Hi friends,

It’s been a minute! My last blog was about selling our house. If you’re my friend on Facebook, you already know we’re in the middle of that process. I’ll share more about it soon, but tonight I need to talk about something heavier on my heart. Last night I was too tired, too worn out to write this, but I can’t ignore it anymore.

Let’s talk about the emotions that come with living far from all your support, while managing life, animals, a full-time job, a house, a toddler, and everything else life throws at you.

Last night, I broke down. The house was a mess, my toddler was in full “two-year-old mode,” my to-do list seemed endless, and I felt like I was treading water… only to start drowning again moments later. It’s exhausting in a way that’s hard to put into words. Every day I try to juggle it all—the groceries, the bills, the appointments, being a mom, a wife, a farm girlie, a full-time nurse—and yet some days it feels impossible.

And most of the time, there’s no help. My husband works Monday through Friday, but his hours are unpredictable. My family is an hour away. Our friends live over 45 minutes away. There’s no one I can call when I feel like I’m sinking. It’s lonely in a way that makes your chest ache.

It’s not just the physical exhaustion—it’s the mental load. The constant thinking, planning, remembering, worrying. The “did I forget something?” thoughts that never stop. And the guilt: guilt for not taking care of yourself, guilt for letting the house slide, guilt for empty pantry and fridge, guilt for feeling too tired to give your toddler the attention they deserve.

I want to pause here and just acknowledge that this is real. If you’re a mom—or anyone really—who feels like you’re carrying it all, I see you. I feel you. The world doesn’t always notice, and sometimes it feels like no one could understand—but you’re not alone.

Some days, you wonder: how do we keep up? Do we make lists? Prioritize? Downsize? Push through? Or do we just accept that some days will be messy and imperfect? Last night, all I wanted was a little help. Just a hand to hold, a moment to breathe, a person to say, “I’ve got this with you.” But often, that’s not an option.

So we do what we can. We get up. We go through the motions. We take small victories wherever we can find them. And sometimes, that’s okay. Because surviving is a victory too. Choosing yourself, even for a moment, is a victory. Taking a breath and forgiving yourself for not doing it all perfectly—that is revolutionary.

To all the moms, the caregivers, the exhausted humans doing life mostly on your own: I see you. I feel your exhaustion, your frustration, your fear, your guilt, and your love. Keep going. Even if it’s just one small step at a time. Your effort matters. You matter. And sometimes, just surviving the day is more than enough.