Two years ago, my daughter, Jordan, was in the outskirts of Marrakech in Morocco with a group of 15 Amazigh girls from the High Atlas Mountains. Displaced after a recent earthquake, they were in a temporary dorm, just a small house, but it was all they had available to them. My daughter was leading a yoga teacher training program through her nonprofit — one that she built herself from the ground up when she was 26.
“How hot is it?” I ask while sitting at my desk in Los Angeles, frantically putting together a fundraising plea for the charity I founded for a matted poodle mix with a broken leg. He was hit by a car, and one of our rescue volunteers just saved him and rushed him to our vets.
“44 Celsius, Mom, and no fans. Cell phone cutting out,” she shares.
I quickly Google the Fahrenheit conversion and learn that it’s about 111 degrees.
“Oh no!” I gasp.
“Texting you Hamza’s number. Nice guy. He’ll help,” she says.
“On it!” I yell, but she’s gone.
This is the path my daughter and I have chosen. We are both founders of our own nonprofits. Our roller coaster lives are filled with daily problem-solving and never-ending stress. I’m proud of the person my daughter has become, but now I sometimes wonder if I should have pushed her in a different direction.
I’m always ready to help
It was a cool 69 degrees where I was in Santa Monica, yet my whole body suddenly felt blazing hot. As mothers, we are always split in two, immersed in our own lives, but also wherever our children are, even if it’s on the other side of the world.
Within an hour of connecting with my daughter, I reached Hamza in Marrakesh, arranged for six large fans to be delivered C.O.D. by morning, and am laser-focused on raising $4,200 needed for the emergency pup who’s already in surgery.
That night, as I feed my current pack of rescue dogs, I ask myself the push-pull, ever-pervasive question: Should I have encouraged my daughter to choose something more stable and secure, but less noble?
I was raised in apartheid South Africa. My parents left with their three daughters, without trying to change a system they hated. As a young adult in America, I suffered from terrible guilt. Why did we just walk away?
I wanted to model something different for my daughter
“Make a difference. Leave a footprint on the planet. Care about others,” was the mantra I later instilled in my only child as a single mother.
At the age of 9, Jordan, already passionate about causes, went off to protest to save spider monkeys, picketing with a sign.
When she was a teenager, I started rescuing dogs. Having always been a huge animal lover, all it took was saving one little Chihuahua to open my eyes to the plight of animals in need. My daughter saw how dramatically my life changed. Heels were replaced by flip-flops, hair appointments were sacrificed for vet visits, and gradually, mutts took the place of men. By the time she left for college, I had started my own dog rescue foundation.
My daughter often puts others first
My examples seemed to stick with her. During her sophomore year, Jordan studied abroad in Cambodia and volunteered at a school teaching English. It lit a fire that was already smoldering in her.
At 26, she founded Souljourn Yoga Foundation, raising funds for young women’s education globally through ethical yoga retreats and partnering with NGOs on the ground.
Now, over a decade later, I’ve witnessed the joys but also the struggles she’s experienced, many of which mirror my own.
How do we get more donors? Will that grant proposal be approved? Can we make it through the fiscal year? I lie awake at night and angst for us both.
I have mixed feelings now
People often say to us, “Thank goodness for angels like you!” But they don’t see the personal sacrifices behind those words. There’s the three major back surgeries I’ve had from lifting large dogs and heavy bags of food, and the five hours of sleep Jordan and I both average a night, consumed by our missions that neither of us can switch off, holding up our own heavens like Atlas, as it were.
But there are also nights when I lie in bed and cherish the magic moments. The 23 hours of air travel I took to hear the infectious, gleeful laughter of schoolchildren in Hikkaduwa, Sri Lanka, as they stretched their arms high in a yoga posture they had never done before. The glow I felt watching my daughter lead them, encouraging them to reach for the sky.
And recently, I received a text from the adopter of that injured poodle-mix we named Romeo. He’s now a healthy, fluffy, racing-around pup who is loved and adored.
These are the riches that cannot be counted in dollars or measured by a bank balance.
Yet, with rising costs, declining funding, and the future of many small nonprofits uncertain, I grapple daily with the question as her mother: Should I have encouraged my daughter to choose a paycheck over passion and purpose? These days, I’m not so sure I know the answer.
