At their core, world-class athletes are iron-willed, determined and focused.

Give me a goal, set me up with a plan, and I will focus relentlessly on the objective. That mentality helped me endure endless hours of staring at a black line on the bottom for of a swimming pool year after year after year. That laser-like focus allowed me to push myself harder and to keep myself accountable.

Ask most successful athletes, and they’ll tell you the one thing that sets them apart: When it comes to competition, there is no gray area; everything is black or white. There is winning and then there is losing; there is no in between.

Swimmers are perhaps slightly different because time matters just as much as winning, if not more. I didn’t win gold during every Olympic race in which I competed, but I did manage to set an American record (twice!) in “defeat.”

Ultimately, though, being the best requires every ounce of your determination, virtually all of your time, and and the sacrifice of normal, everyday pleasures that most people take for granted. For the lucky ones, determination is rewarded with success.

For a majority of my life, defining myself was easy: swimmer, competitor, winner, champion. Many of the opportunities that I have been afforded are directly attributable to my success as an athlete. After all, most people remember me as the girl who won four medals for the U.S. in Barcelona in 1992. And until about a decade ago, that was perfectly fine by me.

Then… everything changed.

The day was April 21, 2006, but I remember it like it was yesterday. Some 30+ hours earlier, with something called a “birth plan” clenched in hand, I had checked into the maternity ward to deliver my first child. The fact that I was trying to plan every detail of giving birth wasn’t much of a surprise to those who knew me. I was used to being in control, and becoming a mom would be no different.

Little did I know.

I was in labor with my daughter for close to 40 hours. I had imagined the experience as something that warranted a certain setting — the right music, the right lighting, and crucially, no epidural. Giving birth was a big deal, and I wanted everything to be just right. Somewhere around 10 hours before she finally arrived, thoroughly exhausted, and probably a tad delirious, I had what some might call a “life moment.”

“Who the hell do I think I am?!,” I thought. “This isn’t MY birth. This is my little baby’s journey into the world, and she is going to do it her way.”

In that instant, I realized that giving birth would be monumentally harder than anything I had ever done in a pool; and concurrently, it became clear to me that I had to let go. All the drive, all the determination that had served me so well until that point, none of it was going to help me navigate what was about to happen.

So, I sat back, nodded for the doctor to administer the epidural, and symbolically tossed my crumpled birth plan onto the linoleum floor. Ten hours later, Skye Bella arrived, bringing with her the greatest joy and biggest challenge of my life.

Nine years later, not much has changed. Skye is still the boss (mostly), while I’ve continued to evolve from a headstrong, relentless athlete to a (mostly) flexible caregiver who knows when to give way. Don’t get me wrong, I control some things. Like putting her in her car seat, and … well, maybe only that.

My instincts in the delivery room were confirmed pretty early on. Babies don’t eat on mommy’s schedule or command; they eat when they are hungry. Babies don’t go to sleep when mommy wants them to; they go to sleep when they are tired (maybe). Babies don’t nap when mommy wants to exercise; sometimes it feels like they don’t nap at all!

Unlike the days when my life revolved around the strict order and routine of my training regiments, parenthood is more like slightly organized chaos. And that’s okay. I have come to realize my purpose is to make sure that my daughter has the love and support she needs to follow her dreams and achieve anything she sets her mind to.

As far as athletics, competition and that all-encompassing drive I mentioned earlier, it isn’t my place to instill those qualities in my daughter. She is going to have to chart her own course. If my efforts, actions and words are consistent enough, maybe, just maybe, I will able to steer her in the right direction from time to time.

And, as much as the competitor in me instinctually begs to control her and protect her from the various pitfalls of life, I can’t and won’t. I must put my hands in my pocket, bite my tongue, and grant her the opportunity to learn from her mistakes, build life skills, and discover who she is.

When people ask me how being an elite athlete helped me navigate the world of parenting, I am usually at a loss for words.

Sure, the long hours of training probably prepared me for the lack of sleep, but becoming a mom literally changed the way I was wired. There is no gold medal for being a good parent — though maybe there should be — and the moment a mom or dad realizes the significance of the life they’ve created is a game-changer.

That moment of birth taught me that winning isn’t everything, or the only thing — even if that’s what we’re led to believe.