Lessons from the Sky: What the Big Bear Eagles Taught Me About Parenting, Growth, and Letting Go

For the past three years, I’ve been quietly, and sometimes obsessively, watching the Big Bear eagle family, Jackie and Shadow, from afar. Their nest, perched high above Big Bear Lake, has become one of my favorite places to visit, even if only virtually.

This year, their eaglets Sunny and Gizmo pulled me in like never before. I’ve watched them hatch, stumble around the nest, stretch their wings, and test their limits - awkward, unsure, and determined. And through it all, I kept my eye on Jackie and Shadow. Because the way those two parent? It has drawn me in ways I didn’t expect.

Showing, Not Telling

Jackie and Shadow don’t do a lot of fussing. They aren’t overbearing or reactive. They model. They show up. They do their job and trust their babies to do theirs. As the eaglets have grown, I’ve seen the parents bring food to the nest and wait, letting Sunny and Gizmo fumble through figuring it out instead of rushing in to feed them.

It made me pause.

How often do we, as parents or partners or people who care deeply, step in too quickly? How often do we mistake helping for controlling? Watching Jackie and Shadow reminded me how powerful it is to lead by example and then step back, letting our people struggle a little so they can grow.

Letting Them Flap

There were moments when Sunny would flap her wings so hard I thought she might tumble right out of the nest. Jackie would watch with this quiet steadiness. She didn’t panic. She didn’t stop the flapping. She just stayed close.

That presence, the not-doing, but being, was such a reminder for me.

When you love someone who’s struggling, whether it’s addiction, mental health, or just figuring out who they are, your instinct is to protect them. But sometimes the most protective thing you can do is let them flap. Let them fail a little. Let them find their own rhythm.

The Slow, Quiet Work of Becoming

Some days, I’d check in on the nest cam and it would look like absolutely nothing was happening. Just stillness. But I’ve come to realize that the stillness is part of it. The waiting, the watching, the tiny invisible shifts, all of it matters.

Then one day, Sunny lifted off. Just like that. No warning, no big announcement. She just flew.

That moment choked me up because I know what it’s like to wait and wait and wonder if change is even happening, and then to see it all click into place. Recovery, growth, healing... it’s slow. It’s subtle. Until it’s not.

And here’s the beautiful contrast, Gizmo hasn’t flown yet. She’s still in the nest, still watching, still stretching and testing. And that’s okay. She’s doing it in her time, on her terms. Jackie and Shadow don’t rush her. They don’t compare her to Sunny. They just keep showing up, offering what’s needed, and trusting her process. Watching Gizmo take her time has reminded me how important it is to let each journey unfold in its own rhythm. Some take off early. Others take a little longer. Both are perfectly right.

More Than Just Birds

I know they’re eagles. But watching Jackie and Shadow has felt, at times, like watching the best version of what we all want to be, steadfast, present, quietly powerful. They don’t rescue, but they don’t abandon. They model. They trust. They believe in the messy, sacred process of becoming.

If you’re supporting someone who’s learning how to fly, whether they’re four or forty, maybe you needed this reminder as much as I did:

Stay close. Let them flap. Model the life you hope they grow into. And trust that even when you can’t see the change happening, it is.

I’d love to hear from you. What have you learned from nature, or from watching someone you love learn to stretch their wings?

With presence, purpose, and patience,

Lisa