I want to preface this with two things. First, I’m not a mental health expert. The only valid credentials I have for this topic are that I’m a human, I have experiences, and I’m trying my best. Second, writing this blog is essentially me shooting a dart in the dark, hoping it lands somewhere. I am talking to the ether, and maybe, just maybe, it resonates with you.
I’m in a new chapter of life right now. On paper, I’m juggling: figuring out motherhood, running a business, being a good partner, getting to know my new self, navigating grief, and finding time for family and friends. But "juggling" doesn’t feel like the right word. Juggling implies a rhythm, a catch and release.
Honestly? It feels more like I’m trying to gather water with a rake.
The water is that sense of balance I’m trying to achieve. It’s the business, the baby, the marriage, and everything in between. But no matter how hard I work the rake, the water just slips through.
The thing is, I asked for this life. I prayed for it. I love my little family, I love my business, I genuinely love my life. But I’m learning that just like with relationships, love is not enough. The effort, the push and pull, and navigating the highs and lows are what make it all worth it.
And I have a lot of highs, but I have a lot of lows too. I want to talk about one of the ways I navigate those lows.
My time to "deal" with things is usually late at night. My husband takes the night shift so he can get some extra hours of sleep, but before I turn in, I spend the evening cleaning up, making baby formula, and catching up on business work. But there are some nights where the overwhelm of everything on my plate bubbles to the top.
In that moment, I give myself a split-second amount of space between my feelings and my actions. I usually have two choices:
- Doom scroll. This is the path of least resistance. I numb out. I get a few good laughs from Reels, maybe convince myself I’m doing "market research," but mostly it’s just a way to avoid feeling anything.
- Move my body. And I mean drastically move.
When I choose movement, I’m not talking about rolling out a mat for gentle breathing exercises or gentle pre-Pilates. Even though those are great and have their time and place, when I am overwhelmed I have to step way outside my comfort zone. I have to shake it up.
Sometimes that means driving to my studio late at night. I blast music in the car on the way there, and once I arrive, I do a full Pilates workout until I'm exhausted. Or it means going out into the backyard at 11 PM to do some aggressive yard work.
Tonight, it was pruning the overgrown lantanas.
If you aren't familiar with them, they are these hardy shrubs that burst with little clusters of red and yellow flowers. But when they get overgrown, they become a tangled mess of woody vines. Mine were layering over the pavement and needed to be dealt with.
Cutting them back felt cathartic. I had to pull so much weight off the top and mulch just to find the bottom. Each vine I snipped felt like I was sifting through the noise, getting rid of the unnecessary things I’ve been holding inside.
It took about an hour of labor. But as I finally cleared the debris and stared at the exposed base of the plant (I cut them down to finger-length so they bloom better in the spring and stay healthy), I realized I had finally reached the root of my own overwhelm.
At first, I thought I was upset because of the to-do lists, the wash-rinse-repeat cycle of the day, and the pressure. But underneath all of those layers was something I wasn’t expecting.
In the silence of the yard, staring at the base of the plant, I realized that one of the heaviest things I was carrying that night was grief. I was missing my dad, who unexpectedly passed away in 2024.
It is painful to grieve. But as my tears fell into the soil, mixing with the work I was doing, I felt a bit of relief. The feelings were finally being processed. If I had sat on the couch and scrolled, those feelings would have just ruminated, buried under the vines forever.
But I want to be realistic: choosing to move is a practice, not a perfect system.
I can’t hold myself to a rigid expectation that I must move every time I’m upset. I won’t always find the strength. But this is what I have been doing lately, and it helps.
I’m learning to make space for the full range of my emotions. I don’t believe a fulfilling life is one where you always just "feel good." It’s about having the capacity to feel it all.
I’m learning that I will never be able to gather the water, no matter how hard I rake. But I can clear the ground and I can tend to my roots.
If you are finding yourself in a low place, try to move. It doesn't have to be Pilates, it doesn't have to be weightlifting, and it doesn't have to be aggressive yard work. It can be anything. Just find a way to get out of your head and into your body.
For tonight, the vines are cut and the tears are dried. And that is enough.
