Compassionate Honesty

Last Tuesday, my twins’ school emailed about a "volunteer opportunity" for the bake sale—specifically, needing someone to organize the entire display table while managing the cash register. My brain instantly went into corporate autopilot: I can do this. I’ll just add it to my list. It’s for the kids.

Then I remembered the last time I’d said "yes" to that kind of thing. The 3 a.m. panic before a client call, my hands shaking as I tried to memorize a spreadsheet while my son cried for a snack. I’d burned out because I kept saying "yes" to everything that felt like "should," not "must."

So I typed: "I’m unable to take on this role this week. I’m prioritizing my own capacity to be fully present for my family."

It wasn’t dramatic. No tears. Just a quiet email. But in that moment, I felt something shift. Compassionate honesty isn’t about being harsh—it’s about honoring your own limits while caring for others. I wasn’t abandoning the bake sale; I was protecting the space where I could actually be there for my kids when they needed me.

Why did this tiny "no" matter? Because for years, I’d equated "being a good mom" with never saying no. I’d let my own exhaustion become the invisible third child in the room. This win proved: setting a boundary is an act of love, not selfishness. It proved I could choose myself without guilt.

I learned this the hard way so you don’t have to. That email wasn’t just about a bake sale. It was the first time I’d said "I’m not okay with this" and felt okay afterward.

— Tracy Carlson, drawing the line