Someone said 8 — I said less. And then three of them shouted at the same time: Seven!'
In that moment, she was using exactly the facilitation skills she had watched the day before.
And I realized something.
Legacy
Sometimes leadership is not only what we teach.
It's what our children quietly observe over the years — while sitting in the room, holding our dress, watching us do what we care deeply about.
Maybe that is also part of legacy.
The people who shaped us. The passion our children witness. The courage they develop to step onto their own stage... often without us even realizing we were teaching.
What is something the next generation may be learning just by watching you?