Character isn’t something we’re born with like green eyes or an extra inch of height. It is instilled. It is taught, practiced, and repeatedly modeled. It’s a set of learned behaviors, forged slowly over time through everyday choices, quiet observations, and how we handle the moments that don’t go our way.
As a mother, instilling character in my children has been one of my highest priorities. I try to lead by example, though in complete transparency, I am not always the bigger person. Frustration gets the best of me sometimes, but I keep trying.
As my kids grow older, I often just sit back and marvel at who they are becoming. Sure, we vent to each other behind closed doors—we’re human! But when placed in high-stakes or sensitive situations, I am so proud to say that the vast majority of the time, my children step up, do the right thing, and present themselves with grace.
Growing up in Major League Baseball, attending public events, and navigating high-profile settings, learning how to carry yourself accordingly wasn’t just a suggestion—it was required. It shaped my appreciation for composure, respect, and kindness. Naturally, that standard carried into how I raised my own family. (I’ve always told their teachers and coaches over the years: If my kids ever step out of line, you have my full permission to correct them—and please let me know so I can address it at home, too!)
Yet, holding a high standard for others always turns the mirror back onto ourselves. When I take a deep look in that mirror, I ask: Am I always kind? Do I always take the high road? No, but I try. Especially when it’s hard.
This past summer, I was at a national dance competition with my daughter. It wasn’t our normal circuit; she had gone with a friend, loved the energy, and decided to audition for their national dance company—a step completely outside her comfort zone.
When we arrived, we quickly realized the scale: over 1,000 dancers auditioning for roughly 20 spots. To make the odds even steeper, about 13 of those spots were held by returning company members.
We stayed through the end of the week for the closing gala where they announced the final selections. Sitting next to my daughter, I could feel her nervous energy. All week, she had been pacing, organizing, and reorganizing her belongings—her classic tell when anxiety sets in.
As they called out the numbers of the dancers who made the company, we sat hand-in-hand.
Then, they called the number right after hers.
She leaned over and quietly whispered, “I didn’t make it, Mom. They passed my number.”
My heart sank. I could physically feel the weight of her disappointment rolling off her shoulders. But almost instantaneously—before tears could even gather—she stood up with the crowd. She clapped, smiled, and cheered loudly for every single girl whose number was called.
Sitting there, my heart was swelling with immense pride and aching with deep sympathy at the exact same time. As parents, we desperately want our kids to excel. We want them to win, to be chosen, to see their hard work rewarded. But when faced with disappointment, how someone composes themselves in the aftermath says everything about their character.
Seeing her hold her head high, cheer for her peers, and later walk right up to congratulate them personally was a masterclass in grace. We don’t need to celebrate the loss itself, but we should absolutely honor the grace found within it. In that moment, watching her, I thought: Okay, I must be doing something right.
I talk a lot about my daughter because we spend so much time traveling for dance, and her resilience is a constant source of inspiration. But I see this same golden thread in my boys. My eldest has played baseball throughout his college career. He doesn’t always get to pitch as consistently as he’d like, but his love for the game and his loyalty to his teammates never waver. Regardless of his own playing time, he is always the first one at the railing, genuinely rooting for the other guys.
I love how comfortable my kids are celebrating the success of others—and it inspires me to do the same.
When I look at my friends who build businesses, step out on a limb, and put themselves out there, I am their loudest cheerleader. Watching people I love step outside their comfort zones pushes me to step outside mine. Publishing UnSettled was terrifying for me initially—completely outside my comfort zone—and now it has become such a therapeutic, grounding space.
As this new dance season begins, I am so excited to watch the growth in my daughter and her peers. I love watching relationships form, seeing them root for one another regardless of scores or placements, and watching them hold their heads high as they press forward.
True character isn’t defined by the trophies we win or the spots we secure; it’s revealed in how warmly we applaud for others while we’re still waiting for our own moment.
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