My Story
I Thought I Knew How to Help
More than twenty years ago, I spent my days sitting across from teenagers. Some arrived angry and overwhelmed. Others were anxious, withdrawn, or discouraged. Over time, I watched them develop new skills, gain confidence, and discover strengths they didn’t know they had.
I loved the work.
Even on difficult days, it felt meaningful and satisfying. After years as an adolescent therapist, I felt confident in my ability to help.
Then my own daughter began to struggle.
What initially seemed like a difficult phase became something much more significant. Watching my bright, happy, energetic daughter suffer was frightening. But I was determined to help her – and I was confident that I knew how. After all, supporting adolescents was what I did.
But things didn’t go the way I’d hoped. I did all the things I knew to be helpful. And when it didn’t help, I tried harder.
The more worried I became, the harder I tried. Yet the harder I tried, the more distant my daughter seemed to become.
What I didn't realize at the time was that my fear and stress were affecting the way I was parenting. I realize now how much my fear and stress were affecting her, too.
Fortunately, I reached out for help. It changed everything.
I learned that the most important place to begin wasn't with my daughter – it was with myself.
Otherwise, I would continue parenting from fear rather than wisdom. If I wanted to help my daughter, I first needed to learn how to steady myself.
At first, this made no sense. My daughter was struggling. How could focusing on myself possibly help her?
But I knew what I was doing wasn't working.
I had become more anxious. My mind spiraled into frightening thoughts about her future. I found myself swinging from one extreme to the other—patient one moment, then angry and irritated the next.
This wasn't how I wanted to show up as a parent.
Learning to Steady Myself
Although this new approach seemed completely counterintuitive, something about it resonated with me. Desperate for a different way forward, I went on a mission to steady myself.
I began practicing yoga and mindfulness. I became more aware of the habits and attitudes that were keeping me stuck. Gradually, I began letting them go.
Over time, I became more intentional in how I responded to my daughter. Instead of trying to fix, manage, or control, I learned to respond with greater compassion, curiosity, and steadiness. I was better able to stay present, think more clearly, and avoid spiraling into fear and catastrophic thinking.
The changes were gradual, but they were profound. As I became steadier, I found that I could be more present, more patient, and more thoughtful in how I responded to my daughter. Slowly things began to change.
Looking back, I'm deeply grateful for what that difficult season taught me. It transformed not only my parenting—it changed the direction of my life's work.
A Better Way
As I continued working with adolescents and their families, I found myself increasingly drawn to parents. I met loving and dedicated parents who were stuck in cycles of fear, worry, and reaction that were all too familiar to me.
The harder they tried, the more frustrated, worried, and discouraged they became. And the more distressed they became, the more likely they were to react in ways that unintentionally contributed to the very struggles that they were trying to solve. I also knew that their distress was affecting their teens.
I knew there was a better way and I wanted to help.
One day, while searching for books to help parents, I discovered an author and parent educator whose work immediately caught my attention. Her approach reminded me of what I'd learned during my own parenting journey. What resonated with me most was her emphasis on letting go of control and judgment and understanding that difficult behaviors are often unskillful attempts to cope. Rather than focusing only on changing behavior, she encouraged parents to practice mindfulness and balance acceptance with change. I was fortunate to be mentored by her over the next several years. As I learned, I began sharing these ideas through classes, workshops, and parent coaching.
Many families made meaningful progress. But over time, I noticed something I couldn't ignore.
Even when parents understood the concepts, many still struggled to put them into practice. Fear, worry, frustration, and urgency often pulled them back toward trying to fix, manage, or control what was happening.
I understood why. I'd been there myself.
The more distressed we become, the harder it is to access our wisdom, patience, and
perspective. Instead, we naturally react from fear and urgency—even when our deepest intention is to help.
The more I observed this pattern, the more convinced I became that lasting change wasn't going to come from focusing exclusively on changing our loved ones.
Parents needed something, too. They needed the ability to steady themselves in the midst of uncertainty so they could respond with greater wisdom, compassion, and resilience.
At the same time, I wondered whether this was truly possible. Could parents learn to stay grounded when someone they loved was struggling? Could they resist powerful urges to fix, rescue, control, avoid, or placate? Could they access their wisdom when emotions ran high?
A Deeper Understanding
So, I spent the next year considering these questions. As I’ve learned to do when I’m puzzled by something, I walked. A lot.
I also deepened my yoga practice, went on a couple of retreats, and bought more books than I probably needed. The questions stayed with me as I walked, practiced, read, reflected, and talked with others.
Slowly, things began to click.
Resilient Parenting
It was around this time that I began learning about the autonomic nervous system and the practices that regulate it. What I learned affirmed much of what I had experienced myself.
When we're dysregulated, it's difficult to access our wisdom. We become more reactive and are more likely to respond from fear, frustration, urgency, or overwhelm.
I also learned something hopeful: with practice, we all have the capacity to regulate.
We can learn to remain grounded and present, even when life feels uncertain.
When we do, we gain access to our best selves. We become more thoughtful, more intentional, and more effective in how we respond. Just as importantly, our steady presence helps create the conditions for those around us to become steadier as well.
In many ways, this brought me full circle. Years earlier, when I stopped focusing so intensely on fixing my daughter's struggles and began caring for myself through practices like yoga and meditation, things began to shift. Now I better understood why.
The more I learned, the more hopeful I became.
I realized that regulation wasn't the destination – it was the pathway.
Each time we return to steadiness and respond intentionally rather than automatically, we strengthen our capacity to navigate life's challenges.
In other words, we cultivate resilience.
Resilience isn't the absence of stress, struggle, or pain. It's the ability to face life's challenges, recover, adapt, and grow without becoming overwhelmed. It allows us to live with greater confidence, connection, and purpose—even when life is difficult.
I believe resilience is one of the greatest gifts we can cultivate in ourselves and one of the greatest gifts we can offer those we love.
Today, my daughter is a thriving adult and the mother of two. I am so grateful for her and for everything that she has taught me over the years.
I’m also grateful for this work that inspires me daily: helping parents cultivate the skills and resilience that strengthen both themselves and the people they love.
