Recently, my family told me they feel like I treat other people better than I do them. My first reaction was defensive. Of course, I act “nicer” around colleagues or strangers. With family, I don’t need to self-censor or perform. And honestly, it doesn’t feel unusual; most people probably do this to some extent. But once I sat with it, I started wondering whether that’s actually true for everyone, and if it is, why we so often fail to show up as our best selves at home.
At home, I notice my irritation bubbling up over small things, like having to repeat myself or when my wife doesn’t know something I think she should. The kind of thing I would never let show if a colleague did it. I’d smile, let it go, and find a tactful way around it. But at home, my tone becomes sharp, the annoyance shows on my face, and it hurts the people I want to hurt the least. It’s not planned or conscious, and I always regret it, but it still happens.
Closeness makes it easy to say things we would never say to anyone else. Maybe I hurt the people closest to me because I don’t have my public face on, and my words come out rougher than they need to. Maybe it’s just volume. More time together means more chances to irritate each other. But that doesn’t feel like the whole story. It feels like something gets used up out there, being who I think I need to be in the outside world, and by the time I’m with my family, I don’t want to have to be careful anymore.
Reading some of Erving Goffman’s work helped me make sense of that. He wrote about how much of social life is performance, how we’re constantly adjusting ourselves to fit the situation we’re in. Seen that way, it isn’t surprising that we’re more careful, measured, and restrained in public than we are at home. That level of attention takes energy, even if we don’t notice it in the moment. And when that energy runs out, our ability to stay patient and measured goes with it. What’s left shows up most clearly at home, in shorter patience, sharper words, and a lower tolerance for the people who are closest to us.
The irony is hard to ignore. We give our best selves to people who matter less in the long run, and the people who matter most get whatever’s left over. That feels backwards. But swinging too far in the other direction, treating colleagues or strangers worse just to preserve more energy for family, doesn’t feel right either. I’m still trying to understand what it means to give the people closest to me more than whatever happens to be left, and whether there’s a reasonable balance between letting my inner asshole out and putting on an act at home. Finding it, and keeping it, doesn’t seem easy.
A couple of months ago, I was with my daughter on the train, heading back home. We’d had a nice morning at my gym, where I took a jiujitsu class and had some rolls, and she colored and jumped around on the mats. We were sitting there minding our own business when an older man, probably in his late sixties or early seventies, started talking to my daughter. At first, I encouraged her to say hello to him, but quite quickly, I started getting a weird vibe. He was a bit too friendly and wanted to shake her hand more than once. But I pushed that strange feeling to the back of my head and continued to act normal. Then he said to my 3-year-old in Chinese, “Do you have a boyfriend? I can be your boyfriend.” I immediately pulled her closer to me and said, “What kind of question is that? Why would you say that?” He said oh sorry, it was just a joke. I quickly moved seats after that. But I thought about it intensely for days afterwards, and it still pops into my head now. I kept replaying the scene in my mind and wished I acted differently, told him off more strongly, or at least let him know it was inappropriate.
While replaying that event in my mind, I realized that this feeling of regret and not doing enough is something I’ve experienced before. The situations are different, but I recognize the feeling. Growing up as an Asian in the US, I’ve dealt with my share of racism. Much of it was when I was young and could be written off as kids not knowing any better. But one incident in particular reminded me of this. I was working late at night at a diner, and a woman started calling towards me, “Hey Chinaman, Chinaman!” I didn’t know how to react, and ended up ignoring her and pretending I couldn’t hear her. The thing is, I didn’t even tell my manager or anyone else until later, after they’d left. They were supportive and told me they would have kicked her out, but the thing is, I didn’t feel confident enough when it was happening that I would be supported, so I kept quiet. Even though I was hurt and offended, it was easier to just push my emotions down than reach out to someone for help.
There’s something about those moments that short-circuits the response you think you’d have. Psychologists call it the “freeze” response, part of the same fight-or-flight system that’s supposed to protect us. Research shows that when we’re caught off guard by a social transgression, our brains often default to inaction, especially when the situation is ambiguous or when confrontation carries social risk. In my head, after the fact, the right words are always there. The anger is clear, the boundary is firm, and the action is obvious. But in the moment, something else takes over. Maybe it’s the shock of it happening at all, or the social pressure not to make a scene, or some deeper instinct to avoid conflict. Whatever it is, it creates a gap between how I’d like to respond and what I actually do. And that gap is where the regret lives.
