When "Yes" Became My Default (And Cost Me Everything)
Let me be direct: I failed at being kind. Not with a dramatic crash, but with a slow, suffocating bleed. I was the "perfect mom" at my twins’ elementary school—organizing bake sales, leading the PTA, volunteering for every field trip. My mantra? "Kindness is giving everything." I’d say yes to every request, convinced it was the only way to be a good mother.
What I tried: I scheduled myself for 12 hours of school events weekly. I’d cancel my own work calls, skip my morning coffee, and show up exhausted. I told myself, "They need me." I even skipped my daughter’s piano recital to help set up a school carnival. Kindness, I thought. Selflessness.
How it failed: My twins noticed. My son, usually chatty, stopped asking me to read with him. My daughter cried when I missed her recital, whispering, "You were busy being nice to others." I was running on fumes, snapping at them over spilled milk, my own exhaustion poisoning the home. The school events I’d organized? They felt hollow, because I was too drained to truly engage. My kindness wasn’t nurturing—it was a performance.
The aftermath: My twins’ trust eroded. They stopped sharing their days with me. I sat in the car after a failed school event, sobbing, realizing I’d sacrificed my presence for a hollow "good mom" label. I’d been the least kind to them by disappearing into the role.
Here’s what no one tells you: Kindness without boundaries is a liability, not a virtue. I learned this the hard way: saying "yes" to others while ignoring my own capacity isn’t generosity—it’s self-sabotage. True kindness requires knowing when to say, "I can’t do this and be present for you." Now, I say "no" to school events that drain me. I guard my time like a CFO protects a budget. My twins’ eyes light up when I’m fully there—not because I’m busy, but because I’m available.
— Tracy Carlson, drawing the line
— Kyle Smith, holding space