Tag: coping skills

The Weight and the Warmth of June 19th

by Mothersense, posted in This Life


The calendar tells us that Friday, June 19th is Juneteenth—a day designated for collective reflection, freedom, and celebration. But for me, the date always pulls me backward into a deeply personal history. It forces a quiet pause in the middle of summer. It rewinds the clock to 2019, to a road trip to Louisiana, and to a room filled with a heavy, holy kind of love.
June 19th was my precious Uncle John’s birthday. For probably twenty years or more, if you asked him his age, he’d grin and tell you he was “39 and holding.” But on that specific Wednesday in 2019, time was finally catching up. My sisters and I traveled down to see him, knowing we were stepping into a celebration that was also a final, fragile goodbye. He was about to be transitioned to comfort care.
The air in the room was heavy. We each took a turn to have a moment alone with him. When my turn came, I leaned in close. I leaned into the space between this world and whatever comes next, and I whispered into his ear that it was okay to go. I told him that Jeff would take care of me now. I’m not entirely sure how aware he was in that moment, but whispering those words into the quiet of the room was a balm for my own aching heart.
Then, the priest arrived to perform the anointing of the sick. Because Uncle John was a deacon, he shared a long, deeply rooted history with the priest—a brotherhood of faith and service. Yet, in the middle of all that sorrow, a strange and beautiful thing happened. The priest looked at me, knew exactly who I was, and called me by my name. “Emeline’s daughter,” he recognized. Uncle John had woven stories of me into his life and friendships long before those final days. He had carried me in his conversations for years, just as he carried me in his heart.
I still sit with that moment. I think about it every June 19th, right before the anniversary of his passing on June 20th. I look up at the sky and whisper back to him, hoping with everything I have that I am making him proud.
The Magic of a Louisiana Kitchen
When the grief settles into something softer, it usually leads me straight to the stove.
Truthfully, I was blessed with a family of cooks. Uncle John and Aunt Mertie weren’t the only ones who let me sit and pepper them with a million questions while they worked. But being in those Louisiana kitchens? That was a different kind of magic entirely.
Growing up, learning from Mom or Granny had its own rhythm, rooted in the familiar comfort of daily life. But stepping into Uncle John and Aunt Mertie’s kitchen felt like entering a sacred, vibrant sanctuary of flavor and storytelling. The humidity, the slow simmer of a roux, the effortless dance between them as they threw together dishes that tasted like pure love—it was an education in hospitality. They didn’t do it through formal lessons; they taught me simply by letting me exist in their space, answering every curious question a young girl could dream up.
To pass down a legacy is to answer the questions of the curious girl standing by the counter, watching you create.
God, I miss them. I miss the laughter, the Louisiana warmth, and the safe harbor of their home. But every time I replicate a flavor, test the seasoning, or cook with that patient, soul-filled instinct they modeled for me, they are right there.
So this Friday, while the world celebrates, I’ll be holding a quiet space for the deacon who was forever 39, for the mother who came before me, and for the beautiful, heartbreaking privilege of having people in our lives who are this terribly hard to lose.
Happy Birthday, Uncle Johnny. I hope the kitchen in heaven is everything you ever wanted.

The Friction of the Empty Space

by Mothersense, posted in Mental Health Recovery, Reclamation


We talk a lot about building margin. We map out the curriculum, we lock down the client boundaries, and we declare that we are finally carving out “room to move.” It sounds beautiful on paper. It looks incredibly efficient in a planner.
But nobody warns you about the immediate, jarring friction that happens the second you actually succeed in creating that empty space.
When the chaos clears—even for an hour—the silence isn’t instantly peaceful. It’s loud. It’s uncomfortable.
Your brain, completely addicted to the high-voltage hum of constant multitasking, immediately starts to panic. It interprets the quiet as a crisis. The internal narrative kicks in like clockwork: You’re forgetting something. You should be checking the inbox. You should be prepping the next module. You are falling behind.
That is the friction of the empty space. It is the exact moment the myth of “balance” tries to pull you back into the blur.
True counter-balancing means sitting right in the middle of that discomfort without rushing to fill it. It means recognizing that the urge to frantically check a screen or pick up another task isn’t a sign of productivity—it’s just the muscle memory of burnout trying to take over again.
The empty space feels heavy because we aren’t used to carrying our own presence without a digital buffer. But margin isn’t a vacuum to be filled; it is the oxygen your creativity and your household actually need to survive.
This weekend, when the space opens up and the panic whispers that you should be doing more, let it whisper. Sit through the friction. The quiet is where the real recovery begins.