I want to raise a strong, confident woman who can stand up for herself. But I never imagined anything like this could start when she’s just a toddler. And now I’m worried that if I couldn’t even stand up for her after such an inappropriate comment, how am I going to teach her enough? Because I believe I am strong and confident. And yet, in both situations, even where there was no physical danger, I stayed quiet.
I put my daughter in time out for the first time the other night, and it almost broke my heart.
I’d soft-introduced the idea before, playing with toys and casually telling her to sit on her bed and think about what she’d done. But this was different. This was immediate, serious, and clearly a reaction to something that had just happened.
She threw her piece of cake on the floor, and I knew I had to do something. So I picked her up, took her into another room, told her she was in time out, and explained why. I asked her if she knew what she did wasn’t good. I watched her face scrunch up. I kept my voice steady, but as the words came out, I remembered how awful it felt to get in trouble as a kid. She lasted about twenty seconds before she burst into tears.
And it was because of me.
I could have handled it differently. I hadn’t. And this was the result. Even as I kept my face serious and got her to say she wouldn’t throw food on the floor again, something in my chest felt like it was caving in. I was doing what I thought I was supposed to do, and it felt terrible. Since then, I’ve been thinking about how much of parenting seems to live in that space, doing what’s good for them in the long run while wanting, more than anything, for them to be happy right now.
My mom used to say that parenting doesn’t come with a handbook. That’s true, even if there are shelves full of books trying to help. The hardest moments don’t announce themselves. They don’t give you time to prepare. Something happens, and you react. You only find out later whether you handled it well, or whether you’ll wish you’d done something differently. There are plenty of situations where the “right” thing feels obvious. Saying no to more candy. Turning off the TV. Making them do the thing they don’t want to do because you know it’s good for them. Those moments are uncomfortable, but clear.
What’s been catching me off guard are the situations where clarity disappears. When another kid grabs a toy out of her hand and she grabs it right back, I’m not sure if the best thing is to tell her to share or if I should be happy she is sticking up for herself.
I’m starting to realize that a lot of parenting might feel like this, acting with the best intentions, knowing your actions matter, and still not being sure whether you’re doing the right thing. Loving them deeply, trying to guide them well, and accepting that some of the impact won’t be visible for a long time. I don’t know yet how to hold all of that cleanly. I’m still learning. And most days, it feels like that learning is happening in real time, one moment at a time.
In the latest episode of my podcast, Before We Get There, my guest offered invaluable insights from their journey of transitioning from a high-paying corporate job to becoming an entrepreneur while juggling the demands of family life. Here are five key lessons they shared, rich with personal experience and reflections on purpose, fulfillment, and the realities of navigating change.
1. Embrace the Courage to Pivot
Transitioning from a corporate career to entrepreneurship isn’t a simple decision, and my guest’s journey highlights just how complex and personal this shift can be. She shared that they had always dreamed of running their own business, trying small side projects like starting a video editing business with her sister. But it wasn’t until later after the birth of her third child that she realized she wasn’t happy in the corporate world. She had worked hard over the previous two years to build a small side business, but she was only bringing in a small amount of pocket money, nothing in comparison to her full-time job. That’s when, after a lot of soul-searching, she made the jump. The lesson is clear: courage doesn’t mean waiting for perfect conditions. This lesson on embracing change, despite fear or uncertainty, is a powerful reminder for anyone contemplating a similar pivot.
2. Money Isn’t the Only Currency
Another theme my guest touched on was redefining what “success” means in a way that aligns with personal values rather than financial metrics alone. Leaving a high-paying job for entrepreneurship brought a new understanding of what truly matters, and it wasn’t just about income. She reflected on the concept of “currencies” in life, realizing that freedom, flexibility, and time with family are equally valuable forms of wealth that can bring a greater sense of purpose and happiness. This insight on valuing diverse forms of wealth—especially ones that contribute to personal satisfaction and life balance—is a valuable perspective for anyone looking to pursue a fulfilling life outside of traditional financial goals.
3. Prioritize to Avoid Burnout: The “Parking Lot” Approach
For my guest, moving from a leadership role in a corporate setting to being a solo entrepreneur came with its own set of challenges. Used to delegating tasks in a team setting, she suddenly found herself responsible for every aspect of the business, from strategy and marketing to operations. Naturally, this quickly led to feelings of burnout as she grappled with the endless demands of being a business owner. To address this, they adopted what they referred to as the “parking lot” approach. Rather than trying to tackle every idea or task at once, they visualized each idea as a car in a parking lot, selecting one “car” (or project) to drive out and focus on each day. This technique is a reminder of the importance of intentional prioritization, particularly for anyone managing multiple responsibilities with limited resources.
