There is a particular kind of disappointment that comes with having a difficult day after you thought you were finally starting to feel a little better. You wake up with the same heaviness you were relieved to have a break from, and before you have even given yourself a chance to understand what you need, you start questioning whether you have made any progress at all. I’ve been thinking about how quickly I do that to myself, as if one emotional morning somehow cancels out every moment when I managed to breathe a little easier.
Lately, I’m trying to stop turning how I feel into a judgment about how well I’m doing.
There are days when I have the energy to talk, keep up with my responsibilities, and feel interested in things beyond whatever has been weighing on my mind. Then there are days when answering a simple message feels like another task I don’t have room for. Both versions of me deserve some understanding, although I’ll admit that understanding comes much more easily when I’m giving it to someone else.
I would never tell someone I love that one difficult day means they have failed, yet I have caught myself believing exactly that about my own life.
I think some of that pressure comes from wanting to give people a reassuring answer. When someone asks how I’m doing, I want to be able to say “better” and feel confident that the answer will still be true tomorrow. It feels uncomfortable to admit that I don’t always know how I’m doing until something small catches me off guard, or until the day finally slows down enough for me to notice what I’ve been carrying.
Writing gives me somewhere to admit those things without having to tie them up neatly. Sometimes I start a post thinking I know what I want to say, only to realize halfway through that there is something else underneath it. Maybe I’m tired. Maybe I’m disappointed. Maybe I’ve spent so much time trying to get through the day that I haven’t stopped to acknowledge that getting through it took effort.
That is part of why this space matters to me: I can arrive with an unfinished thought and take the time to understand it.
Being a mother, working, going to school, and trying to make room for my own feelings can leave me wishing there were a few more hours in the day. Even then, I know I would probably find another responsibility to fill them with. There is always something I could be doing, something I could catch up on, or something I think I should have handled already. It becomes easy to overlook what I did manage because I’m already looking at what remains.
I want to get better at noticing the effort while I’m still making it. I want to finish a school assignment and let myself feel proud before moving straight into worrying about the next one. I want to enjoy time with my daughter without mentally listing everything waiting for me afterward. And when I need a quiet evening, I want to let it be quiet without spending the entire time feeling guilty for needing it.
I’m allowed to have a life that includes both responsibility and room to breathe.
Of course, writing that sentence is easier than practicing it. I still have moments when I compare myself to people who seem to manage everything so effortlessly, even though I have no idea what their days look like beyond what they choose to share. I still get frustrated when my energy doesn’t match my intentions. There are things I want to do, plans I care about, and people I want to show up for, so accepting my limits can feel disappointing.
But pushing past those limits over and over has a cost, too. I don’t want to keep reaching the end of the day with nothing left for myself and then wondering why I feel so worn down.
Today, I’m trying to be more honest about what is manageable. That might mean choosing one thing to finish instead of carrying the weight of ten unfinished tasks around all afternoon. It might mean telling someone I needs little time to respond. It might mean allowing a good moment to stay good without questioning whether I should be feeling differently.
There are still things I’m working through, and I don’t have a clear timeline for when they will feel easier. For now, I can pay attention to how I speak to myself while I’m in the middle of them. I can give myself credit for the things that required effort, even when nobody else would know they did.
Tonight, I want to be able to look back at my day and remember more than what I didn’t get done.
Maybe I’ll remember something that made my daughter laugh, a thought I finally found the words for, or a moment when I chose to rest instead of criticizing myself. Those are parts of my day worth keeping, too, and I don’t want to miss them because I was too busy deciding I should have done more.
What is something you’ve managed lately that took more effort than anyone probably realized? It can be something ordinary. If you feel comfortable sharing, leave it in the comments. I’d love for us to give those quieter efforts a little recognition here.
Until next time,
Between the Words
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