Trying to Do It All (and Failing Miserably)

Jul 30, 2025

This morning was one of those moments when the illusion of control collapsed.

We’re a month out from moving across the country. There’s a constant list running in my head—packing, work tasks, goodbye gatherings, donation drop-offs, school records, forwarding addresses. And somewhere in there, I’m also trying to parent with presence and care.

It’s not just the logistics that are hard. There’s a quiet heartbreak underneath it all. I’m leaving the place I’ve called home for most of my life. I’m preparing to say goodbye to friends who’ve seen me through every season. Family I can’t imagine not having nearby. I feel the weight of those goodbyes in my body—heaviness in my chest, a background ache I carry into each day.

And then mornings like today happen.

The Schedule Slip That Tipped Everything

I thought the girls needed to leave for camp at 9:15. Turns out it was 9:00.

In theory, fifteen minutes shouldn’t make much of a difference. And on a different day, maybe it wouldn’t have. But our mornings are timed pretty tightly—I get up early to make breakfast, prep lunches, fit in some exercise, and get some work done before the girls are out the door. That extra fifteen minutes? It turns out I was counting on it more than I realized.

More importantly, my older daughter knows she needs about an hour and a half to get ready. That’s what works for her to move slowly, find her rhythm, and feel emotionally ready for the day ahead. She’s thoughtful about it and I like to collaborate to support her process. But today, my oversight disrupted that.

Should fifteen minutes matter this much? Probably not. And the fact that it did reminded me just how little margin we’ve been living with lately. Our mornings aren’t just carefully timed—they’re timed to the minute. (Yes, I know. A conversation for another day.)

And of all mornings to get it wrong—it was the first day of theater camp, when they audition for roles. As soon as I realized the mistake, I felt a surge of panic. I imagined them scrambling, tense, thrown off before something that really mattered to them. And I blamed myself for not double-checking the schedule.

As I stood there realizing the clock was running out on the morning we thought we had, I felt that familiar rush of urgency in my body—tight chest, racing thoughts, the silent mental scramble to hold it all together.

They Adjusted. I Spiraled.

And yet, what happened next wasn’t what I expected.

Both girls moved through the morning with steadiness. They adjusted quickly and still left the house in good spirits, hopeful about the day ahead. They didn’t seem to absorb the urgency I was feeling. In fact, they offered me grace—a smile, a few words of reassurance.

I, however, felt terrible. The inner critic pounced immediately: You should have double-checked. You’re not being present enough. You’re letting them down.

And layered on top of that was the rest of the day: work to get through, calls to reschedule, closets to sort, boxes to tape. Not to mention the emotional weight of this transition—the grief of leaving, the complicated reactions from people we love, the strain of holding it all together.

I’m juggling so many balls—and today, a few hit the floor.

For the Parents Who Are Carrying More Than They Can Hold

To the parent who double-books, forgets the sunscreen, loses their cool, or misreads the schedule…

To the parent trying to work, care, move, plan, feel, and show up in a thousand directions at once…

You are not alone.

The truth is: no one can do it all. Not really. And yet we keep trying. We want to show up fully for our kids, our partners, our work, our friendships, our communities—and stay grounded and intentional and loving through it all.

But when the seams tear and the timing slips and you’re the reason someone feels rushed or unseen, it hurts. Because you care.

This isn’t a post about time management or getting back on track. It’s not a list of tips for organizing a move or parenting through transition.

It’s a small offering for anyone who’s ever tried to do it all—and felt like they were falling short on every front.

Sometimes what we most need isn’t advice. It’s a place to feel our own humanity reflected back to us.

We forget that even when we get the details wrong, our intentions still matter.

Even when we stumble, our care still shows up.

Even when we drop the ball, we’re still deeply connected to the people we love—and often, they still feel it.

This morning, it was my daughters who reminded me of that. Their steadiness in the face of my disarray gave me something I couldn’t quite give myself in the moment: a little space to soften.

What Helped Me Come Back to Myself

What saved me today wasn’t a perfectly executed recovery plan. It was grace.

Grace from my daughters—who saw my effort, not just my error.

Grace from myself—offered in the form of compassion and empathy every time my critic flared up:

You’re doing your best. This doesn’t make you a bad mom. You are allowed to mess up and still be fully loved, still be trusted, still be seen for who you are.

Grace, not perfection, is what reconnects us to our humanity.
It didn’t fix everything. But it opened a little room inside—a bit more space to breathe.

A Gentle Practice for When You’re in the Thick of It

If you're in your own version of this chaos, here’s a simple practice that helped me come back to center:

Notice the critic. Get curious. What is it trying to protect you from? Mine was scared I’d hurt my kids, that I’d be seen as careless. It wanted me to be better so I could feel safer.
Offer empathy to the fear underneath. Not to fix it, but to soften it. I whispered: I see you’re scared, and you’re trying so hard to get it all right.
Receive the grace that’s already present. For me, it was the look in my daughters’ eyes. The way they didn’t hold my mistake against me. The way they walked toward their auditions with courage. That grace was real. I just had to let myself feel it.

Stumbling Isn’t the End of the Story

Being human means dropping balls. Missing cues. Mistiming mornings.

It also means having the capacity to reconnect. To forgive. To feel. To soften. To be loved not just in our excellence—but in our mess.

Our value isn’t measured by how well we manage the chaos. It’s in how we keep showing up, keep caring, keep trying to reconnect—even after we fall out of rhythm.

We don’t need to do it perfectly.
We just need to stay in relationship—with ourselves, with the people we love, with the truth that it’s okay to be messy sometimes.

Even when you fail.
Especially when you fail.

Tomorrow’s Paid Subscriber Article

If this article resonated, tomorrow’s post offers a guided practice to help you go deeper—so you can recognize the voice of the inner critic, stay connected to yourself when things go sideways, and gently integrate self-compassion into real-life moments.

Matt and I invite you to become a paid subscriber to explore how to apply these concepts when you need them most.