I Lost My Shit Over a Stuffy

It's not even 7:31 AM Monday morning and I already lost it.

I got back from a conference the night before with two free GOAT stuffies from vendors — one for each of my boys. They were thrilled. Then they said: "Momma, they're identical. How do we tell them apart?"

So I stayed up late sewing their initials on the hooves. A and K. Small detail. Real effort. I was proud of this.

The next morning I handed them the stuffies with a smile, waiting for the reaction.

My older son looked at his. Looked at the initial. "Wait. I got the wrong one."

No thank you. No excitement. Just disappointment.

And I lost my sh*t before breakfast.

I lectured about gratitude. About how I stayed up late. About all I do. I took the stuffy back. We drove to school in silence.

My leadership failed.

Before I dropped them off, I pulled into the school parking lot. I didn't lecture from the front seat. I unbuckled, turned around, made eye contact. Came down to their level.

"I lost my patience this morning, and that wasn't okay. I'm sorry."

Real time. Right there. Not after school.

Then we talked through it:

You can hold two feelings at once. Disappointed about the wrong initial and grateful that your mom stayed up making something special for you. Both are true. Both matter.

And this — the part I had to own out loud: when I yelled, I didn't teach gratitude. I taught them that their feelings aren't safe with me. I made his disappointment about my effort. I prioritized what I did over who he is. That's the failure.

Leaders stay calm. Then problem-solve. Not the other way around.

Here's what I got right: I didn't let shame keep me silent. I didn't wait until after school. I sat with the discomfort right then — in real time — and showed my sons what accountability actually looks like.

No leader is perfect. But humility changes everything.

My kids didn't need a mom who sews initials perfectly. They needed a mom who could say "I was wrong" and mean it.

People don't follow perfect leaders. They follow leaders who are honest about their failures and willing to repair them in real time.

Motherhood is the ultimate leadership role. It's my laboratory — where every principle I believe about leadership gets tested against something real. And what I keep learning is this: the leaders who actually move culture aren't the ones who perform perfection. They're the ones who model accountability. Who stay calm under pressure. Who own their missteps immediately and repair the relationship before moving forward.

Integrity isn't about never failing. It's about how fast you acknowledge it and course-correct.

That's the standard I hold myself to as a mother. That's the standard I hold myself to as a leader. They're not separate.

Your leadership is being tested somewhere too — in your family, your team, your life.

The next time there's a wrong stuffy, remember the parking lot.