It’s been a whirlwind three weeks since I returned from China. Both of my daughters are in transition — Alexis is applying to high school, and Isabel is applying to college. Lately, our evenings feel dominated by editing, deadlines, and school application talks.
I’m constantly torn between how much to help and how much to let them figure things out. Honestly, this might be the hardest job I’ve ever had. I want to be a good parent — to teach them what I’ve learned about school applications, time management, and handling stress. But I’m realizing that while I think I know what to do, the landscape has completely changed.
High school applications already feel like a marathon, even though we’ve done it once before with Isabel four years ago. But the college process — that’s a whole new world. So many new rules, essays, and platforms. I’ve been out of practice for 30 years, and a lot has changed since my own Stanford days.
We finally decided to divide and conquer — my husband (a.k.a. “Daddy”) is taking the lead on guiding our younger daughter and her high school applications, with me offering final input where needed. I’m taking the lead in supporting Isabel in her of the college process, asking him for feedback when I hit moments of doubt. It’s the only way to stay sane.
Still, some nights I lie awake, wondering — am I helping too much? Am I not helping enough? What if she procrastinates, or misses a key deadline? What if she doesn’t get into the “right” college? But then another thought follows: Is there even such a thing as the “right” college anymore?
Rethinking the “Best” College
A wise Wharton classmate once told me, after helping his own daughters through their college journeys:
“I just want my daughters to graduate more confident than when they entered college.”
That advice has stayed with me. Because at the end of the day, isn’t that what we all want? Not prestige. Not perfect grades. But confidence — the kind that carries them into adulthood with resilience and self-belief.
I sometimes wonder whether elite colleges still nurture confidence as much as they demand performance. The risks are real — Stanford and other top universities have faced tragic student suicides in recent years, including the 2022 death of soccer captain Katie Meyer, which sparked national attention on mental-health pressures in competitive schools. I’m not saying all students are overwhelmed, but these incidents are a sobering reminder that the race to the top can take a heavy toll.
Practicing the “Let Them” Theory
I started wondering how much of that drive we, as parents and leaders, unintentionally pass along. Around that time, I discovered Mel Robbins’ Let Them Theory, and it’s been changing how I think about control. The idea is simple but profound: when my kids make choices — even ones that frustrate me — let them.
Let them figure things out. Let them roll their eyes (my 17-year-old is a pro at this). Let them face the natural consequences of their decisions.
That doesn’t mean doing nothing. It means knowing when to step in and when to step back. Isabel is juggling seven classes, robotics competitions, and 13 college applications — many requiring design portfolios because she’s applying to digital design programs. It’s a bit more of a workload than the average Senior, and she’s understandably overwhelmed. But she’s learning, growing, and discovering what she’s capable of.
And I’m learning too. I can’t control which colleges accept her. I can only guide her, remind her to breathe, and maybe keep snacks and water handy during late-night homework or application sessions.
The Leadership Parallel
This parenting season has made me think a lot about leadership at work. It’s surprisingly similar. As leaders, we also wrestle with how much to guide versus how much to let go or step in to help. Whether it’s team members or teenagers, the instinct to “fix” things is strong — especially when we know the shortcut.
But growth doesn’t come from shortcuts. It comes from effort, mistakes, and reflection — their own, not ours.
As a manager, I used to believe my job was to prevent failure. Now I see that my job is to create a safe space for others to fail and recover. As a parent, I’m learning the same lesson.
So while I study up on college essay guides (hello, College Essay Essentials) and stay informed about deadlines, I’m also practicing letting go — one decision, one eye roll, one deadline at a time.
Because in the end, I can’t control the outcome. All I can do is show up, stay calm, and trust the process — just like I ask my team to do.
Whether it’s at work or at home, the real measure of success isn’t perfection or prestige. It’s confidence, character, and peace of mind — for them, and for me. And that starts when I learn to let them.
I look forward to your comments and questions
Lei