When You Want to Snap (But Don’t)

There I was, standing with my family in the chaos of Rome, queued up with thousands of other tourists, inching our way toward the Trevi Fountain. Like many parents, I wanted a beautiful moment—a family photo with history and wonder in the background. But more importantly, I wanted my children to experience the process of getting there: the waiting, the sharing of space, the respect for others. We chose the slow, polite route. No shoving. No sneaky elbowing to the front. Just the quiet discipline of patience.

And then she happened.

An American woman stepped right up next to us and thrust her phone in front of my face. No “excuse me,” no glance of acknowledgment. Just... entitlement. I said “excuse me” as calmly as I could, and she made eye contact—then deliberately ignored me. When I shifted slightly to regain my space, she let out an exaggerated, loud “Really?!” and shoved me—in front of my kids.

I felt rage bubble up in my chest. All I wanted to do was knock her phone into the fountain and declare justice served. But that would’ve made a different kind of memory, wouldn’t it?

Instead, I paused. My children were watching.

And this is where Social and Emotional Learning becomes less of a concept and more of a choice.

I chose not to engage. Not because I was weak, but because I’m building something stronger: emotional integrity in my children. I want them to know what it looks like to protect your boundaries without matching the behavior of someone who crosses them. I want them to see that strength often looks like restraint.

Eventually, the woman wandered off—likely to try and ruin someone else's experience for her own. We made it to the front of the line. And we got our photo—sunlight hitting the water just right, smiles real and earned, the Trevi towering behind us. More than a beautiful image, it was a moment of grace. Not because it was perfect, but because of the emotional blueprint we laid in getting there.

We’re not just building emotionally healthy humans in classrooms or in calm moments, but in crowds, in chaos, and in the uncomfortable corners of life where your kids are watching how you respond.

That day at the Trevi Fountain reminded me: we don’t just design calm when it’s easy. We architect it in the hard stuff, too. Because what we model in those moments? That becomes the foundation upon which our children build their own reactions.

This is what Instill Your Life is all about—and why I do what I do for families. Because children are the ultimate goal. We’re not just raising humans who know they can stick their arm out and grab what they want, but emotionally agile humans who know they have another choice: to wait, to observe, to regulate, and to lead with integrity, even in the chaos.

And that’s a legacy far more powerful than any picture.