September 23, 2026
Are You Sure?

On Mother’s Day in 2009, I flew to Cleveland to spend time with my mother. She was 96 years old and suffered from dementia. She lived in a nursing home near my sister.
When I walked into her room, I found her sitting on a chair. She wore a bright red sweater displaying a large Campbell Soup emblem. She had worked there for thirty years.
She didn’t recognize me, but she was happy to have a visitor.
I handed her a box of chocolates wrapped with a bright red ribbon. She loved chocolates. When she struggled with the ribbon, I told her, “Just pull the ribbon and open the box.”
She looked at me and asked, “Are you sure?”
Of all the things to remember, she held on to one of her favorite phrases.
I flashed back to when I was eight years old.
My mom would often ask, “Lenny, did you finish your homework?”
When I told her, “Yes,” she responded, “Are you sure?” Then she’d ask, “Did you finish your chores?”
It didn’t matter what I said because my mom double-checked everything with, “Are you sure?”
That was her way. Mind you, not the best way to build self-confidence in a little boy.
I grew up haunted by that question. Whenever I made a decision or believed what I had done was good enough, a voice inside me would ask, “Are you sure?”
I tried to overcome my self-doubt by working harder and driving myself to achieve. That helped me accomplish many things—writing books, building a therapy practice, and pursuing goals I cared about.
But no matter what I accomplished, the question remained. Are you sure?
During that visit with my mother, I was sure of one thing. She didn’t remember me. Yet, I still had to ask, “Do you know who I am?”
She nodded and smiled.
“What’s my name?”
With a twinkle in her eye, my mother said one word: “Accept.”
“Accept? Like, accept myself?”
She nodded and smiled.
I looked at her and said, “Are you sure?”
She smiled again.
Though my mother had dementia, in that moment, her soul spoke to me: “Accept.”
Perhaps that was the answer I had been searching for all those years. I didn’t need to accomplish more to prove I was good enough. I didn’t need to have all the answers or make all the right decisions. I needed to accept myself—the successes and failures, the strengths and shortcomings, the person I had been and the person I was still becoming.
Acceptance doesn’t mean we stop growing. It means we stop condemning ourselves while we grow.
All of us make mistakes. We fail. We fall short. But when we remain trapped in feelings of failure, inadequacy, or unworthiness, we stay imprisoned by the past.
Acceptance allows us to learn from our mistakes without allowing them to define us. And something else happens when we begin to accept ourselves. We become better able to open our hearts and accept other people—with all their differences and imperfections.
Before my mother passed away, I often told her, “Mom, I am sure of one thing. I love you.”
She would reach for my hand, squeeze it, nod, and smile.
Today, I pass her message on to you.
ACCEPT YOURSELF.
Can you accept yourself just the way you are?
Will you accept yourself?
ARE YOU SURE?







Aging is a curriculum we all must take. However, we will do everything in our power to avoid the lessons of aging. We may be trying to stay young, but we’re getting older each day. The actress Bette Davis once said, “Old age is not for sissies.” That may be true, but the curriculum of aging offers many lessons. 




