The Parenting Philosophy That Raises Eyebrows—and Even Better Kids (Part 1)

Slightly Unpopular, Sometimes Unconventional, and Entirely Intentional

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An ‘expert’ recently suggested I change the name of my Substack.

“Nobody wants to be unpopular,” she said.

I considered it for a split second. I like to think of myself as open-minded, and experts do know things. But I ignored her advice—not to be contrarian or prove a point, but because my title fits me.

I feel most at home in the unpopular space—where I’m welcome but never all-in. Friendly enough to be invited, never indoctrinated enough to slap their bumper sticker on my car.

That’s my sweet spot.

It keeps me nimble, keeps me from getting sucked into groupthink, lets me move in and out of spaces when the certainty of their beliefs starts clashing with what I value. I’ve been in those spaces before—where you belonged only if you didn’t ask too many questions.

I’ve watched certainty blind people—and I’ve watched it let them down.

So, no, I don’t fit in. I stay on the fringe—a back-of-the-room kind of girl. There is no mold for me. And that’s exactly how I like it.

I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t lonely at times. Not in a soul-crushing, staring-out-a-rainy-window kind of way. More in a perpetually-searching-for-my-people type of way.

But the alternative? Selling out for the comfort of belonging? That’s never been for me.

I question everything. I stay open. I resist labels. But there are a few things I know in my bones—the ones I’ve held onto, the ones that have shaped my parenting and my life.

And a few have made me unpopular as hell.
And I suspect they may do the same here.

But I don’t make decisions just to be different. I make them because I know that conventional wisdom isn’t always wise, and the safest path often leads to regret. I’ve parented in a way that aligns with what I value most—not what’s easy, expected, or popular.

This month, I’m celebrating 20 years of parenting. And as I look back on all of it—the seasons, the stumbles, the small wins, and the giant losses—I can say with absolute certainty that my most unpopular decisions have been the ones that mattered most.

So, I’m sharing them with you.

Not to convince you. Not to tell you how to parent.

But because if you’ve ever felt like you don’t quite fit in, like your gut is telling you one thing while the world is shouting another, maybe—just maybe—you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

Being unpopular comes at a cost. But in the end, the payoff is so, so sweet.

Try. Try Harder. Try Hardest. And Quit When Necessary.

I come from a family that values follow-through and grit. If we commit to something, we see it through. And there’s nobility in that—perseverance builds character, and I’m proud my parents taught me the value of hard work.

But that same mindset made me rigid. It kept me in situations long after they stopped serving me. Over the years, I’ve learned that while grit is valuable, knowing when to quit is just as important.

I stayed in roles where my work was praised but never valued—including one where I was denied equal pay. I held onto a marriage long past the point where my well-being mattered. And I offered endless chances in a different relationship I had no business being in altogether.

But those experiences taught me something important. Persistence is admirable—until it takes more than it gives back.

So today, I teach my kids what I wish I had learned earlier. Sometimes, quitting is the strongest—and smartest—thing you can do.

Fight for what matters. Push for resolution. But when every possible avenue for reconciliation or compromise is exhausted, let go without hesitation.

When safety is at risk.
When worth is dismissed.
When values are compromised.

Without guilt. Without fear. Without looking back. Because walking away isn’t quitting. It’s self-respect in action.

Not Everyone Deserves a Trophy.

At some point, we started confusing presence with achievement. As if showing up is enough. As if all contributions carry the same weight. As if fairness means handing out the same prize to everyone, no matter the effort, no matter the outcome.

But existence isn’t excellence. Attendance isn’t contribution. And pretending otherwise does more harm than good.

We all have strengths. We all have weaknesses. Some we’re born with, some we develop, and some we’ll never change no matter how hard we try. Accepting that—not resisting it, not flattening it, not demanding that everyone be celebrated the same—makes room for something better. A society that’s alive and dynamic.

A thriving community doesn’t come from sameness. It grows when people discover their unique talents, skills, gifts, and purpose—and put them to work in ways that elevate those around them. When we recognize where we thrive, where we struggle, and where we can actually make a difference.

