032: That Wasn’t Very SEL of Me

By May 2019, my husband and I had saved enough to take our three boys to Italy to visit his sister and extended family. His parents were born and raised just south of Rome, and the opportunity to explore their roots while making new memories felt like a dream come true.

Our boys had never been to Europe, so we wanted the trip to be unforgettable. We asked each of them to choose one place they really wanted to visit. The two younger boys immediately picked Florence and Pisa. My oldest, Ethan, chose Venice. (Great choices all around—but geographically, not exactly convenient!)

Florence and Pisa are both on the west coast, while Venice sits on the opposite side of the country. Still, we were determined to honor everyone’s wishes. To break up the long drive, we built in stops to Cinque Terre and Modena (to visit the Ferrari Museum) between Pisa and Venice.

After spending a few days in Rome, we packed ourselves—five people and a very compact car—at 4 a.m. and drove three and a half hours north to Florence. We squeezed through narrow streets, navigated parking challenges, and spent a few hours admiring the city’s beauty. Then we drove another 90 minutes to Pisa, where the younger boys gleefully posed for the classic "holding up the Leaning Tower" photos.

But shortly after those pictures were taken, the trip took a turn.

(Pre-Meltdown Picture: notice the overcast sky as it has been gently raining off and on all day.)

Ethan, who was 18 at the time, began to unravel.

“I don’t want to stay here anymore.”
“I’m tired.”
“I’m hungry.”
“When are we leaving?”

I was tired and hungry too—and I snapped.

“This is NOT the Ethan vacation! Your brothers wanted to come here specifically. In two days, we’re going to your place—five hours away! Until then, suck it up!”

The words came out too fast. And as soon as they did, I regretted them.

In my work with educators, I emphasize that all behavior is communication, and that we must model SEL skills for our students. And here I was—failing to do just that.

We are human. We make mistakes. But what matters most is what we do after the mistake.

So I asked my husband, Carlo, to take our younger sons to explore a nearby cathedral while I stayed back with Ethan. I apologized. I told him I was overwhelmed too—physically drained from travel, emotionally frayed from long hours in the car, and desperately trying to make this trip special for everyone.

He apologized too. He admitted that his knee, which had undergone ACL and meniscus surgery the year before, had been hurting all day—especially in the rainy, overcast weather. He didn’t want to ruin the day for his brothers, but his discomfort had caught up with him.

So we made a deal. For the rest of the trip, whenever Ethan needed a break, he’d let me know. We’d pause—sit for a moment, take in the scenery, maybe share an espresso. Carlo and the younger boys could explore ahead, and we’d catch up when we were ready.

That one conversation shifted everything. We owned our emotions, acknowledged our needs, and deepened our connection. From that point forward, Ethan and I carved out small moments together—quiet conversations, shared coffees, memories just for the two of us.

This experience reminded me that integrating SEL into our lives is not about being perfect. It’s about being real. It's not just about teaching SEL—it’s about living it. Even when we fall short, we can model what it looks like to repair, reflect, and grow.

Here are three takeaways to turn moments like these into lasting lessons:

🔹 Acknowledge and Apologize – When you mess up, own it. A sincere apology models accountability and builds trust.
🔹 Reflect and Share – Talk about what triggered the moment and what you learned. Vulnerability opens doors to meaningful connection.
🔹 Commit to Growth – Use the experience to do better next time. That’s where resilience begins.

So as we continue to teach SEL, let’s also practice it in real life. Because sometimes the greatest lessons aren’t in the classroom—they’re in the messy, honest, human moments in between.

(Post-Meltdown Picture: A few days later, Ethan and I enjoying our time in Cinque Terra.)