Dear Daughter, You Are So Much More Than Your Resume

Darling Girl,

Your whole life I have watched and cheered as you have participated in sports, taken music lessons, joined clubs, volunteered for charities, and served on committees. I’ve enjoyed seeing your enthusiasm for each new activity. In a way, your busy life has allowed me to relive some of my own memories from high school and college—back when I was young and eager to sign up for the next new thing.

Yet, I worry

There is something much more intentional and more strategic about the way your generation pursues many of its extracurricular activities. You aren’t just trying new things. You’re building a resume.

You are more than your resume



You’re building a resume to showcase your unique skills and varied interests. You’re building a resume to stand out on your college applications and to land competitive scholarships. You’re building a resume because, for your generation, your entire lives have been about having a passion and standing out.

From parental expectations to college requirements, my generation has made sure yours knows the importance of finding and showcasing “your thing.” For your generation, your resume defines you.

Except that it doesn’t. Not even close.

Darling Girl, you are so much more than your resume.

You are not defined by how many championships you’ve won or how many clubs you’ve joined

You are not your GPA or your ACT score. You are not your rank in your high school class or a college acceptance letter.

You, my child, are so much more than anything that can be bullet pointed in 12 point font, single spaced.

You, are 10 pounds 3 ounces of joy, pushing your way into the world on sunny August morning

You are a baby sister and a big sister. Your father’s delight. Your mama’s joy.

You are tiptoeing into our bedroom in the middle of the night—flailing arms, a stealer of covers.

You are feet in my face at 2:00 a.m. and sweet snuggles before dawn.

You are a princess, a dragon, a cowgirl, a yellow duck, a rock star. You are snow boots and fairy wings.

You are an emergency appendectomy

You are ballet, jazz, and tap.

You are biscuits and gravy on a Sunday morning, chicken pot pie, and Nutella by the spoonful.

You are your brother’s partner in crime. Your sister’s best friend. Your cousins’ summertime companion

You are your grandmother’s good taste and your grandfather’s knack for trying new things. Her favorite song. His baby girl.

You are girls’ weekends and family movie nights. Trips to the beach. A hike in the mountains.

You are dry wit and a sophisticated sense of humor. You are silly dance moves and goofy faces.

You are laughter. You are a keeper of secrets. A teller of stories.  The most longing of all my children.

You are baptized and confirmed. A reluctant visitor to the confessional. A child of God, loved into existence.

You are trying new things. Moving on.

Ready to fly.

You, Sweet Girl, are precious to us.

No, you are not your accomplishments. You are not your resume.

You are so much more than you know and so much more than I know—because you are still becoming who you are meant to be.

And that can’t be put on a resume.


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About Laura Hanby Hudgens

Laura Hanby Hudgens is a part-time high school teacher and a freelance writer living with her husband and children in the Arkansas Ozarks. Her work has appeared in The Huffington Post, The Washington Post, Grown and Flown, and elsewhere. You can learn more about her at Charming Farming, where she occasionally blogs about faith, food, education, and family life.

Read more posts by Laura

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