When Being Available Means Teaching Less

Yesterday morning, I had one of those moments that makes you question everything you thought you were doing right as a working mom.

My 11th grader, Joey, who has ADHD, left for school at 7:50 AM. By 9:00 AM, my phone rang with a familiar number, the school. "Mom, can you please bring my folder? It's on the table. I have a test today."

Without hesitation, I grabbed the social studies folder, drove to the middle school, and hand-delivered it to him. As I walked back to my car, I felt that warm glow of gratitude, this is why I love working from home. This is the flexibility I've always valued. I'm here for my kids when they need me.

But then, somewhere between the school parking lot and my house, a different thought crept in: What if I couldn't have brought it? What would he have learned?

The Blessing and the Burden of Remote Work

I've been working from home for about 10 years now, juggling corporate demands while being physically present for my kids in a way that would have been impossible a generation ago. It's a privilege I never take for granted, the ability to be available, to show up, to help when they need me.

But yesterday morning forced me to sit with an uncomfortable truth: maybe being too available isn't always the gift I think it is.

The ADHD Reality: When "Just Remember" Isn't Simple

For Joey, mornings are a complex dance. What does that look like in our house? It means Joey has a checklist: get dressed, put clothes in the laundry, pick up his floor, run the vacuum, gather his school materials. He knows what needs to be done.

But ADHD doesn't just mean distraction, it fundamentally affects executive function, the brain's ability to plan, organize, and execute tasks. For Joey, this shows up as having no concept of time. He'll start his morning routine and somehow, despite knowing all his tasks, everything gets compressed into the last few frantic minutes before the bus arrives.

I try not to nag. Most mornings, I'm just the current that keeps him moving forward. But inevitably, something gets left behind.

The Question I Couldn't Shake

As I drove home yesterday morning, I couldn't stop thinking: If I had been working in the city, if my husband had been at the gym, if Joey had called and I simply couldn't help, what then?

He would have been out of luck, I guess. He probably would have done fine on the quiz, he was prepared. But he would have walked into that classroom without the materials he needed. He would have felt that moment of panic, that sinking realization of consequence. He would have had to advocate for himself, explain to his teacher, maybe borrow paper, figure it out.

And he would have learned something that my 10-minute rescue mission just prevented him from learning.

The Instinct to Shield vs. The Need to Build Resilience

Here's what I'm wrestling with: our first instinct as mothers is often to shield our children from discomfort. We want to smooth the path, prevent the struggle, save them from feeling that awful pit in their stomach when they realize they forgot something important.

But by swooping in yesterday morning, I robbed Joey of a chance to test himself. To problem-solve. To experience a natural consequence and come out the other side knowing he could handle it.

The research backs this up, giving children space to solve problems using their own ideas and resources allows them to gain confidence to try again, whether they're figuring out a forgotten folder or navigating a difficult conversation with a friend.

The Helicopter We Don't Realize We're Flying

I never thought of myself as a helicopter parent. I'm not hovering at the playground or doing my kids' homework. But in this moment, I realized I might be helicoptering in a more subtle, modern way, enabled entirely by remote work.

The irony is that I have all this flexibility specifically so I can be there for my children. And yet, sometimes being there means not being there. Sometimes the most loving thing I can do is let them struggle a little, even when I have the power to prevent that struggle.

Sitting With Our Own Discomfort

And here's the hardest part, the part no one really talks about: watching our children struggle is excruciating.

When Joey called yesterday morning, I could hear the stress in his voice. I could picture him standing in the school office, worried about his test, feeling unprepared. Every fiber of my being wanted to fix it. That's the mom instinct, to protect, to solve, to make everything okay.

But what I'm realizing is that my discomfort in those moments might be as important to manage as Joey's discomfort with natural consequences.

What We Can Do for Ourselves When It's Hard

So how do we, as corporate working moms, lean into that discomfort? How do we sit with the feelings when we're choosing not to rescue our kids, even when we easily could?

Name the feeling without judgment. When that guilt or anxiety shows up (and it will), acknowledge it. "This is hard. I feel uncomfortable. I want to fix this." That's it. You don't have to make the feeling go away, just notice it's there.

Breathe through the moment. When the guilt hits, try a simple grounding technique. One I've found helpful: slowly trace your thumb from base to tip while breathing in, then trace down the other side while breathing out. It gives your body something to do while your mind processes.

Reframe the narrative. Instead of "I'm being a bad mom by not helping," try "I'm being a good mom by teaching resilience." The discomfort you feel isn't a sign you're doing something wrong, it's often a sign you're doing something brave.

Remember: their struggle isn't your failure. This one is huge. When our kids face consequences, it doesn't mean we've failed as parents. It means we're giving them opportunities to learn. Their discomfort is not our emergency to solve.

Give yourself grace in the learning. Some days you'll rescue them. Some days you won't. You're figuring this out as you go, just like they are. That's okay.

Connect with other moms who get it. There's something powerful about hearing another working mom say, "Yes, I feel that too." We're not meant to navigate this alone.

Finding the Balance We Didn't Know We Needed

I don't have all the answers. I'm writing this still processing what happened yesterday morning. But here's what I'm thinking:

Maybe the gift of remote work isn't just that we can always be there, it's that we have the flexibility to choose when to be there and when to let natural consequences teach the lessons we can't.

Maybe Joey needed his folder delivered yesterday, but maybe next time, he needs to experience what happens when it's not there.

Maybe part of raising resilient, capable humans is letting them struggle a little, even when we have the power to prevent that struggle.

And maybe part of becoming a more intentional working mother is learning to sit with my own discomfort when I make that choice.

The Conversation I'm Having with Joey Tonight

I'm going to talk to Joey this evening. Not in a "you're in trouble" way, but in a "let's figure this out together" way. We'll talk about what happened yesterday morning and make a plan for what happens next time he forgets something.

Because here's what I've realized: my job isn't just to be available. My job is to raise a young man who can handle life when I'm not available. And sometimes, that means choosing not to rescue him, even when I easily could.

What about you? Have you ever found yourself in this situation, able to swoop in and save the day, but wondering if you should? How do you balance being present with teaching independence? I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments.

With love,

Erin

References:

• BYU Magazine (2024). Raising Resilient Kids: Four parenting practices can build emotional strength and self-confidence in child.
• Cleveland Clinic (2023). What Is Mom Guilt and How To Overcome It.
• Motherly (2023). 5 Practical Self-Care Tips For Moms and Mom Guilt.