Suggestions from a psychologist on support without overstepping
Relationships bring moments that test us in every way possible—the instinct to protect, the desire to help, and the deep knowing that some lessons can’t be learned without mistakes and struggles. This story is about one of those moments and the quiet courage it takes to pause, step back, trust the process, and let those we love find their own way forward.
At the Movies When My Phone Rang
Sunday afternoon around 4 p.m., I went to the movie theater to watch the final Downton Abbey movie. I was watching the previews when my 15-year-old son called.
He knew I was at the movies, and I knew that calling instead of texting meant something was important. I stepped out to answer.
“Hey, Mom? I’ve got some bad news.”
I felt my heart drop. I could tell in his voice that he was upset.
“What’s going on?”
“I just remembered that I have a big exam tomorrow. I messed up, Mom. I knew it was Monday, but I thought it was next Monday. If I’d realized, I would have studied all day yesterday instead of doing fun stuff.”
The words came out at twice his normal rate of speech, and he paused to take a breath.
“And now you’re panicking.”
“And now I’m panicking.”
I could hear the tears of frustration and anxiety behind his words. I felt his helplessness and the harsh words his inner critic was hurling at his gentle heart.
I wanted to protect him. I wanted to fix it.
From the emotional swirl inside of me, three truths bubbled to the surface:
This is a tough spot that would be hard for anyone.
The likelihood that this will end with a good outcome is very slim.
This is not mine to fix. This situation is his to figure out.
An Old Friend’s Wisdom
When Angel was in first grade and newly diagnosed with dyslexia, I reached out to a childhood friend who also had dyslexia and I knew understood what early struggles with reading can do to a child’s confidence.
I asked what he wished his mom had known when he was six and feeling left behind by peers without his challenges. What did he need most then that would’ve helped him later?
His answer was simple: “Let him fail.”
He explained that rescuing Angel from every mistake (and failure) might send the message that I didn’t believe he could figure things out himself and regroup following undesirable outcomes. It would come from love but still whisper the same unspoken words: You can’t do this. You need me to tell you how to handle it.
If I wanted to truly support Angel, I needed to do more than say I believed in him—I had to show it. That meant letting him fail sometimes, make mistakes, and find his own strategies, while remaining a safe place for love, encouragement, and reflection.
(Of course, at six, Angel still needed plenty of parenting—the gentle nudges toward kindness, responsibility, and “becoming a good human.” “Let him fail” didn’t mean stepping back and allowing him to figure out life on his own; it meant helping him build a healthy mindset around learning and self-confidence.)
Putting it into Practice
“Oh, sweetheart. That sounds hard.”
“It is. I would have studied yesterday, Mom.”
“I know.” I paused to let us both find our emotional footing before moving toward problem-solving. “Tell me what your strategy is.”
He outlined a good plan that involved using his resources in a reasonable way. I knew a good strategy didn’t guarantee a desirable outcome, but a good strategy is an excellent start.
“What do you need from me?”
“Nothing right now.” He discussed that he was going to go to my (our) aunt’s house because she had offered to help him create a study plan.
“That sounds good. If something changes, text me and we’ll figure out a new plan.”
And I hung up and returned to the world of Downton Abbey.
What Letting Go Feels Like
Now, fellow travelers, let me be honest.
I spent the next 20 minutes resisting the urge to pack up, pick him up, and fix everything.
Then another 20 processing how sad and helpless I felt watching such a good-hearted kid struggle with the academic cards he’d been dealt.
Threaded through all those feelings, though, was a silver strand of pride—pride in him for his resilience, and in myself for recognizing the long-term benefits of allowing the struggle to proceed (and the life lessons to be learned).
Choosing to Trust
After the movie ended, I sat in my car for a few minutes—shifting from the Crawleys’ 1930s dramas (which, I must say, they resolved beautifully) back to my own family’s real-time challenges.
Angel was still at my aunt’s house, studying. I called to check in and felt that familiar wave of helplessness rise when he reported that the progress was slow.
Let him fail. It is not mine to fix.
I repeated it like a mantra.
Then I played the one card that is mine—one every parent of a teenage boy holds.
“Angel, are you hungry? What sounds good for dinner?”
I picked up food, dropped it off, and let him keep doing his thing—his way.
Beyond Parenting: The Wider Lesson
This isn’t limited to parenting mistake-making teenagers, fellow travelers. It happens in all relationships—personal and professional.
If I had a dollar for every time the thought bubble “Wow, I wish I could fix this for them” arose during a therapy session, I could have comfortably retired many years ago and would be writing this blog from a location much more exotic than my home in Austin, Texas.
It isn’t easy to watch people struggle. Especially when the strugglers are people we love.
Nine years later, I still carry my friend’s wisdom, now slightly evolved and broadened to allow greater applicability beyond Angel’s dyslexia-related challenges.
Let them fail. It’s not mine to fix. Be a sounding board, not a cruise director. They’ll figure it out.
What Helps Me When I Want to Fix It
Resist the urge to tell them what they should do.
Accept that my strategies may not work for them and that theirs may serve them better.
Name my emotions (usually the list starts with helplessness & ends with a big sigh).
Ask how I can help and withhold any suggestions until they are requested.
Honor the good feelings that arise with the thought: We are all being brave and resilient right now.
Closing Reflection
Learning when to step in and when to step back is a dance we keep learning throughout life. Whether it’s with our children, partners, friends, or clients, true support isn’t about fixing—it’s about trusting their capacity to find their own way and being the safe place they can return to when they need to pause, regroup, and remember that they are so much more than their struggles.
Ubuntu, fellow traveler.
– Jennifer
A big hug of gratitude to Aunt Carol and to Angel’s auntie—one of my chosen sisters, Suzy—for the support you gave him that day.
Fellow travelers: Years ago, I wrote a blog for the Rawson Saunders School community that referenced my early struggles with Angel’s dyslexia diagnosis and the advice my friend provided. It is a different piece entirely than this one, but the advice and desire to rescue & protect were explored. That piece remains the school’s intellectual property. This version was written for you and is the intellectual property of Still River Counseling, PLLC.
