It’s not often I get to enjoy the satisfaction of being right as a parent, so I’m taking a moment to savor this win. Parents of teens or tweens, you probably get exactly what I’m talking about. Everyone else—your turn will come!

It started a few days ago when my daughter casually mentioned her school was hosting a TED Talk competition. What she didn’t tell us right away was that she’d decided not to participate and instead was working on her own passion project. Now, I’m all for encouraging our kids to follow their interests and having autonomy. But kids (like adults) can be a bit shortsighted and need thought partners. Since we have a bit more experience and perspective, sometimes we have to transition from thought partner to coach, or even at times pull rank and simply invite the girls to trust us.

This happened last fall when we (with some help from her friends) convinced our oldest daughter to give volleyball a shot. She ended up enjoying being part of a team, even though she wasn’t thrilled about her performance on the court. We knew it would teach her valuable lessons like not being so hard on herself and how to rely on others. As the oldest, she carries what I call “the stench of responsibility,” often shouldering burdens alone. She holds herself to such a high bar and sometimes it gets tough up there on that tightrope. Believe me, I know.

When Olivia told us she wasn’t going to do the pitch competition, we immediately knew two things. First, she was going to end up doing it. She’s a talented speaker, takes acting classes, loves public speaking, and dreams of hosting a talk show—this opportunity was made for her. Second, even though she may not like it, we realized we needed her to start running her “opt-out” decisions by us first. We weren’t sure why she chose to sit this one out, but figured a little extra guidance couldn’t hurt. Our new rule: before she opts out of any story arts activity, she needs to check in with us so we can help her think it through. It’s a balance—she keeps some independence, but we get to help her consider her choices more carefully.

So imagine my not-at-all-shocked expression at breakfast when she casually dropped the whole story. Yesterday, she went to school, asked one of the guides (their version of teachers) if she could still join, and spent the rest of the day catching up on all the prep work she’d missed. The competition was that same day. Luckily, she’d had a few ideas swirl through her dreams the night before (because of course she did). She landed on a pitch titled: “Why Book Bans Are Ridiculous,” drawing from national research and her own reading experiences—books she’s read that are banned in other parts of the country. Spoiler alert: she won the peer vote. Next up, she and the other top five will record their pitches and submit them to a panel of adults. No big deal. Just another day being Olivia.

The thing is, we know what she’s capable of. This isn’t surprising. What stood out most to me was that when we told her—gently but firmly—that she needed to figure out how to get back in the game, she didn’t push back. She didn’t argue. She knew we weren’t just being bossy; we were calling her toward something that mattered. And she rose to the occasion. Now that’s the kind of parenting win I love, one where I get to witness growth in the ways I least expected.

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