“Walking to School in the Rain: The Lesson That Hurt Me More Than It Hurt Him”

How letting my son fail taught me to stop yelling and start leading — at home and at work.

There are parenting moments that make you feel triumphant…

and then there are the moments that make you cry in the car on the way to work.

This is one of those.

For a while, mornings with Zack were… how do I put this delicately?

An Olympic-level test of patience.

Every. Single. Day.

Shoes disappeared into the void.

The backpack suddenly weighed 400 pounds.

He developed a rare condition called “I Forgot How to Move My Legs.”

Breakfast was never right.

Time was an illusion.

And mom? Mom was one eye-twitch away from losing it.

And because I’m human, and because we were always in a rush, and because I cared so much…

I yelled.

More than I wanted to.

More than I’m proud of.

The Breaking Point

One morning, after a particularly dramatic showdown (I’m talking tears from both of us), something in me snapped — but not in the “yelling” way… in the “I can’t keep doing this” way.

So I did something that felt completely unnatural:

I left.

I got in my car.

I drove away.

And I forced him to walk to school.

And let me be clear — this did not feel empowering at the time.

It felt like betrayal.

It felt like failure.

It felt like every “bad mom” fear I’d ever had was coming to life.

I cried halfway down the 57.

I thought of every what-if imaginable.

I questioned myself more in that 15 minutes than I had in my entire parenting journey.

But guess what?

He survived.

And the next day?

He walked again.And the next?

He figured out the morning routine.

Slowly, begrudgingly, imperfectly… but independently.

Cold mornings.

Rainy mornings.

Mornings I wanted to rescue him.

But I didn’t.

And he got the message.

Where the Leadership Lesson Reveals Itself

Around this time, I started following Inspired Resolutions, and their framework cracked me open.

They helped me see something I hadn’t yet understood:

Yelling is a reaction.

Boundaries are leadership.

I didn’t need more volume.

I needed more accountability.

Letting kids fail isn’t abandonment.

It’s empowerment.It’s saying, “I believe you can do this — even when it’s uncomfortable.”

And the truth?

I wasn’t just learning how to parent differently.

I was becoming a different kind of leader — at home and at work.

The Lesson

Sometimes the hardest thing isn’t doing more for your kids.

It’s recognizing when to do less.

Letting them struggle, problem-solve, adapt, and grow doesn’t make you a bad parent.

It makes you a brave one.

My Unfiltered Truth

If you had told me years ago that walking away from my son on a rainy morning would make us both better versions of ourselves, I would’ve laughed.

But here we are.

He learned responsibility.

I learned restraint.

And our mornings?Let’s just say they involve far fewer tears — and far less yelling.

Reader Reflection

Think about a moment when you let someone (your child, a team member, a colleague, even yourself) experience discomfort instead of rescuing them.

What changed because of it?What did it grow in them — and in you?

Sometimes stepping back is the most powerful step forward.