False confidence isn’t confidence at all. It’s a fragile shield that shatters the moment reality tests it.

I love to sing. If I could have one talent, it would be the ability to move people through music. But the truth is, I’m a decent car singer at best. No amount of applause will change that. No award will magically allow me to sell out the Moody Center. Giving me a trophy for a skill I don’t have isn’t kindness—it’s dishonesty.

And it cheapens the craft of those who were born with the gift. The ones who spend years shaping it, turning talent into something transcendent.

And yet, here we are—handing out recognition as if it’s meaningless, terrified to let differences exist.

If we genuinely value uniqueness, why are we so afraid of it?

I don’t want to be celebrated for something I haven’t earned or don’t possess. That wouldn’t make me feel included—it would make me feel like an imposter, diminishing the real talents I should be recognized for.

And I crave to be in rooms where talent varies. Where people shine in their own way—without fear, without envy, and with a genuine respect for the differences that make us extraordinary.

Because equal doesn’t always mean fair. And when everything is rewarded, nothing is truly valued.

Emotions Are Signals. Reality Is the Roadmap.

Feelings and reality are not the same thing.

Emotions matter. Reality matters. Confusing the two leads to chasing the wrong problems, making reckless choices, and spinning in circles.

Feelings are warning signals—like a check engine light. They tell us something needs attention, but they won’t pinpoint the problem. Reality is the actual engine—the moving parts that need fixing. We can’t drive based on warning lights alone, but ignoring them? That’s asking for a breakdown.

This is where discernment matters—recognizing when emotions are valuable, when they distort reality, and when to channel them into meaningful action.

When we act purely on emotion, we end up chasing the wrong solutions, battling problems that aren’t real, or making choices based on how we want things to be rather than how they are.

When we rely only on cold, hard facts, we risk overlooking what our emotions are trying to tell us—dismissing discomfort, suppressing intuition, or missing the deeper reason something feels off.

Emotions and reality matter, but each serves a distinct purpose.

Take parenting. My daughter comes home and says a teacher grabbed her arm too hard. Rage hits. My body tenses. Every instinct tells me to storm into that school and demand answers.

But before I act, it’s crucial to separate emotion from fact. (Don’t you roll your eyes; trust me— as a former teacher, we hear the craziest, most exaggerated, and not-so-accurate stories about what happens at home, too.)

I feel like my child has been harmed. That’s valid. But what actually happened? Was the teacher restraining her from running into the street? Was the teacher breaking up a fight? Was my child misreading the moment? Or is my gut reaction completely justified, and I need to escalate this immediately?

If I let emotions drive, I’ll charge in guns blazing—potentially misreading the situation and making it worse. If I ignore my emotions completely, I risk dismissing a real problem that needs to be addressed. The smart move is to pause, gather information, and respond to what’s actually true—not just my initial reaction.

Emotions are like a fire alarm blaring in your house. It’s loud, urgent, and impossible to ignore. But before you panic, you have to check— is the kitchen actually on fire, or did someone just burn toast? Reacting to the alarm alone leads to chaos. Ignoring it completely could be catastrophic. Reality is checking the source before deciding what action to take.

Mastering the ability to separate emotion from reality changes everything. It’s the difference between being ruled by feelings and using them to think clearly, act intentionally, and move forward.

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Every unpopular choice I’ve made has come at a cost. But the trade-off? Completely worth it.

Because when you parent with conviction—when you choose what’s right for you over what’s easy—you don’t just raise strong kids. You raise kids who know how to think, who trust themselves, and who don’t need the world’s approval to stand tall.

And if that makes me unpopular? I can live with that.

In Part 2, I’ll share my next set of unconventional choices that redefined trust, reshaped relationships, and proved that sometimes, the most questioned decisions turn out to be the most important ones.

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The Parenting Philosophy That Raises Eyebrows—And Even Better Kids (Part 2)