A Hard (Yet Beautiful) Part of Parenting and Leadership: The Power of Presence

Yesterday, my son came home from work. I saw him walking up the driveway and immediately ran outside to hug him. Yes—he’s a 6’3", 19-year-old man—but I still grab a hug every chance I can. This time, though, something was different. His usual bubbly, energetic self was... gone. He looked deflated.

He works in customer service and had just wrapped up day four of a draining work week.

“Today was really tough,” he said. “Probably the worst work day yet.”

Gulp. My heart sank.

“Tell me what happened,” I asked.

His response was every parent’s gut punch:
“I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to go to bed.”

Everything in me wanted to shout: You HAVE to tell me! I NEED to know!

Did something bad happen? Was he in trouble? Did someone come down hard on him?

But instead, I paused. I wrapped him in another hug, told him I loved him, and said, “I’m here when you’re ready.”

Then I sat alone. Sad. Angry. Protective. Heartbroken.

This is one of the hard truths of motherhood—and of loving someone deeply:

Allowing them to feel their emotions without stepping in to fix.

Letting them move through hard things on their own, even when every cell in your body wants to guide them through it.

And yes—sometimes that means letting them go to bed mad, sad, or angry.
(You’ve heard the phrase “Don’t go to bed mad”? Yeah, I call BS. Go to bed mad if that’s where you’re at. The right conversation in the wrong mood is the wrong conversation. Sleep on it. Let your nervous system reset. Tomorrow is a new chance for clarity.)

Sure enough, the next morning, with rest and a fresh outlook, he was ready. He told me everything.

He shared how a few customers had been particularly hostile and toxic—angry over things entirely out of his control. Kind of like screaming at the rain. (We’ve all seen it.)

He walked me through what happened, how he handled it, what he said, and what he didn’t. And me? I just listened.

I didn’t offer solutions. I didn’t suggest a better response or coach him on what to do next time. I just listened, fully present. And then I told him one thing: “I’m proud of you.”

That’s it. No lectures. No fixing. Just presence.
And I am proud of him.
So deeply, fiercely proud.

The mama bear in me wanted to storm the place and demand justice. But instead, I saw a bigger truth:

This is what it means to raise strong humans.
To love through silence.
To support without controlling.
To sit with instead of jumping ahead.

It’s one of the hardest—and most beautiful—parts of parenting.
And I’m so very grateful I get to do it.

I’m Krista Ryan

My job is to help you learn a little, laugh a lot, and get clear on action steps for your success.

It may have taken a life changing event to shake me awake and decide I no longer wanted to live a comfortable life… I wanted to embrace the discomfort and live a life of courage and intention.

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