You Are Not Imagining It

There is a kind of tired that sleep doesn't fix.

You know the one.

You wake up already behind.

Before your feet hit the floor, your mind has run through three conversations you need to have, two appointments you need to schedule, and something you forgot to follow up on last week.

And somewhere in the middle of all of that... you realize you haven't thought about yourself yet.

Not really.

The Pull in Two Directions

I've been thinking a lot about what it feels like to be needed in two directions at the same time.

Not just busy.

Not just stretched thin in the way that a full schedule can make anyone feel.

Something different.

It's the particular weight of being someone's mother and someone's daughter at the same time.

Of watching your children need you to show up, and watching your parents need you to show up, and standing in the middle of both of those truths, wondering when someone is going to ask how you are.

I see this in my own life.

And I see it in the women I work with.

Women who are smart, capable, and deeply loving.

Women who are doing so much, so well.

And who are exhausted in a way they can barely explain, even to themselves.

What This Season Actually Is

There is a name for this.

The "sandwich generation" is the term researchers use to describe adults who are simultaneously raising children and caring for aging parents.

But I want to be honest with you.

That phrase doesn't fully capture it.

Because it sounds manageable. Structural. Like a logistical challenge with a solution.

What it actually feels like is more like a collision.

Your child needs you present.

Your parent needs you available.

Your work needs you focused.

And beneath all of it, there is a version of you that needs something too.

She just keeps getting moved to the bottom of the list.

What Nobody Says Out Loud

Here is what I've noticed women rarely say out loud, even when they're living it every day.

It's not just the tasks that are wearing them down.

It's the emotional labor underneath the tasks.

The anticipating.

The preparing.

The holding of everyone's feelings while also managing your own.

The grief that shows up, not with a dramatic announcement, but quietly.

In the moment you realize your parent doesn't quite remember something they always used to know.

In the moment your child asks a question, and you're too depleted to answer the way you want to.

In the moment you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and think: I don't know when I last felt like me.

That grief is real.

That exhaustion is real.

You are not imagining it.

Both Can Be True

I want to say something that I think matters here.

You can love the people you are caring for deeply and also feel the weight of what you are carrying.

Both are true.

You can be grateful for this season and also grieve the parts of yourself that have gone quiet inside it.

Both are true.

You can be doing an incredible job and still feel like you are failing in every direction.

Both are true.

This is not a sign that something is wrong with you.

It is a sign that you are carrying something real.

Something layered.

Something that deserves to be named.

Something to Sit With

I don't want to rush past this.

So instead of offering a solution today, I want to leave you with one question.

Not to answer quickly.

Just to carry with you this week.

What part of you has gone quiet lately that wants a little space to breathe?

You don't have to fix it.

You don't have to figure out what to do next.

Just notice.

That noticing is the beginning of something.

More reflections to come. You are not alone in this.