It’s the kind of message that makes your heart race.
“Mom, are you awake?”
A 5am text from your child.
A wave of panic hit me. I called him immediately. It went straight to voicemail.
Like any parent jolted awake before sunrise, my mind jumped straight to worst-case scenarios. I pulled up our shared location, hoping it would bring me peace. Instead, it made things worse:
San Francisco International Airport. 5:00am. On a Sunday.
What was he doing at SFO? Was he stranded? Was something wrong? Did he need me?
When he finally called me back, I could barely get the words out:
“Why are you at the airport? Are you okay?”
He was completely calm.
“Yeah Mom. I’m flying to Boston for work.”
The fear vanished instantly. But what took its place surprised me — a quiet ache.
We had spoken a few times that week. Shared small slices of life, the usual small talk. Not once did he mention a cross-country trip. It struck me then just how fully he is living his own life.
Not that long ago, he was pushing through tough classes, late nights, and big dreams at UC Berkeley. Now he is in a big city, traveling wherever opportunity calls him, building something that belongs entirely to him.
Despite all that, I still send those texts.
To take his Vitamin D.
To layer up because it’s cooler in the Bay Area.
To make sure he’s getting enough greens.
I told myself he needed these things. But maybe he never really did. Maybe it was me who needed to keep feeling like I still had a place in his everyday life.
That morning, my emotions moved through a kind of private storm — fear, then pure relief, to a soft sadness that sat heavy in my chest. And finally, a swelling pride that felt almost too big to hold.
It left me thinking about how often we try to stay tethered to the people we’ve poured ourselves into. As parents. As leaders. As humans who care.
We guide, we teach, we nurture, we prepare.
Then comes the part no one talks about — the part where we have to trust it all.
Watching my son step so fully into his own life, confident and unafraid to carve his path, was a reminder of what growth really looks like. For him, yes. But also for me.
Because the real measure of our impact is not how long someone needs us, but how beautifully they can move through the world when they no longer do.
LEADERSHIP REFLECTION:
If you have ever led a team, mentored someone, or supported a colleague through growth, you have likely felt the tension between holding on and letting go.
This may be a story about motherhood, but it reveals a quiet and universal truth about leadership.
The goal is not to be needed forever.
The goal is to build something or someone strong enough to thrive without you.
Letting go does not mean stepping away.
It means stepping back with trust so others can step forward with confidence.
Where in your leadership are you being called to step back so someone else can rise?
If you are navigating that transition as a leader, mentor, or parent, we are here to support you with tools that help you lead with clarity, connection, and trust.
Learn more about how we support leaders, teams, and organizations at every stage of growth.
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