Let Them: The Hardest Lesson I Ever Learned
This Week on Landline
The Moment I Realized I Couldn't Control Anyone
My ex-husband once asked me, “How often has anyone changed your mind?” I shrugged. Not often.
That question should have been my wake-up call, but I wasn’t ready. I still thought I could manage people, broker peace, and say just the right thing to bring everyone together. I believed in my own persuasive power more than I believed in reality. I needed to hit my own walls before I understood that I couldn't control other people.
I needed to try to become a doctor to realize I couldn’t. I needed to get addicted to Adderall and benzodiazepines to admit that just because a doctor prescribes something doesn’t mean I’m not a drug addict. And just because I’m Irish doesn’t mean I should drink every day before noon. I needed to make my own decisions, so why on earth did I think I could control someone else’s?
At best, the delusion was one of charity. At worst—and more likely—it was pride.
When Family Conflict Becomes a Losing Battle
For a long time, I believed I was the glue. The keeper of the peace. The middle child with a duty. If I didn’t step in, everything would fall apart. And by everything, I mean my family—my (sometimes) sickeningly happy, sing-songy, put-on-a-play-in-the-living-room clan. They used to call us the Von Headlands. We were tight.
But somewhere along the way, my family became a microcosm of what happened in America as a whole: convictions took precedent over connection, and people chose their corners. I saw the line in the sand, but I thought I could manage it. I had a whole playbook of, "I don’t think she meant that…" conversations. I spent hours brokering peace. Hours I should have spent on my own life, my own marriage, my own sanity. But I couldn't let it go. If I stopped trying, wouldn’t that mean I was letting my family fall apart?
Then it fell apart anyway.
By the time my father passed from early-onset Lewy Body dementia, we weren’t even sitting together at his funeral. My one sister held fast to her belief that being gay was wrong and loving Jesus was right. My other sister held fast to her belief that if you didn't agree with her, she would write a play exposing your darkest secrets (and some she'd make up) and put it on Broadway.
I wanted to fix it. I begged my mother to do something. I begged my sisters to see reason. I begged my own heart to stop breaking. But in the end, it was like pushing molasses up a sandy hill. There was no peace to be had, no clever wording or perfect moment that could undo what was done. I had to accept what Mel Robbins calls Let Them. Let them believe what they want to believe. Let them choose their corners. Let them take their own path, even if I wouldn't have chosen it for them.
I didn’t learn this lesson easily. It cost me my sanity, my sobriety, and my marriage. But I did learn it.
Why Landline Exists: A Place for Real Conversation
After everything, I realized something: I can’t control people. I can’t make them hear each other. But maybe I can create a space where they want to. That’s why I started Landline, a real conversation podcast.
In the spirit of Let Them, I wanted to build a space where people could talk. Not perform. Not argue for points. Not just mic drop and leave. But actually converse. We live in a world where everyone’s got their speech prepped and their applause line ready. But what happens when we stop trying to win and start listening instead? Landline is about that kind of conversation—the messy, real, unexpected kind.
Maybe you’re in a similar place. Maybe you’ve spent years being the referee, the peace broker, the emotional first responder for people who don’t want to be rescued. Maybe you think if you just explain it differently, if you just find the right words, if you just try a little harder, it’ll fix things. I get it. I’ve been there. But what if it’s not your job? What if you just... let them?
Join the Conversation: Call In or Submit Your Story
Have you had to let go of keeping the peace? Have you ever fought a losing battle and finally walked away? Call in during the live show this Friday at 3 PM CST or leave a voicemail anytime. Or, if you’d rather put it in writing, submit your story, question, or advice for this week’s topic: learning to let go and choosing connection over control.
📞 Call in live this Friday at 3 PM CST: 615-212-5437
📬 Leave a voicemail anytime (you only get 3 minutes so make it count!)
📝 Submit your story, question, or advice here.
We’ll talk about it on Landline, the podcast that’s redefining how to have meaningful conversations and move past conflict and estrangement.
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