For six years, I felt I was doing everything right. As a manager, I was pleased of how fair, professional, and consistent I was. I did stick to a strict yet fair approach. I thought it was bad to breach the rules since it showed others how to do it wrong. That was what I told myself every time I had to choose between two hard things. That’s exactly what I said to Maria when I let her go last week.
She had been late to work three times in the past month. It was easy: three strikes and you were out. I didn’t get angry or yell. I sat her down and calmly told her what was going on. I told her we had no choice. She nodded but didn’t say anything, and her face was blank. There are no reasons or excuses. She picked up her old tote bag, whispered “Thank you” softly, and exited the office.
I felt something, but it wasn’t guilt; it was discomfort. I still didn’t think about it. The regulations made sense.
A few days later, I strolled by the break room and heard two of my coworkers conversing softly. I stopped, partially because I was used to it and partly because I was curious.
Someone inquired, “Did you hear about Maria?”
“Yes,” the other individual said. “She and her son had been sleeping in the car. Denise said that to me during church.
My heart sank. I could feel the blood flow out of my face.
It was strange that she didn’t say anything after she nodded and carried a big suitcase. For a few moments, I couldn’t move because I realized how bad what I had done was.
I didn’t just obey the rules.
I had let go of a woman who was barely able to hold her whole life together with both hands.
Maria’s ex-husband was nowhere to be located. She didn’t have any family in town, any money saved up, and a young son who needed her. I found out that she would wake up in her car every morning, drive across town to a church bathroom to wash up, get her son ready for school, and then go to work, usually on time. Those three days when I told her to be late? They were probably caused by a broken habit, a bad night, or just trying to stay alive.
I couldn’t stop feeling bad.
I called her, but she didn’t pick up. I sent a message. Nothing. I called a few shelters in the region and told them I was looking for a woman named Maria and her young son. No luck.
I observed it in the parking lot of a supermarket store one late afternoon. It was an older gray car with foggy windows and a few stuff on the rear seat. I walked up slowly. Through the glass, I could see a child’s face peering out from under a blanket. My stomach hurt.
I gave the window a little touch.
Maria was shocked and sat up in the front seat. Her face swiftly went from scared to recognizing him to hesitant but willing. I lifted my hand to signify that I wasn’t going to hurt anyone.
I whispered, “Maria,” in a soft voice. “I’m sorry.”
She didn’t say anything; she just gazed at me with eyes that were tired and unsure.
“I didn’t know.” About your son and the trouble you’re in. I should have asked. I should have cared enough to ask.
She was going to cry, but she stopped herself. I did too.
“I want to give you your job back,” I said. “And I want to help even more.”
She opened the door gently, still on alert.
“I don’t want to give you anything,” I repeated again. “I’m trying to fix a mistake.”
A friend of mine owned a few small rental units nearby. I called him and told him what was going on. By that evening, we had found a little one-bedroom apartment with a kitchenette and a heater that worked. I signed the lease with a different person. Paid the rent for the first month. Maria wasn’t sure what to do and felt overwhelmed, so she didn’t say yes right away.
I looked her in the eye and said, “This isn’t pity.” I want to be the kind of leader I should have been from the beginning.
We moved some of her items that night. A plastic tub full of clothes. A few books for kids. A stuffed animal that has seen better days.
When we put James to bed in a real bed with clean sheets and a lovely pillow, he whispered to his mom, “It even has a night-light.”
The next day, Maria went back to work.
She was different now, but she was stronger. More focused. She also had more faith in herself. She also smiled a lot more. It was clear to our personnel immediately away. But what surprised me the most was how the vibe in the office altered, almost without me noticing at first. People were more likely to lend a hand. They took a break to check in on each other. There was now a sense of compassion where there had only been routine before.
Maria performed a good job. She did a lot better work. She came up with new ideas for the team, fought for more flexible hours for working parents, and quietly mentored some of our new hires. She didn’t talk much about those hard days, but I could tell that they had a big effect on her. She wasn’t a victim; she was someone who knew what it meant to be strong on a level that most people never would.
I learned something that I had never learned from a policy book.
To be a good boss, you need to do more than just obey the rules. It’s about knowing when to ignore them. It means asking questions, paying attention, and sometimes giving people a second chance—not because you have to, but because it’s the right thing to do.
That one chance didn’t just change Maria’s life. It changed my life.
And it softly altered our whole squad.
The most important thing to remember about being a leader is that individuals are not problems to solve; they are stories that need to be understood.