The Phrase That Changed Every Relationship in My Life

What I'm learning about how to stay connected—even when I disappoint someone I love.

It was 10 p.m., and my 13-year-old was ten minutes into what I can only describe as a closing argument—tears in her eyes, a carefully assembled body of evidence—on why my social media limits were “ruining her life.”

Does anyone make it through the teenage years without questioning their entire existence? I have a tween and a teen, which means daily negotiations over screens, bedtimes, and how much freedom is the right amount to hand over—and when. They’re ready for more, and I’m still trying to figure out where to loosen my grip. Some conversations are just conversations, while others go in circles until we’re both exhausted.

I used to get completely swept up in everyone else’s emotions. If one of my kids was angry, I got defensive. If they were disappointed, I felt compelled to fix it. And if they pushed hard enough against a boundary, I started wondering whether it would be easier just to abandon it altogether.

That began to change when I started returning to a specific visual that always reminds me of who I want to be in these moments:

I picture myself as a mature oak tree. (Stay with me.)

Her roots run deep, and her branches offer warmth, shelter, and safety. She’s strong enough for someone to lean against without bending to keep them happy—or breaking under the weight of their disappointment.

For me, this image goes hand in hand with what Dr. Becky calls “sturdy leadership.” (Her podcast feels like a deep breath and a reminder that whatever parenting crisis I’m currently overthinking is actually pretty normal.) Being a sturdy leader means understanding that it isn’t our job to make someone else’s discomfort disappear. We set a boundary, validate how that boundary feels to them, and then we hold it.

I love you. I understand why you’re upset. And the boundary hasn’t changed.

It sounds so simple, but it’s way harder at 10 p.m., when you’re tired, and someone you love is making a passionate case against you. So that night, I pictured myself as the oak tree.

I let Phoebe say everything she needed to say without mentally preparing my response. I told her I understood how awful it feels to be left out when your friends are connecting over something you can’t fully be part of, and I reminded her that we were on the same team. But I didn’t cave.

She wasn’t happy, but she knew I was listening, and somewhere in the middle of it, she softened and the tension left the room. Neither of us had won; it just stopped feeling like we were fighting each other.

I wish I’d understood this sooner. It might have saved us some tears and a few sleepless nights, but I’m grateful to be learning it now—especially because my kids aren’t the only people whose disappointment I find difficult to tolerate.

The same instinct shows up when a friend is disappointed in me, or when Adam and I disagree, and I keep explaining myself in the hope that he’ll finally see that I am, in fact, correct. The people pleaser in me still believes connection depends on keeping everyone happy, so when someone is upset, I want to rush in with explanations and solutions until I can rest easy again in the knowledge that I’m universally loved. This strategy has not been especially successful.

I’m learning that I can care about someone’s experience without trying to change it. I can let another person be disappointed and still stay close without folding, and I can listen without turning the conversation into a closing argument of my own.

Of course, I still sometimes remember the oak tree only after I’ve gotten defensive, raised my voice, or delivered a TED Talk nobody asked for. But lately, I’ve been catching myself a little sooner—saying less, listening longer, and trying to stay rooted in the mother—and woman—I want to be.

That night, Phoebe didn’t go to bed thinking I was right, and honestly, I wasn’t entirely sure I was, either. But she knew I’d heard her, I knew we were still connected, and the storm passed without taking either of us with it.

How do you deal when people you care about are disappointed or unhappy with your decisions? Any tips for staying rooted in who you want to be without spiraling?