Have you ever had one of those mornings where you wake up, look at your to-do list, and feel your chest tighten before your feet even hit the floor?
I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about that feeling lately. Some days, I can tell I’m just “good-old-fashioned” stressed. It’s the kind of pressure that makes me move a little faster and drink my coffee a little colder. But other days? Other days, I realize I’ve crossed a quiet, invisible line right over into being completely overwhelmed.
If I’m being honest, there is a massive difference between the two—a distinction I’ve had to learn the hard way, through a lot of trial, error, and a few too many tears in the laundry room.
The Juggling Act
For me, stress is when life is full, but I’m still the one in the driver’s seat. I’m juggling a lot, sure—the schedules, the meals, the work deadlines—but the balls are still in the air. I can see them, I can track them, and even if my arms are tired, I’m still in the game.
Overwhelm, though? That’s a different beast entirely.
Overwhelm is the moment the balls finally drop. They scatter across the floor, roll under the dusty crevices of the couch, and disappear into the corners of the room. And instead of rushing to grab them, I just… sit there. I stare at them because the weight of even thinking about where to start picking them up feels like trying to climb a mountain in flip-flops.
A Season of “Everything for Everyone”
As a mom of seven, I’ve lived in both of those worlds for a long time. I remember the years when the house was a whirlwind of activity from 6:00 AM until midnight. I was home with all the kids, running two businesses simultaneously, and trying—with every fiber of my being—to be “everything for everyone.”
My days were a frantic mosaic: feed the kids, jump on a business call, sprint to switch the laundry, fire off a professional email, pause to wipe a toddler’s tear, and start dinner prep. Often, I’d look at the clock at 4:00 PM and realize I hadn’t even eaten a slice of toast.
Back then, I wore that exhaustion like a badge of honor. I thought I was just “being a productive mom.” But looking back with softer eyes, I see the truth: I was drowning in overwhelm. I kept pushing because that’s the “Mom Code,” isn’t it? We find a way. We make it work. But I never realized how dangerously close I was to running on empty until I finally, inevitably, hit a wall and stopped.
New Season, New Lessons
Life looks a bit different now, but if I’m being real with you, it’s just as full. These days, my heart belongs to my classroom. I teach kindergarten and first-grade students with special needs, and I truly adore them. They fill my soul with their laughter, their wild curiosity, and those tiny, breakthrough moments that absolutely melt my heart.
But as any teacher or caregiver knows, that kind of love requires a massive output of energy. My “work” involves constant redirection, gentle guidance, and a steady stream of reassurance. It’s not just about teaching letters and numbers; it’s emotional labor. It’s comforting a frustrated heart, calming a sensory storm, and cheering for the smallest victories—then doing it all over again, five minutes later.
By the time I leave the school building, I often feel like a sponge that’s been wrung out to the very last drop. It’s not that the day was “bad”—it’s actually because the day was so good that I gave everything I had to it. And then? Then I drive home, and the “mom hat” goes right back on.
It’s a beautiful life, but it’s an exhausting one, too.
Refilling the Cup
What I’m finally starting to understand is that feeling stressed doesn’t always mean something is wrong with my life. Often, it’s just a sign that I care deeply. I want to show up well. I want to make a difference in my students’ lives and my children’s lives.
But when that stress piles up and I start sacrificing my own basic needs to keep the machine running, it morphs into that heavy, suffocating overwhelm. That’s when my body and mind start whispering—and eventually shouting—“You’ve given too much without refilling your own cup.”
These days, I’m trying to be a better listener to that inner voice. I’m learning to give myself “radical grace” on the days when I simply cannot do it all. I’m done pretending to be a superhero who can survive on nothing but caffeine and sheer determination.
Sometimes, the most productive, “superhero” thing I can do is just… pause. To breathe. To look at the mess or the unread emails and remind myself: It is okay not to fix everything today.
You Aren’t Alone in the Middle
If you’re reading this and you’ve ever felt stretched so thin you’re worried you might snap—please know you aren’t alone. Whether you’re a parent, a teacher, a caregiver, or just someone trying to navigate a heavy season, I see you.
You’re doing your absolute best with the energy you have today. And honey, that is enough. It really is.
At the end of the day, whether I’m managing a classroom of precious souls or just trying to keep my own household from tilting off its axis, I have to remind myself: I’m human.
I’m allowed to be tired.
I’m allowed to rest without earning it first.
And I’m allowed to try again tomorrow with a little more patience and a lot more grace.
Life doesn’t always hand us a perfect balance, and that’s okay. What it does give us is a fresh start every single morning. If this resonates with you, do me a favor: take a deep, slow breath right now. Drop your shoulders. Let it out.
You’re doing enough. You are enough.
