Can I be honest with you for a minute?
This week has felt like I’ve been running underwater.
Not swimming — running.
Dragging my limbs through something thick and heavy, trying to move at my usual pace while life just keeps throwing more at me. I haven’t even had the chance to sit down and write.
Not a single full musing this week.
Not a chapter.
Not a daily piece.
Nothing.
And you know me — I pride myself on being able to handle it all. I’m the woman who gets shit done. No matter what’s on fire, I’m the one walking through it, arms full, checking off tasks while the flames lick at my heels. But even I get overwhelmed. Even I feel the tightness in my chest, the lump in my throat, the ever-growing mountain of things that haven’t gotten done — laundry not folded, meals not prepped, sleep that doesn’t replenish no matter how many hours I manage to clock in.
That’s where I’ve been lately.
Sitting in the chaos of it all.
The last couple of weeks have been a non-stop swirl of everything all at once. My youngest daughter just got out of the hospital after surgery, and we’ve been in full caretaking mode. Every little movement of hers, every nutritional thing, every moment of watching her for signs of discomfort — my body’s been in that alert mode, that “mom” mode, 24/7.
And as if that wasn’t enough to carry emotionally, my grandson — sweet boy with the lion heart — has had some challenges come up post-transplant. We just celebrated his four-year transplant day, and here we are. I’m telling you, there are few things more gutting than hearing your child’s voice break on the other end of the line. Pain, fear, the trembling edge of faith trying to hold it together when everything feels like it could fall apart.
That’s when you know — you’re in it.
The thick of it.
The mess and beauty of being human, being a mother, being the strong one for everyone while trying not to lose your grip on your own center.
And yeah, I know — someone on the outside might say, “Well, that’s the stuff that matters. Who cares about the laundry? Who cares about the writing deadlines?” And I get that. But when you’re a woman who has built a life around showing up — in your fullness, in your purpose, with presence — those things do matter. Not because they’re more important than your family, but because they are part of you. They’re part of the way you express, release, serve, and breathe.
So yes, I’m grateful. I’m deeply grateful for the life I’ve created that allows me to be exactly where I’m needed most. To pause the world when a child is hurting. To drop everything for my grandson and my children. To support my daughter through this moment in her healing.
But gratitude doesn’t cancel out overwhelm. They co-exist. We’ve got to stop pretending they don’t.
And then there’s my second oldest — her wedding planning hit a bump. And while I know, in the grand scheme of surgeries, heart challenges and hospital rooms, a wedding detail gone wrong may not seem like the end of the world… it’s her moment. Her big, beautiful celebration of love. And all I want for her — outside of health and happiness — is to feel like her day is magic. That’s not trivial. That’s everything.
Throw in some car stuff — because of course we needed one more thing — and a mountain of tiny tasks and obligations that somehow feel like they’re yelling at me louder than the big stuff… and yeah, it’s been a whole shit ton in less than two weeks.
Overwhelm? Check.
Exhaustion? Double check.
Anxiety, fear, tension sitting in my shoulders, in my belly, in my sleep? Absolutely.
And here’s the part I think people don’t want to talk about. Because it’s uncomfortable. Messy. Raw. The part where the stress doesn’t just feel heavy — it starts to morph into sadness. And if you’re not careful, that sadness pulls you into depression. And it’s not the “can’t get out of bed” depression. Sometimes it’s the “still getting up, still doing it all, but not feeling a damn ounce of joy while doing it” kind of depression. The functional kind. The masked kind.
I think so many of us live in that space more than we’re willing to admit.
We’re triggered by the pressure.
By the expectation to carry on.
By the fear of what happens if we stop.
By the pain of watching the people we love suffer and not being able to fix it.
By the belief that if we’re not performing, we’re failing.
But here’s the truth that’s been whispering to me this week, in the quietest moments:
This is life.
This is the human experience.
And we were born to feel this.
Not escape it.
Not numb it.
Not avoid it or medicate it away.
Because when you sit with the discomfort, the sadness, the fear… you start to see the beauty inside it. You see the depth of your love. You see your resilience. You see that you are alive — truly, deeply, painfully, gloriously alive.
And that’s what so many people miss when they go looking for a quick fix. They want out of the discomfort so fast that they never give themselves a chance to learn from it. To be shaped by it. To rise differently because of it.
I was talking to a client yesterday, and I shared something with him that I want to share with you too:
“Command in what you want.
Say it like it’s already yours.
Speak it like a prayer and a prophecy.
See it.
Feel it.
Believe it into being.”
That’s not bypassing. That’s not pretending everything’s fine. That’s reclaiming your power in the middle of the chaos.
So, as we enter this weekend — whatever that looks like for you — maybe take a moment to just be with yourself. Ask the hard questions. Let the feelings rise. Cry if you need to. Scream in your car if you need to. But don’t run from what you’re feeling.
Sit with it.
Honor it.
And then gently remind yourself:
You are not stuck. You are becoming.
And you get to choose what you call in next.
That’s where I am right now.
Still tired.
Still stressed.
Still behind on a thousand and one things. But also, still standing. Still praying.
Still loving.
Still choosing to rise again tomorrow.
And you? You’re not alone in your overwhelm.
You’re not broken for feeling like it’s all too much sometimes.
You’re human. And you’re doing better than you think.
So, take a breath with me.
Feel it. All of it.
Then decide what comes next.
Because this storm?
We were made for it.
I hope there is something here for you.
As always loving you from here,
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This post was previously published on medium.com.
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Photo credit: Rene’ Schooler(Author)
