First impressions can fool us. One hurried afternoon and an unexpected introduction taught me why curiosity is kinder than assumption.

It’s a Good Thing I Didn’t Finish That Sentence

I’ve discovered there are moments in life when your brain quietly saves your mouth from making a terrible decision.

Thank goodness.

Because if my mouth had been just thirty seconds faster one afternoon many years ago, this story might have ended very differently.

At the time, I had eight children under the age of fourteen. Yes, eight. Looking back, I’m fairly certain I survived those years on adrenaline, Goldfish crackers, and the sincere belief that someday everyone would eventually sleep through the night.

My oldest, Brittany, had just started her freshman year of high school, while my two youngest attended the sweetest little nursery school called The Gingerbread House. On any given day, I was juggling preschool drop-offs, middle-school drama, PTO meetings, permission slips, orthodontist appointments, soccer schedules, and enough laundry to clothe a small country.

Those years were wonderfully full. They were also wonderfully exhausting.

And if there’s one thing exhaustion isn’t particularly good for, it’s knowing when to keep your mouth shut.

The Afternoon at Preschool

By the time I pulled into The Gingerbread House that afternoon, I felt as though I had already lived two days.

I’d spent the morning at Brittany’s high school, where there was a brand-new principal. Parents were introducing themselves, asking questions, and generally trying to get their bearings. Unfortunately, the line was moving at approximately the speed of January in Rhode Island.

Meanwhile, all I could think about was the clock. My two youngest were waiting for me at preschool, and I hated being late.

By the time I hurried through the doors of The Gingerbread House, my shoulders were somewhere near my ears, my purse weighed approximately forty pounds, and my brain had seventeen tabs open—several of which were probably frozen.

The teachers were chatting with a woman I’d never met. She looked lovely. Calm. Put together. The kind of woman who probably remembered picture day before picture day.

I, on the other hand, looked as though I’d been competing in some sort of parenting decathlon.

Thirty Seconds Can Be a Very Long Time

I smiled apologetically and explained why I was late.

“I got stuck at the high school. Brittany just started there, and they have a new principal. Everyone wanted to meet him, so it took much longer than I expected.”

The woman smiled warmly.

“Oh, you have a daughter there?”

“I do.”

She nodded.

Then, as casually as if she were commenting on the weather, she said:

“That new principal is my husband.”

Well.

That would have been good information to have thirty seconds earlier.

Fortunately, those were the only words I’d spoken. I hadn’t complained. I hadn’t rolled my eyes. And most importantly, I hadn’t launched into one of those dangerous conversations that begins, “Well, I don’t really know him, but…”

Because if we’re being honest, I probably could have.

Not because I had anything terrible to say about the man. I barely knew him. And that was precisely the point.

I had an opinion forming before I had enough information to deserve one.

The Stories We Write About Other People

I’ve thought about that afternoon many times over the years. Not because I embarrassed myself—I actually escaped remarkably unscathed—but because of how easily the story could have gone another way.

We do this all the time without realizing it. We meet someone briefly. We hear one side of a story. We catch the last thirty seconds of a conversation. We see a photograph or read a few words someone has written, and our minds begin filling in everything we don’t know.

Before long, we’ve written an entire chapter about a person when we’ve barely read the first page.

Age has made me much less interested in doing that.

The perfectly polished mother at preschool may be carrying something unimaginably heavy. The quiet woman may simply be shy. The person who seems distracted may have spent the morning worrying about someone she loves.

And the brand-new principal?

Well, he might just be somebody’s husband.

Leaving a Little Room

What stayed with me from that afternoon wasn’t embarrassment. It was the reminder that I didn’t know enough yet.

I’ve come to think one of the kindest things we can give another person is simply room to tell us who they are.

That doesn’t mean ignoring genuinely unkind behavior or pretending every first impression is wrong. Sometimes our instincts tell us something important, and we should pay attention.

But there’s a difference between noticing what we see and deciding we already know the whole story.

Most of the time, we don’t.

We’ll never see everything happening in people’s lives. Chapters came before we arrived, and conversations we weren’t there to hear. Sometimes a little curiosity is kinder than a quick conclusion.

And sometimes thirty extra seconds can save us from a sentence we’d spend the next thirty years wishing we could take back.

Thirty Seconds Behind My Brain

Every now and then, I still think about that afternoon at The Gingerbread House. I can picture that lovely woman standing there, smiling at me while I explained why the brand-new principal had made me late.

And I can still hear her saying:

“That new principal is my husband.”

It makes me laugh every single time.

But it also reminds me of something I’ve carried with me ever since: there is almost always more to someone’s story than the little piece we’ve been given.

So I’m trying to leave a little more room before I fill in the blanks.

I’m not always successful, of course. I am still Cheryl, and occasionally Cheryl has thoughts. 😂

But I’ve learned that some of the wisest words I’ve ever spoken are the ones I had the good sense not to say.

And on that particular afternoon?

Thank heavens my mouth was thirty seconds behind my brain.

🐞 Stay Awhile…

If you’re not quite ready to leave the porch, here are a couple more paths you might enjoy wandering down.

If your own inner narrator could use a little more grace…
→ Overcoming Negative Self-Talk: Finding Honey in the Hundred Acre Wood

If you’d prefer to forget all about personal growth and make questionable retail decisions instead, HomeGoods and I have a story for you….
→ HomeGoods is Playing Games With Me

🍃 Come Find Your Spot

If this story reminded you that we’re all still learning how to move through the world with a little more grace, I’d love to welcome you as a Cottage Friend.

I’ll send you my free Welcome to the Cottage letter series—five little notes filled with humor, hope, and gentle reminders that you’re not walking through life alone.

Think of it as saving your own spot here at the Cottage.

🍃 Come Find Your Spot

The porch light will always be on. 🐞