The Day I Broke My Own Family Rule

Parenting is full of moments when we get it right. And then there are the moments when we become the very example we were hoping our kids would not follow.

This is a story about one of those moments in my house. It involved both my kids when they were teenagers, a very heavy oak coffee table, a questionable parenting decision, and me having to eat my own words.

Looking back, it's one of my favorite parenting stories. Not because I handled it particularly well, but because of what happened after I got it spectacularly wrong.

The Best-Laid Parenting Plans

When my kids were in high school, they got into an argument in the living room. I was in the kitchen, close enough to hear the whole thing unfolding.

Voices were getting louder. Everyone was getting more animated. You know the scene. Nobody is particularly interested in listening, and you can practically feel the temperature in the room rising.

I came around the corner and offered what I thought was a pretty brilliant piece of parenting wisdom.

“Hey, you guys need to work this out between the two of you. Trust me, you'd much rather work it out yourselves than have me work it out for you. Because if I have to work it out, you probably aren't going to like the solution.”

I was feeling pretty good about myself. Look at me, teaching my kids to resolve their own conflicts! Empowering them to take responsibility for their relationships! What a wonderful parenting moment.

And then I went back into the kitchen.

A few minutes later, the volume was rising again. Only this time, I could tell we were moving beyond a verbal disagreement and heading toward something physical. I came flying around the corner just in time to see my son preparing to shove a very heavy oak coffee table toward his sister.

What happened next was less of a carefully considered parenting intervention and more of a full-contact sport. I lunged forward, pinned my son down on the couch with my forearm, and yelled at the top of my lungs:

“IN THIS FAMILY, WE DO NOT SOLVE PROBLEMS WITH PHYSICAL FORCE!”

And then it hit me.

Oh, the irony.

Here I was, declaring our family boundary against physical force while actively using physical force to enforce it.

I had behaved in the very way I was telling my kids not to be. (That hurts!)

We all sat there for a moment with deer-in-the-headlights expressions on our faces. And honestly, I struggled with “what do I do now?”

Eventually, I had to acknowledge the obvious.

“Well, guys, I completely missed the mark here. And I'm so sorry. Will you forgive me?”

I had violated an agreement I expected them to honor, and I needed to take responsibility for that. So I asked for their forgiveness.

Thankfully, I have two incredibly gracious and loving kids, and they extended it to me.

Now, years later, this story occasionally makes its way back around the dinner table. My kids get a good laugh at their mom, and I laugh right along with them.

But there's something about that moment that has stayed with me.

Sometimes the most important thing we can teach our kids isn't how to get it right. It's what to do when we get it wrong.

Boundaries Are an Act of Love

I believe boundaries matter. They matter in our families, friendships, marriages, and the way we relate to ourselves. Boundaries help us establish what is acceptable, what is not, and how we want to live together. They create a shared understanding of how we will treat one another, especially when things get difficult.

In our family, we had a boundary: We do not solve problems with physical force.

That boundary wasn't about making sure everyone always got along. It was about protecting one another and creating a home where people could disagree without hurting each other.

Boundaries are a form of love. They communicate that you matter, I matter, and the way we treat each other matters.

But here's the thing: Having boundaries doesn't mean we're always going to honor them.

We get tired, frustrated, and scared. We get caught up in the heat of the moment. Sometimes, despite our best intentions, we cross a line we said we wouldn't cross.

And sometimes, as parents, we discover that the very standards we're trying to teach our kids are the ones we struggle to live up to ourselves.

Our kids don't need perfect parents. They need parents who are willing to be honest about their imperfections, take responsibility for the harm they've caused, and do the work of making things right.

That doesn't mean we abandon our boundaries or pretend harmful behavior doesn't matter. It means we hold those boundaries while recognizing that we're human, too.

Which brings me to one of my favorite quotes about forgiveness.

The Beautiful Work of Forgiveness

Henri Nouwen writes:

“Forgiveness is the name of love practiced among people who love poorly. The hard truth is that all people love poorly. We need to forgive and be forgiven every day. That is the great work of love among the fellowship of the weak that is the human family.”

I love this because it tells the truth about being human.

We love imperfectly. We react when we wish we'd paused. We say things we wish we could take back. We hurt people we love, sometimes without intending to and sometimes because we haven't yet learned how to handle our own anger or frustration. And the people we love do the same to us.

Forgiveness makes it possible for us to keep showing up in relationship with one another.

It doesn't mean pretending the hurt didn't happen, excusing harmful behavior, or removing necessary boundaries. It means acknowledging what happened, taking responsibility for our part, and making room for a different way forward.

When we've caused harm, that begins with humility. We have to be willing to say, “I was wrong. I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?”

And when someone has hurt us, forgiveness invites us to consider what it might mean to release our grip on the offense and move toward healing. Sometimes that takes time, and forgiveness doesn't always mean reconciliation.

In our family, that moment of apology and forgiveness gave us the opportunity to reset. We reaffirmed the kind of family we wanted to be and how we wanted to treat one another.

The Invitation: Practice the Love We Want to Live

Looking back, I realize that one of the gifts of that parenting fail was the opportunity to model something I hadn't intended to teach that day.

I wanted my kids to learn how to resolve their own problems. What they also got to see was that adults make mistakes, too. That being a parent doesn't put you above the family agreements you ask everyone else to honor. And that when you cross a boundary, you have a responsibility to acknowledge it, apologize, and seek forgiveness.

That's the kind of love I want to practice.

Not a love that expects perfection, but a love that takes responsibility. A love that honors boundaries. A love that is willing to repair what has been broken.

Because boundaries without forgiveness can leave us rigid and resentful. And forgiveness without boundaries can leave us vulnerable to repeated harm.

We need both.

We need the courage to say, “This matters. This is how we want to treat one another.”

And we need the humility to say, “I didn't live up to that. I'm sorry. Will you forgive me?”

Parenting offers us a thousand opportunities to practice this kind of love. So do our marriages, friendships, workplaces, and communities.

We'll get it wrong. We'll lose our patience. We'll occasionally become the very example we were hoping to avoid.

And when we do, we have an opportunity to begin again. Not perfectly, but with honesty, humility, and a willingness to keep learning how to love one another well.

After all, we're all learning how to do this human thing together. And sometimes, if we're lucky, our biggest parenting fails become the stories that bring us back to the table, laughing together about the ways we've grown.

A Question Worth Sitting With

Where in your life might you need to reaffirm a boundary, acknowledge a time you've crossed one, or offer someone the gift of an honest apology?

And what might become possible in that relationship if you were willing to practice the beautiful, imperfect work of forgiveness?

Until next time, may we keep learning to live and lead courageously — with boundaries that honor what matters and hearts humble enough to begin again.