Having a daughter means at some point, the princess dresses and coloring books give way to softball uniforms and cellphones. The mailbox once full of Justice coupons and American Girl magazines is now overflowing with college fliers and letters — all vying for the attention of my intelligent, empathetic, and fiercely independent daughter.

She’s a junior in high school right now, and her future is just on the horizon. We’re starting to look at colleges and explore her options. I watch as she gets excited about college and the future she gets to create for herself.

But I’m struggling.

As I try to remain present and soak in this transition, I’m fighting a war with myself — specifically, the version of me at her age.

Seeing my daughter preparing to step into a time in her life that I regret is suffocating

During a recent college visit, I found myself aching for the loss of the young me who had a head full of dreams. I thought back to when I was 17, facing similar pressure to make the right choice. But that choice was crushing me.

I felt like I had to do the right thing, make my family proud, behave the right way, avoid the wrong people, and fulfill the expectations thrust upon me. In other words, I had to be the perfect daughter, sister, friend, student, and woman.

As I toured colleges as a teen, I was so worried about making everyone else around me happy that I often found myself sinking into the quicksand of guilt.

When I started college, I made decisions that I now wish I could go back and fix

Since I was little, I wanted to go to UCLA; I wanted the bright lights of Hollywood and the promises of a dreamy California coast.

By the time college admissions rolled around, however, things had changed. I lived in Florida, and my tiny, private high school successfully scared me into thinking that I would fail miserably at a large state school on the other side of the country. So I opted for a small, private university a couple of hours away, and I went home every weekend to work and visit my family.

I enjoyed my time at college and the people I met. But I do regret the limitations that the school placed on me. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have gone home every weekend; it only kept me in a bubble that I needed to desperately break out of.

These choices were based on what was expected of me. No one told me back then that moving forward in life requires us to leave things, people, ideas, and beliefs behind. We’re meant to grow and find new lives from the shadows and ashes of our previous ones.

While some measure of it is inescapable, the regret still clings to me. Now, at 46, with more life behind me than ahead, regret is more about the choices I didn’t make — of the dreams I didn’t chase.

Luckily, now I am chasing those dreams. I’m writing, just like I always wanted. I may have waited a long time to go after the thing that lights my soul on fire, but I’m finally doing it.

I want my daughter to know that she doesn’t have to wait 20 years to chase after what she really wants

I want her to step forward, knowing that time is fleeting, but regret is infinite.

So as my daughter gets ready to make her first big life change, my overwhelming emotions are about more than her leaving home. It’s about making sure she understands this college-decision process is about her — not about what everyone else wants for her.

To my beautiful, brilliant daughter, I say this: Live less afraid of disappointing others and move forward on your terms. Stay safe but don’t lose your sense of adventure. Don’t ever stop chasing the life you want. It’s never too late or too early to find and follow your passion.