What’s Helping Me Now (Even in the Middle of It All)

Small lifelines when everything still feels heavy

If you’re here, you’ve probably read my story—or maybe it’s your story, too. Maybe you’re mothering an adult child in crisis. Maybe your nervous system is fried, your heart is heavy, and your inbox is full of unread messages you don’t have the energy to respond to.

If you’re anything like me, you’re not looking for a miracle cure.
You’re looking for oxygen. Something real. Doable. Human.

I can’t tell you I have it all figured out.
I can’t say things are fixed.
But I can tell you what’s helping me right now—in the thick of it, when the storm hasn’t passed but I’m still standing.

1. Naming the truth (without shame)

The moment I stopped pretending this was “just a rough patch” was the moment I felt my shoulders drop.

This is not normal parenting stress.
This is survival parenting.
It’s trauma-informed, boundary-defending, grief-laced caregiving.

And naming that—out loud, on paper, to a friend—has become my starting place for healing.

2. Rituals that regulate

I can’t meditate for 30 minutes or journal for hours. But I can do these small rituals:

• Breathe for 6 counts in, 6 out. Repeat 3 times.

• Step outside barefoot. Even for 60 seconds.

• Grab a paint by numbers and think about absolutely nothing more than staying in the lines.

• Touch something grounding. My feet to the floor. The kitchen sink. My own chest.

• Say aloud: “This is hard. And I’m still here.”

It’s not about fixing—it’s about interrupting the spiral before it swallows me whole.

3. Pre-written scripts for hard moments

I keep a few responses in my phone notes for when I’m too tired to think clearly:

• “I’m not available to talk right now. Let’s try again when things feel calmer.”

• “I love you. And I won’t allow this behavior in our home.”

• “You’re getting angry so I’m going to leave, but I will be back

• “This hurts. And I still choose peace.”

Scripts = self-preservation.
They help me speak with love when I have no energy left for diplomacy.

4. Letting other people be disappointed

This is brutal, but it’s true:

Some people will not understand your boundaries. That’s okay. Let them misunderstand you.

Let the sibling be mad. Let the relative judge.
Let the system label you “difficult.”
Let people think you’re too strict or too soft or too whatever.

You know what you’re living with.
And only you know what keeps you safe.

5. Forgiving myself, often and out loud

Some days, I say it to myself or in the mirror. Other days, I write it on a sticky note.
But it always goes something like this:

“I forgive you for not having all the answers.”
“I forgive you for yelling. For crying. For needing a break.”
“You are not failing. You are responding to pain the best way you can.”

Forgiveness is not letting go of accountability. It’s letting go of shame.

6. Choosing joy—even when it feels complicated

Yes, even now.
Joy feels strange when you’re grieving. When you’re in survival mode.
But I’m learning to let it coexist.

• I play music in my car - loud.

• I scroll TikTok for the laughs.

• I make my favorite cup of tea even when my stomach is in knots.

• I sit in silence and remind myself: “This moment is still mine.” or “In this very moment, I do not have a problem” - if even for just 60 seconds.

Joy is not betrayal.
Joy is survival.

What I Want You to Know

You don’t have to be okay to keep going.
You don’t have to fix everything to start healing.
You just need one breath, one boundary, one tiny act of compassion toward yourself.

Start there.

If you’re in the middle like I am, let’s stay here together—not to wallow, but to witness.

Coming Soon:

Journaling Prompts For Mothers Who Are Quietly Unraveling