The Phoenix Phenomenon
As I sit at the kitchen island of my parents' house, looking out the window at the snow-covered trees, I feel a familiar joy. It’s a feeling I didn’t realize I missed during my time in Florida. The delicate powder dusting the branches reminds me of the cold I never thought I’d admit to missing.
This time at home has been different. I didn’t make it home for Christmas, so staying with my parents now feels extra special. My dog, Butters, is here too, and watching him experience snow for the first time has been a treat. He buries his face in it, munches on the fluffy white, and gets it caked in his paws. His pure, unfiltered joy is contagious, and it has taught me something surprising: owning a dog has made me reflect on how I treat the people I care about.
One of my goals this year is to extend myself more grace. I’m my own harshest critic, often holding myself to impossible standards. But I’ve realized that to truly accept myself, I need to start by extending grace to others. This week, my mother pointed out something that hit me hard—she doesn’t always feel respected by me.
My immediate reaction was defensive: _When am I rude to you?_ But as I’ve reflected, I’ve started to see moments where she was right. My mom loves me deeply and has done so much to set me up for success. Yet, in return, I’ve sometimes been dismissive or unkind. That realization stung.For example, we recently went to pick up my new car at the dealership, and the sales rep pointed out my license plate was expired. My mom’s reaction was sharp, filled with frustration. At the moment, I felt boxed into a corner, angry and embarrassed. But as I write this, I see it differently. Her reaction wasn’t about tearing me down; it was a moment of tough love—a way of showing she cares.
Owning Butters has given me a new perspective on my parents. There was a moment when I was talking to my mom about him, venting that he wouldn’t listen to me. She simply said, “I know that feeling.” It clicked. She was talking about raising my brother and me. When you care deeply about something—whether it’s a dog, a child, or a loved one—you want to protect it. But you also have to let go and allow them to make their own mistakes. This balancing act has been a challenge, but it’s teaching me patience, humility, and the value of unconditional love.
For most of my life, I’ve seen my parents as infallible. I’ve held them to a standard that no one can meet, least of all me. But the truth is, they’re just as human as I am. They’ve made mistakes, learned from their parents, and are doing their best with what they know. Recognizing this has helped me let go of resentment and focus on breaking cycles of negativity.
This week wasn’t just about personal growth—it was also about professional connection. I traveled for work, dreading the prospect of being away from home. But the experience surprised me. After a long day of client meetings, I joined a few colleagues for dinner. Initially, I resisted, wanting to retreat to my hotel room. But I’m so glad I went. For the first time in my career, I felt a sense of camaraderie with my coworkers. We bonded over shared experiences, laughed about office politics, and opened up about our struggles. It reminded me that work doesn’t have to feel transactional. There’s a real value in building relationships with the people you spend so much of your life working alongside.
An unexpected highlight of the week was a conversation about faith. Over dinner, two of my coworkers and I began discussing our beliefs. It was an organic, heartfelt exchange that left me feeling uplifted. As someone new to faith, I often struggle with doubt—not just in a spiritual sense, but in my own abilities. One of my colleagues, Leslie, shared her desire to take a leap of faith in her career. She’s unsure, hesitant, but so capable. This is for her: You will learn to fly with the wings of faith. You have what it takes. I’ve been where you are, and if I can do it, so can you.
This week has been a lesson in letting go of perfectionism and seeing criticism as an opportunity for growth, not a personal attack. Whether it’s feedback from my parents, my coworkers, or even life itself, I’m learning to peel back my defenses. Most people aren’t out to hurt me; they want to help me learn. And sometimes, the hardest lessons are the ones you have to live through to understand. These "unteachable lessons" shape who we are and remind us that growth never stops—not for me, not for my parents, not for anyone. So here’s to extending grace, embracing growth, and finding joy in connection—whether it’s with family, colleagues, or even a snow-loving dog named Butters.