B is for Burnout, Boundaries, and the Myth of Balance

by Mothersense, posted in Mental Health Recovery, Reclamation

If A is for the quiet, internal engine of Anxiety, then B is the inevitable smoke that pours out from under the hood when that engine runs hot for too long.
It’s called Burnout.
If you are trying to manage a career, navigate a changing professional landscape, educate your kids at home, keep a kitchen running, and maintain your sanity, you know exactly what the onset of burnout feels like. It’s not just being tired. It’s the feeling that your battery is no longer holding a charge.
We are told the antidote to this exhaustion is “balance.” We see the images of the perfectly balanced life—the pristine calendar, the meal-prepped containers, the seamless transition from business calls to school lessons without a hair out of place.
But let’s be honest: Balance is a cultural lie. And chasing it is making us sick.
The Problem: Living in the Blur
The real culprit behind burnout isn’t that we have too much to do. It’s that we have too much to do in the exact same space.
When your dining room table is simultaneously an underwriting desk, a classroom, a family board game hub, and a bakery, the lines don’t just blur—they vanish entirely. You find yourself reading a carrier contract while checking math homework. You look at a text message from a client while trying to listen to your teenager.
Because your brain never gets a change of scenery, it never gets a cue to switch modes. You are always “on,” always producing, and always failing to meet the impossible standard of doing it all perfectly at the exact same time.
That isn’t balance. It’s a recipe for a breakdown.
The Shift: Trading Balance for Counter-Balancing
If we want to stop the burn, we have to stop trying to keep every single plate spinning at the exact same height. It’s time to trade the myth of static balance for the reality of Counter-Balancing.
Balance implies that everything gets equal weight, every single day. That is a fantasy. Counter-balancing means accepting that life moves in seasons, weeks, and even hours.
Some days, the business demands 80% of your brain power, and the laundry pile is just going to have to sit there. That is not failure; that is focus.
Some days, a child needs your undivided, uninterrupted presence, and the inbox has to wait. That is not falling behind; that is prioritizing.
The moment you give yourself permission to lean heavily into one thing at a time—without the crushing weight of guilt about the things you are temporarily leaving behind—burnout loses its grip.
The Antidote: Building Micro-Boundaries
In my last post, we talked about fighting anxiety with the antidote of the next small step. We fight burnout the exact same way: with the antidote of the micro-boundary.
If you can’t build physical walls between your different worlds right now, you have to build psychological ones. You don’t need a massive life overhaul; you just need small, non-negotiable anchors to signal to your brain that it is time to switch gears.
The “Clock-Out” Ritual: Pick a time where the laptop closes and the business phone goes into a drawer or a basket in another room. The work will always be there tomorrow, but your family needs you present tonight.
Analog Anchors: Use a physical, tactile activity to transition your brain out of production mode. For me, it’s the rhythm of kneading bread dough, stepping outside into the grass, or making a physical cup of tea. It’s something that forces your hands into the real world and pulls your mind out of the digital screen.
One Sandbox at a Time: When you are homeschooling, be the teacher. When you are auditing a contract, be the business owner. Turn off notifications for the world you aren’t currently occupying.
Burnout happens when we try to be everything to everyone, all at once, in the same square foot of space.
Take a breath. Forgive yourself for the messy kitchen or the unanswered email. Choose the one thing that matters right now, lean into it with everything you’ve got, and let the rest of the world wait its turn.

