Years ago, I joined a book club. Most of the time, we dove into fiction—characters, plots, twists, and the occasional debate over what the author really meant. But one month we switched things up and read a parenting book: How to Talk So Kids Will Listen & Listen So Kids Will Talk.

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I still remember how the short drive to the doctor’s office felt like the longest journey of my life. Each traffic light seemed to linger too long, and the familiar streets blurred together in a haze of anxious anticipation. Earlier that day, I had received a call after a biopsy. And if you’ve ever been in that position, you know the silent code: good news comes over the phone, but bad news requires an in-person visit. They asked me to come in.

By the time I slid into the driver’s seat, I had already assumed the worst. Yet, surprisingly, the hardest part wasn’t sitting across from the doctor hearing the diagnosis—it was the space in between.

I was catching up with a friend recently who worked in a family-owned automotive business for many years. Like many family businesses, they’ve always taken pride in their blue-collar roots and “loyal to a fault” culture.

Over the years, she confided in me many times about the dysfunction a particular member of the family brought to the business—constant drama, resisting accountability, and stirring up tension that weighed on everyone. Employees walked on eggshells around him. She spent more time cleaning up the emotional wake than doing her job. The owners tolerated him in order to preserve the family peace. She loved her job and the family, but couldn’t get past this one individual. 

But during this conversation, she had news: he’d finally left the business.