You Don't Have to Rescue Them

There was a time—one I remember very clearly—when I had to make a conscious decision not to rescue one of my kids.

We were sitting in the car. It was pouring rain. Like a full-on downpour. We were in the Trader Joe's parking lot, and one of my kids was having a really hard time with something that had happened at school.

They were crying. Not a few tears. I’m talking sobbing. Big, hard, painful crying that hit straight in the center of my chest.
My whole body wanted to fix it.
I wanted to tell them it was going to be okay.
Tell them what to do next.
I even found myself imagining what I’d say to the person who had hurt them.

The urge to make it go away was so strong.
But in that moment, I stopped myself.
I remember literally saying in my head: Claire. Just stop. Sit. Be here. Alongside them.

So I did. I said nothing. I sat quietly.

We stayed like that for 15, maybe 20 minutes. Just sitting in silence while the rain matched the mood.

They cried. They couldn’t even talk at first—just wave after wave of sobs.
It was really tough to sit through. My heart ached. My body wanted to fix it, smooth it, wrap it up.
But I breathed through it. And I stayed.

Eventually, the sobs slowed. The breathing evened out. The tears softened.

And then, they took a deep breath.
A real one. The kind that clears space.

They looked at me and said, “Wow. That felt good.”
And the next thing they said was, “I know exactly what I need to do.”

That moment shifted something in me.

They had moved through the pain and on the other side, they found their own clarity.
Their own resilience.

And I realized: if I had jumped in to fix it, I would have interrupted that process.
I would have stolen that clarity. That strength. That internal knowing.

This is what I mean when I say:
You don't have to rescue them to be a good parent.

Your presence is the support.
Your steadiness is the safety.
The healing happens in the holding, not in the fixing.

And this ties deeply to something I wrote about earlier. Empathy is the step we often skip when our kids are struggling.
If you missed that piece you can find it here.

That moment in the car taught me what empathy actually looks like in action.

It's not telling them what to do.
It's not convincing them they're okay.
It's being willing to sit in the storm with them and trust that they’ll find their way through.

That’s what builds trust.
That’s what builds resilience.
That’s what builds emotional safety.

And here’s the truth:
If you were never allowed to have big feelings growing up,
If your tears were shamed, silenced, or ignored,
This is going to feel deeply uncomfortable at first.
It may even feel impossible.

That’s why I teach this work inside my coaching, especially in my Mother Wound Coaching groups.

Because this isn’t just about knowing better.
It’s about healing the parts of you that were never allowed to feel, so you can sit beside your child while they do.

We don’t need to be perfect.
We just need to stay.

And sometimes, staying is the most powerful thing we can do.

If you're ready to explore this more deeply, I’d love to connect.
Click here to book a free 30-minute call and we’ll talk about what support could look like for you

You've got this.

xx

Claire