The Anatomy of a Resilient System: Building for the “Low-Spoon” Days

by Mothersense, posted in Mental Health Recovery, Reclamation


We’ve all been there. You sit down with a fresh cup of coffee and a master plan that could rival a military operation. You’ve got the categories, the color-coded blocks, and the ambition to build an empire by sunset.
But then, life happens. Or rather, the “energy tax” hits.
Maybe it’s a high-stress week, a string of late nights, or just one of those days where the mental “spoons” you started with have seemingly vanished by noon. Suddenly, that beautiful system you built feels like a judge, pointing a finger at everything you aren’t getting done.
That’s where the guilt creeps in. We start feeling like imposters in our own lives because we aren’t hitting the “ceiling” every single day.
The Trap of the “Perfect Version”
The biggest mistake we make when organizing our lives is building a system for the “perfect version” of ourselves—the one with boundless energy and zero distractions. But a system isn’t actually “better” if it only works when you’re at 100%.
A truly resilient system—one that actually moves the needle—is built for the person you are when you’re tired, foggy, and just trying to keep the wheels turning.
The Floor vs. The Ceiling
Think of your goals in two layers: The Ceiling and The Floor.
The Ceiling is your high-energy mode. This is where the heavy lifting happens—the deep creative work, the technical problem-solving, the “building” phase.
The Floor is your baseline. It’s the absolute bare minimum required to keep the momentum alive without burning out.
On low-energy days, your only job is to stay on the floor. If you can’t write the whole chapter, write one sentence. If you can’t reorganize the entire inventory, just clear one shelf. Success isn’t hitting the ceiling every day; it’s refusing to drop below the floor.
Choosing Your Focus (When You Only Have One Spoon Left)
When energy is low, we tend to panic and try to do a little bit of everything, which usually ends in doing nothing well. Instead, ask yourself: “Which one thing will make me feel the most ‘at peace’ tomorrow morning?”
Sometimes the most productive thing you can do is “Maintenance” rather than “Growth.” Pushing yourself to “build” when your tank is empty is like trying to drive a car on fumes—you’ll eventually stall out, and the recovery time will be twice as long.
Forgiving the “Invisible Work”
If you’re in a phase of life where you’re researching, planning, or laying foundations, it can feel like you have nothing to show for your effort. This is where the imposter syndrome thrives. It whispers that if there’s no finished product, the work didn’t happen.
Don’t listen.
The invisible work—the thinking, the organizing, the learning—is the infrastructure. You can’t hang the drywall until the frame is up. If today was a day for framing and not for decorating, that is still a win.
Building to Breathe
As you look at your week, ask yourself: Is my system a cage, or is it a support beam?
A better system doesn’t demand more of you; it manages what you have. It gives you permission to pivot when the spoons are low and the grace to ignore the guilt when you need to rest.
Build a system that breathes. Because you aren’t a machine, and your value isn’t measured by how many boxes you checked when you were running on empty.

Spring Cleaning….House and Mind

by Mothersense, posted in This Life

Spring Cleaning Your Mind (And Your Stuff)


Spring equinox is here, and yes—it’s that magical time when the world starts fresh, the days get longer, and everything feels like it could use a good tidy. But here’s the thing: spring cleaning isn’t just for closets. It’s for your mind, your energy, your thoughts… and yes, even your memories.
I know, I know. Some of you are already feeling that panic: “Wait, if I let go of that hoodie, that memory disappears!” To my neurospicy friends—you KNOW exactly what I mean. The texture, the smell, the little stitch that makes you remember… it’s sticky. It feels like letting go of the thing is letting go of the story.
But here’s the truth: it’s not real. Memories live in your brain, your heart, and your soul—they don’t live in the item itself. You can absolutely keep the memory without keeping the clutter. That hoodie? The shoes? The ticket stub? They’re props. You’re the star of the story, not the accessory.
Why Letting Go Feels Hard
Objects, habits, even old thoughts—they cling. We hold onto them because they’re familiar, because they make us feel safe, or because our brain just really likes a good story. But here’s the catch: cluttered spaces, whether physical or mental, make it harder to breathe, to think, to be fully present.
Your Step-by-Step Mental Spring Cleaning
Pick a zone – Closet? Phone? Thoughts that keep looping? Start somewhere small.
Ask yourself – Does this serve me? Or am I holding it out of habit, guilt, or fear?
Let it go – Donate, recycle, delete, journal about it, take a picture… whatever makes it safe to release.
Celebrate the space – Notice how your energy shifts when there’s breathing room.
Reclaim & Renew
Letting go isn’t losing—it’s reclaiming. It’s saying, “I honor my memories, and I honor myself by making space for joy, growth, and intention.” That’s reclamation. That’s renewal. That’s you stepping into a season where you aren’t weighed down by what no longer serves you.
So here’s your challenge for the equinox: pick one thing today—a hoodie, a thought, a habit—and let it go. Notice the difference it makes when you reclaim that space for yourself.
Because spring isn’t just about cleaning the house—it’s about cleaning your mind, your heart, and your life. And yes… you can absolutely keep the memories without keeping the clutter.