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Among the milestones of childhood — your first lost tooth, first bike ride, first day of school — burning down the family home doesn’t usually make the list. But growing up on a farm in Idaho, my childhood wasn’t exactly typical.
I was eight. I hadn’t done anything intentionally reckless — just left a lampshade-less reading lamp resting on a pillow. On my way downstairs to breakfast, I left the light on. A little while later, my dad smelled smoke. By the time help arrived, the fire had consumed everything. Our home was gone.
What amazes me most now isn’t the fire — it’s what my father chose to do afterward.
The weight of a mistake and the wisdom of timing
I didn’t find out it was my fault until I was 16.
Apparently, the fire chief had advised my father not to tell me right away. The emotional weight of responsibility at that age could’ve been damaging. I’m grateful my dad waited. His decision wasn’t just kind — it was strategic. It allowed me to grow up without carrying a burden I wasn’t ready to process.
Looking back, I see this now as a masterclass in leadership. Not the kind they teach in business school — but the kind that matters most when you’re running a company, managing people and deciding how to handle failure.
Related: From Pain to Power — How to Understand the Link Between Childhood Trauma and Entrepreneurship
How you handle mistakes shapes your culture
As a small business owner, your team is smaller, your margin for error thinner and your influence bigger. That means every misstep can feel amplified. But it also means that how you respond to mistakes doesn’t just fix a problem — it defines your culture.
The best leaders don’t respond to every mistake the same way. They know when to be firm and when to give someone the grace to grow.
Here’s what I’ve learned about finding that balance:
1. Not all mistakes are created equal
Some errors are innocent, caused by inexperience, unclear instructions or bad luck. Others are rooted in carelessness, repeated oversight or a disregard for values. Learn to spot the difference before you react.
For example, a new employee sends a wrong invoice once? That’s a teaching moment. An experienced team member sends wrong invoices every month? That’s a pattern.
2. Grace builds loyalty
When people feel safe owning their mistakes, they grow faster and become more loyal. Correct gently. Ask questions. Share how you’ve screwed up in the past. Turning a mistake into a learning opportunity builds stronger teams and better humans.
You might say, “Let’s walk through what happened and figure out how to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
3. Consistency builds accountability
If someone keeps making the same mistake, or it’s something that could hurt your business or brand, be direct. Set clear expectations. Communicate consequences. Your team needs to know that while you’re kind, you’re also serious about standards.
You could say, “We’ve talked about this before. I need to know you’re taking it seriously — and what you’ll do differently next time.”
4. Correct the behavior, not the person
You can be tough without being cruel. Focus on the behavior, not the character of the person. Never shame. When employees feel respected, even hard feedback is easier to receive and more likely to be applied.
5. Set the tone from the top
How you handle mistakes teaches your team how to handle their own. If you hide failures, blame others or explode under pressure, you create fear. If you own your mistakes and respond with clarity, you model what growth looks like.
Your people will copy you, for better or worse.
Related: Resentment Has No Place in Business. Here’s Why Leaders Must Learn to Forgive and Forget.
The takeaway
The fire I accidentally started taught me a lesson I never forgot: some truths are better delivered with wisdom than with speed. The same goes for leadership.
Every mistake is a crossroads. Handle it wrong, and you create fear or resentment. Handle it right, and you build loyalty, maturity and trust. That’s not just better leadership — it’s a better business.
Among the milestones of childhood — your first lost tooth, first bike ride, first day of school — burning down the family home doesn’t usually make the list. But growing up on a farm in Idaho, my childhood wasn’t exactly typical.
I was eight. I hadn’t done anything intentionally reckless — just left a lampshade-less reading lamp resting on a pillow. On my way downstairs to breakfast, I left the light on. A little while later, my dad smelled smoke. By the time help arrived, the fire had consumed everything. Our home was gone.
What amazes me most now isn’t the fire — it’s what my father chose to do afterward.
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