The Day I Realized I Was Running on Empty.
It wasn’t one big dramatic breakdown.
It wasn’t even me yelling at my kids over something small (though I’d done that more often than I’d like to admit).
It was an ordinary Tuesday morning.
And it was the day I realized I had nothing left to give.
The Morning That Broke Me
The house was already buzzing before the sun was fully up.
My four daughters were at the kitchen table, half-eating breakfast, half-arguing over who got the blue cup. Math books were stacked in one corner. A science project from the day before still sat sticky on the counter.
I was trying to flip pancakes while answering an email from a client on my phone. My laptop—open on the counter—reminded me of the deadlines piling up for my business.
One daughter asked where her library book was. Another needed help with handwriting. My youngest was crying because she couldn’t find her favorite stuffed animal. My oldest was begging me to review her essay “right now.”
Meanwhile, I hadn’t even taken a sip of my coffee.
And instead of answering anyone, I froze.
My brain felt like a computer with too many tabs open. Nothing would load.
So I did what I never let myself do—I stepped into the laundry room, shut the door, and sat on the floor. And I cried.
The Lies I Had Been Believing
In that tiny laundry room, surrounded by socks and half-folded towels, I heard the stories I’d been telling myself for years:
“I’ll rest when the lessons are done, the house is clean, and my work is caught up.”
“Other moms are juggling more—so I should be able to, too.”
“If I can’t handle this, maybe I’m not cut out for homeschooling… or business… or motherhood.”
But here’s the truth I’d been ignoring: everything is never done.
There is no finish line for homeschooling, running a business, parenting four kids, and keeping a marriage alive.
And I was so busy proving I could carry it all that I didn’t notice I was slowly collapsing under the weight.
Running on Empty Isn’t Sustainable
That morning I realized I was running on fumes. Giving pieces of myself away—to my daughters, my business, my husband, our home—without stopping to refill.
And you know what happens when you drive on empty?
Eventually, the car stops.
Mine had stopped.
What Changed After That Day
I didn’t walk out of that laundry room with all the answers. But I did walk out with one small decision: I couldn’t keep living like this. Something had to give.
I started with tiny shifts:
Business boundaries: No more answering emails during breakfast. Work had its time. Family had its time.
Homeschool grace: Not every lesson needed to be perfect. Some days, reading on the couch counted as enough.
Delegating at home: My husband took on ownership of certain responsibilities instead of just “helping when I asked.” My daughters started owning age-appropriate chores.
Micro-rest: Five minutes of coffee outside, no phone, no noise. A shower without guilt. Breathing room in the cracks of the day.
The math books still pile up. My inbox still overflows. My girls still argue about the blue cup.
But little by little, I’ve been learning how to live without emptying myself dry.
If You’re a Mom in the Same Trenches
Maybe you’re homeschooling. Maybe you’re running a business. Maybe you’re just trying to keep four humans alive while still being a wife and a person.
If so, I want you to know:
You’re not weak.
You’re not lazy.
You’re not failing.
You’re human. And humans aren’t designed to give endlessly without stopping to refill.
So take the break. Sit down. Breathe.
Not because you’ve earned it, but because you need it. Because you matter too.
The day I realized I was running on empty wasn’t the worst day of my life.
It was the day I finally understood: I deserve to stop before I break.
And friend, so do you.