This is a profoundly personal tale, one that forever altered the course of my life. As a child and forensic psychiatrist, I had always considered myself emotionally stable and composed. However, one day, I discovered that I had my own inner battles to fight.

Several years ago, I endured a day that continues to haunt me—the most dreadful day of my parenting journey, perhaps even my entire life. It rattled me to my core and made me realise that I needed to change.

Picture this: A young child, my own child, left upset, anxious, and crying in a bustling school car park as I drove off in a fit of rage. The image of her tear-streaked face in my rear-view mirror, her hand reaching out, pleading “daddy please,” is permanently imprinted in my memory. I could see other children nearby, wondering who the heartless bloke in the car was. Yes, that was me.

That morning, I was anxious about an important meeting. My daughter, picking up on my anxiety, started showing signs of not wanting to go to school. I was torn between my professional commitments and my duty as a father. I made the wrong choice.

As we drove to school, I saw her angelic face in the backseat, tears welling up in her eyes. I was becoming more upset, thinking about my meeting and her reluctance to go to school. We arrived at the school, a place buzzing with parents and children. I found a parking spot, and with people waiting for me to leave, I hastily asked my sobbing daughter to get out of the car.

She stepped out slowly, her pleas falling on my deaf ears. I drove off, leaving her alone and frightened. A few minutes later, the gravity of what I had done hit me. I had abandoned my child. I turned the car around, fearing the worst. What if she hadn’t gone to class? What if she had run away?

I rang the school office, and they assured me she was in class, albeit not her usual self. I knew what this meant. My daughter internalises her pain, and I had caused her immense distress. The guilt and shame were overwhelming. I wept in the car.

Ironically, the meeting that seemed so important was cancelled. That evening, I apologised to my daughter. I admitted I was wrong. I had prioritised work over her needs. I had hurt her spirit. I vowed never to repeat this mistake.

This incident led me to introspect deeply. I realised that my connection with my children was more important than anything else. I decided to prioritise my family over everything else. This decision did not mean shirking my responsibilities, but it did mean that other obligations would have to wait if it was a choice between my girls and other things.

The guilt and shame led to a depressive episode. I felt like a fraud. Here I was, a supposed “expert” in human behaviour, yet I had failed my own child. I decided then that I would never put my kids in that position again. I needed a way to ensure that despite my feelings, I would still be the parent my child needed.

So, I developed a framework to protect me and my kids from my own shortcomings. I had no intention of turning it into a course, but when I saw the positive impact it had on my family, I knew others could benefit from it.

Parents do their best most of the time. But we are limited by our knowledge and our personal flaws. I believe that equipping oneself with certain frameworks of thinking is critical. It doesn’t have to be my framework—you can develop your own or use other systems. The important thing is to have a system. If you ever feel like you don’t have what it takes, remember, you’ve got this. You need a system.

If you’re interested, the framework I’ve crafted—borne of personal experience and shared by many—could be a valuable asset for your family.