Why Held Together?

All the thoughts, lists, and mental load

There is something oddly humbling about sitting in your childhood bedroom at 38 years old, nursing your six-month-old son to sleep while your almost three-year-old yells from the next room because she needs another pillow.

I’m currently trying to get both kids down for naps quickly enough to slip out for a hair appointment, while mentally calculating how fast I need to get back home before the baby needs to nurse again and everyone has to be loaded back into the car in time for dinner.

It feels like a constant game of Tetris: balancing childcare, a small attempt at self-care, the endless household to-do list, and the carefully timed choreography of naps, meals, errands, and schedules.

Is this the new rhythm of being a stay-at-home mom?

Before this season of life, I worked in education for 15 years — classroom teacher, special education teacher, then resource teacher. I loved teaching. I loved the challenge of figuring out how to meet the needs of every student sitting in front of me. I loved using my brain in that way.

But I didn’t love feeling like someone else was getting the best parts of my daughter.

By the time I got home from school each day, it felt like I was arriving just in time for the witching hour: dinner-time meltdowns, exhaustion, and bedtime routines. I wanted to be the one taking her to the library and the park. I wanted to read the books, make the grilled cheese lunches, and witness the small ordinary moments that make up a childhood.

What I didn’t fully understand then was that I had also romanticized being home full time.

At almost the exact same time we made the decision for me to step away from my career, my husband and I moved our family from Chicago to Ohio and bought a 105-year-old house in need of major renovations.

In the span of a year, nearly every part of my identity shifted.

Career. City. Home. Motherhood. Routine. Community.

The learning curve has felt enormous.

And somewhere in the middle of raising two small children, managing renovations, trying to prioritize my marriage, carrying the invisible mental load of being the default parent, and attempting not to lose myself completely in the process, I’ve realized something:

Most mothers are held together by far less than it appears.

A calendar. Coffee. Group texts with friends. A supportive partner. Preschool activity schedules. Half-finished to-do lists. Tiny moments alone in the car.

And maybe that’s what this season really is — learning how to hold it all together without losing yourself along the way.