What Feeding My Son Taught Me About Trust

Entry 001 – CEO of the Everyday

It’s 2:35am.
I’m tired. Alfred—my 10-day-old son—is flailing in my arms, clearly upset, hungry, and unable to tell me what he needs. I'm trying to feed him, but he’s frantic, twisting, unsettled. I respond with control—trying to command the moment, to get him to “calm down,” so I can help him.

It backfires.

Then Michelle—gentle and wise—says softly:
"Be patient."

I pause.

And in that pause, I see it.
I’ve been trying to fix the discomfort—his and mine.
I’ve been trying to control what simply needs to be held.

So I choose to trust.

Not in some perfect method, or in having the right answer.
But in Alfred. In myself. In the moment.
Even though it’s chaotic. Even though I’m exhausted.
Even though we don’t yet fully understand each other.

I choose to believe that we can hold more than this.
That we don’t need to “solve” every tension—we can just be in it, together.

And something shifts.

As I trust the process—trust him, trust me—my energy softens. I begin to feed him again, not from a place of pressure or performance, but from grace.
From presence.
From love, without agenda.

It’s still messy. But it’s beautiful.

I’m learning that moments like these are the practice.
That holding the tension—between what’s happening and what I wish were happening—isn’t a weakness. It’s a form of strength.
It’s the work of becoming. It’s what real care looks like.

Whether I’m leading a team or rocking my son in the dark, I’m learning that:

Leadership isn’t always about control. Sometimes it’s just about staying—open, grounded, kind—through the unknown.

This, I believe, is what it means to be a CEO of the Everyday.

If this resonates with you, I’d love to hear your story. Parenthood, leadership, growth—they all ask us to hold more than we think we can. But we’re capable of more grace than we realize.

Until next time,
Andrew - CEO of the Everyday