I love Sir Terry Pratchett. If you have not had the great fortune of reading any of his works, do yourself a favor and add him to your 2026 TBR.

I particularly have a fondness for his Tiffany Aching series. I have listened to the series narrated by Stephen Briggs so many times that I have lost count. What I love about rereading books is catching new ideas, meanings, and plot devices each time.

I also seek the comfort of familiar books like a warm, weighted blanket on cold, dark days. My recent grief over my dear friend, followed by the passing of a beloved family cat, brought me right back to the powerful magic in the Tiffany Aching series.

Not the showy magic of sparkles and metamorphosed objects. Terry Pratchett’s witches roll up their sleeves and learn the most powerful magic in the universe: helping others.

I lose myself in the trials and errors of well-rounded, flawed characters who both teach and learn difficult life lessons. I allow myself to laugh at the heroically hilarious behavior of the Nac Mac Feegles.

I let the witches teach me, again and again. Because I could always use a refresher, I could always learn something new.

In Wintersmith (the third book), Granny Weatherwax takes a hot teacup in one hand and Tiffany’s hand in the other. She then warms Tiffany’s hand by siphoning the warmth from the cup. Tiffany is astonished and wishes to know how this magic is performed.

Granny explains, “It’s all about balance […]. You’ve ridden on a seesaw? One end goes up, one end goes down. But the bit in the middle […] that stays where it is. Upness and downness go right through it.” She then tells Tiffany she could learn the magic if she could “get [her] mind right.” (Chapter 2)

I’ve listened to this story multiple times. I’ve heard Granny Weatherwax explaining this method to Tiffany dozens of times. But this time I was driving on an errand and I was overwhelmed with an undertsanding and clarity that brought tears.

I have mentioned on my channels a few losses my family and I have gone through. My two miscarraiges after my daugther in 2018/2019. And then, recently, the loss of my dear friend in November. And then our sweet family cat in January.

One stark difference I have felt in our more recent losses compared to the earlier ones is my daughter’s age of understanding; and therefore, her depth of expressed grief.

I knew there would be battles of independance. I knew my important and extremely difficult role in helping her shape her selfworth. I knew there would be injuries and sickness that would worry me ragged until she recovered. I thought I had both eyes wide opened when we made the decision to be parents. And I spend a great deal of time reading as many parenting books as I can.

But I cannot say I was prepared for the unfathomable pain of my child’s grief.

(And to all concerned, we are in therapy.)

The insight Granny Weatherwax taught me as she taught Tiffany was something so simple, yet so profoundly complex.

Be the Middle the Upness and Downess go through.

Don’t move with the up and down.

Instead of the snowball atop the cliff gathering layers as it spirals downard; becomig heavier and harder to manage, allow the movement to move THROUGH me.

I do not need to bear it.

I need to help her bear it.

By being the solid Middle that her Upness and Downess can move through.

And I cannot do that if my own mind is not right.

The middle of the seesaw only works if it is grounded.

The seesaw only works if the middle does not move. And the middle only stays still if it is grounded.

Of course all those parenting books have said something extremely similar. You have to work on YOU before you can work on anyone else. You have to ground yourself to withstand the whirlwind that is being a parent.

Yes, I am sure that’s all been said before. But I suppose it never fully lodged itself into my overlycrowded brain.

Until now.

Until Granny Weatherwax calmly and patiently laid it all out for me – again.

And now I have the vision of being the center of a seesaw to help me.

This is not to say I am no longer caring. This is not to say I can now ignore her grief.

This is to say I now finally understand what it means to let it move through me.

It is not mine to bear. I cannot take it from her. Nor should I. I must let her learn to process and heal in the best, most healthy way possible.

To be grounded. To not move in the howling wind.

To understand in order for the seesaw to work as it is intended, it must have its Upness and Downess. It must move. It must have the up and the down and the down and the up.

To enjoy a sunny afternoon with laughter and a friend, the seesaw must work. The up and the down are free to move. The middle is grounded. The highs and lows and the squeals of laughter. The highs and lows and the possible splinter. The highs and lows and the sun lifting spirits. The highs and lows and the clouds rolling in.