It's not easy to take my own advice

Almost every morning, I wince.

I walk into a chorus of complaints. My 4-year-old refuses to put on clothes because he’s “too cold.” My 10-year-old glares at the lunch I packed. I love them deeply. They’re incredible. But the whining...it's grating.

Last Saturday, I was recovering from strep throat. My husband graciously gave me the morning off and took our son to a diner. My daughter was still asleep while I snuck into the shower. Then came the knock:

“Where is everyone?”

When she realized her dad and brother had gone out without her, she crumpled:

“They always leave without me!”

Cue bracing myself for a whine storm.

I took a breath and made the conscious choice to attune.
(If you haven’t read my recent Harvard Business Review article, attunement is the overlooked leadership skill of being fully present with someone’s emotional experience—without rushing to fix or reframe it.)

So I said, “Oh geez, that must feel really upsetting—that they left without you.”

She kept going. I listened for about three minutes. But quietly, I was thinking:
"Come on, I planned a playdate for you in an hour. We went to Target last night. I’m sick. Can we not?"

So I pivoted—trying to help her reframe.
“I get it. But hey, you're going to see your friend in an hour. That's fun, isn't it? And Papa was just letting you sleep in. That was actually kind.”

She narrowed her eyes: “Why are you making me seem like the bad guy? Like I’m ungrateful?”

Ouch. She wasn’t totally wrong.

She had caught me nudging her out of her feelings because I didn’t have the bandwidth. I was sick, tired, and out of emotional steam. Which, is often how we feel at work when someone's complaining, overwhelmed, or stuck.  

I paused. I reset. I slowed down and softened my tone: “You know what honey, you’re right. I was making your feelings wrong. I should’ve just let you have them. I’m sorry. It must feel awful to be left behind.”

I saw her shoulders drop. She gave a quiet little nod. Her body and tone shifted.

I didn't get it right the first time - or at least didn't carry it across the finish line. But I went back in and repaired it. You can always try again. It doesn't have to be perfect.

These days, I think of whining as my emotional weight training. It helps me build muscle around boundaries, regulation, and letting go of my inner people-pleaser.

I’m not sharing this to model perfection—I’m sharing it to remind you:
attunement is a practice.  

It’s in messy moments like these where real growth and connection happen—for them and for us.

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