4. Build a Village: Finding and Accepting Support Systems
Balancing family life with entrepreneurship underscored another essential insight: the importance of a strong support network. My guest’s journey as a parent and entrepreneur taught them that trying to handle everything alone isn’t just unrealistic—it can lead to burnout and compromise the quality of time spent with loved ones. Recognizing that we’re not meant to “go it alone,” they leaned into help from family, in-laws, and hired support, allowing them to manage both work and parenting responsibilities without constant stress. This community-oriented approach aligns with the saying, “It takes a village to raise a child,” and my guest expanded on how it also applies to entrepreneurship. For those who might feel hesitant to ask for help, they shared a reminder that this assistance is essential for sustaining one’s mental and physical well-being over the long term.
5. Letting Go of Control: Trust and Patience in Family Dynamics
One of the more personal challenges my guest shared was learning to let go of the need to control every aspect of their child’s upbringing, especially with multiple caregivers involved. She spoke candidly about times when she felt anxious or uncertain about leaving her child in the care of others, such as family members with different generational views on parenting. However, with time and experience, she learned to trust that these caregivers, despite their differences, were acting out of love and had the best interests of the child at heart. For example, while they preferred a more hands-off, exploration-based approach to parenting, family members would often advise caution and limit the child’s play. This lesson on letting go of control is a reminder that, while we may not always agree with those who help us, trusting in their care and intentions can alleviate stress and create harmony within the family.
Through this candid discussion, my guest shared the realities of pivoting careers, balancing entrepreneurship and family, and finding value beyond financial success. These insights highlight that building a fulfilling life is less about perfection and more about aligning with one’s values, prioritizing wisely, and embracing the support and differences within our circles. Whether you’re contemplating a career change or simply seeking a deeper connection with your own goals, these lessons serve as a valuable roadmap for navigating life’s evolving challenges.
On my second episode of Before We Get There, I sat down with a guest whose marketing journey was anything but traditional. He shared valuable insights, from early setbacks in life and battling imposter syndrome to balancing life and work. Here are the top takeaways for those looking to grow both professionally and personally.
1. Authenticity Isn’t Just a Buzzword, It’s Essential One of the most important points my guest emphasized was the role of authenticity in building a personal brand, particularly on LinkedIn. In a space often criticized for its “overly professional” or even inauthentic vibe, he found that staying true to himself brought a strong following and meaningful engagement. He learned that being genuine isn’t just about what you say, but about engaging consistently, and connecting with others on a deeper level. For anyone looking to grow their network or build a brand, his advice is clear: authenticity is what will make you stand out and attract the right audience.
2. Imposter Syndrome Is Part of the Journey He admitted that self-doubt—often called imposter syndrome—is something he still encounters. Seeing seasoned professionals with extensive careers often made him question whether his content was “good enough.” His approach to overcoming this was focusing on why he was sharing in the first place: to connect, to learn, and to help others. Staying grounded in his purpose helped him keep perspective, reminding him (and all of us) that even the most experienced professionals feel this way at times.
3. Embrace a Nonlinear Career Path
The guest’s career path was far from linear. He started out in business development before moving into marketing, giving him a unique perspective on both roles. This broad experience, he explained, actually strengthened his abilities in marketing by giving him insight into different facets of business. For anyone with an unconventional path, this serves as a reminder that varied experiences can be powerful assets, bringing a well-rounded perspective to any role.
4. Don’t Be Defined By the Conventional Path Rather than sticking strictly to traditional career metrics like job titles and salaries, my guest discussed the importance of finding fulfillment beyond work. His perspective shifted over time, moving from “climbing the ladder” to finding a balance that allows him to prioritize family, health, and well-being alongside his career. This broader perspective is one we can all benefit from: success isn’t defined by external titles but by a fulfilling, balanced life.
5. The Power of Adaptability and Staying Open to New Experiences In his career, my guest transitioned through various industries, from education to FMCG to technology. Each transition brought him fresh insights and valuable skills. He shared that working across industries kept him adaptable, teaching him how to thrive in different environments and teams. This adaptability ultimately led him to find his place in the fast-paced world of tech, where he feels right at home today. This conversation was a refreshing reminder of how much we can learn from others’ unique journeys. Whether you’re just starting out or looking to refine your path, these lessons provide a roadmap for approaching work—and life—with purpose and authenticity.
This conversation was a refreshing reminder of how much we can learn from others’ unique journeys. Whether you’re just starting out or looking to refine your path, these lessons provide a roadmap for approaching work—and life—with purpose and authenticity.
