When I was a kid (the youngest of two) I was famous for shouting, “That’s not fair!” anytime my older sibling got to do something cool that I wasn’t allowed to do.

My mom’s answer was always the same: “LIFE isn’t fair.”

Cruelly unsatisfying in an 8-year-old’s ears. But she was right. Life isn’t fair—which still makes me want to pound my raging little fists into a 1980s formica countertop.

Fast forward a few decades, and I find myself repeating this mantra to H, my strong-willed mini-me, who seems so concerned about what others have instead of what she has. But here’s the uncomfortable truth: it’s not just children who struggle with life not being fair.

As a working mom, the imbalance of care I give and carry often seems in no way fair either. The frantic logistics. The scheduling. The chauffeuring to sports, therapy sessions, homework help, meal prep—the list goes on and on.

But maybe it’s helpful to remember that unfairness cuts more than one way. It’s also not fair that—through meditation and some hard-won self-work—I have a level of self-awareness that a lot of people don’t. The ability to pause my overreaction, acknowledge what I’m feeling, and sometimes even laugh at the absurdity of my response. The ability to set firm boundaries at work so I can split my time more evenly between family and office responsibilities.

Reading Mel Robbins’ Let Them Theory helped me stop resenting the unfairness of life. You cannot control how other people act. You can’t control their thoughts, their feelings, or their decisions. But you can control your own response. You can “let them” live as they choose—and focus on what you can control: your own emotions, your own boundaries.

And that shift has been transformative. Instead of wasting energy trying to change or influence people, I reclaim my time and my peace. I offer more grace—to my husband, to my neighbor after an argument, even to my boss who wants me to track what I consider “vanity metrics.” (Unlike actionable metrics that actually reflect business performance, these provide little more than a misleading sense of success. I could deal with them being time-consuming—but it’s hard to not be irritated when I see no value.)

There is no fair trade between deserving and receiving to be had in this life (which feels inexcusable), but what there is instead is so much grace.

The unearned, unbidden, unnoticed gifts of grace have somehow carried me here, and they will somehow carry me on.

So please know: I, too, am trying to float more and fight less. And when that fails? I sometimes pound my now-arthritic fists on the table.

(Formica, thankfully, is nowhere in sight.)