Nothing is necessarily falling apart.
But everything is happening all at once.
And I think I’m so overwhelmed at this point that I don’t really feel much of anything. Just this constant pull between I need to rest and I have too much to get done.
7 Gets Her Pump Tomorrow
7 was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes just a few months ago.
So we’re still new to all of this. Still learning. Still adjusting. Still living in that space where nothing feels automatic yet.
Tomorrow she gets her insulin pump.
This is supposed to make things easier.
And I think it will.
I’m hoping it helps keep her levels more stable. I’m hoping it gives her a little more freedom. I’m hoping it gives us a little breathing room.
Because right now?
I check her Dexcom Follow app constantly.
At home.
At work.
In the middle of the night.
In between conversations.
While I’m trying to focus on anything else.
Every number matters. Every trend matters. Every spike or drop sits in the back of my mind all day.
For the most part, it’s been accurate. I’ve tracked it closely for the last three months, and it’s stayed within range of what it should be.
But that doesn’t stop the constant checking.
It doesn’t stop waking up to look.
It doesn’t stop thinking about what direction she’s trending.
It doesn’t stop doing math in my head all day long.
The pump should help her start taking more control of her Type 1 Diabetes.
And that’s a good thing.
But even good things can feel heavy when everything else is happening at the same time.
When “Keeping the Peace” Stops Being Safe
We’re a blended family.
And like a lot of blended families, not all of the relationships are healthy.
Back in December, we were on the fence about what to do regarding 5 and 6’s maternal grandparents—especially after the day they showed up at our door uninvited.
Then 7 was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes, and everything else got pushed to the back burner almost overnight.
We didn’t have the bandwidth for anything else.
Then Valentine’s cards came in the mail.
We talked with the girls and decided moving forward, we would go through anything sent to them. If there wasn’t accountability—if there wasn’t an actual apology—they didn’t want it.
They wanted us to handle it.
And then one of their grandparents cornered 5 on the street.
Not a misunderstanding. Not awkward timing.
Cornered.
And that was it.
No more discussions. No more trying to manage it. No more hoping it would settle down.
There are moments in parenting where you realize you are no longer able to control the damage—especially in high-conflict situations that don’t always look obvious from the outside.
And if you can’t control the damage, you have to remove the situation.
Because when an adult feels comfortable physically cornering a child?
That’s not something you work through.
That’s a line.
I was furious. Shaking.
I needed to see my kids with my own eyes to know they were okay.
Every time something like this happens, the girls regress. It sets them back emotionally.
And we are done with that.
Their mental health matters more than someone else’s version of reality.
So we’re filing.
Apparently My Body Was Done Too
The rash showed up out of nowhere.
Small. Easy to ignore at first.
That night, I went to bed hoping it wasn’t shingles.
By morning, it was worse.
And I already knew.
I remember standing in my closet, looking at it, just thinking—
Of course.
Of course this is happening right now.
That same day, 4 had an appointment to meet her new doctor.
She wanted me there.
So I went to work that morning knowing I wouldn’t be there for the next few days.
Checked my PTO.
Debated making my own appointment.
Tried to figure out how to fit one more thing into a week that already didn’t have space.
Both appointments were in the same building, so I sat there mentally trying to stack them together like that would somehow make it manageable.
I knew I needed rest.
But the schedule didn’t slow down just because my body needed it to.
And you don’t exactly get to schedule when your body decides it’s done holding everything together.
Which is probably how I got shingles in the first place.
The Mental Load No One Sees
I am the one who is always thinking ahead—the default, the one carrying what can’t be dropped.
Food.
Schedules.
Diabetes numbers.
Appointments.
School things.
Who needs what.
What’s coming next.
What I forgot.
What I can’t afford to forget.
Even when I’m sitting still, my brain isn’t—something I’ve talked about before in what focus even looks like right now.
There’s always something running in the background.
Always something that needs to be handled.
Something that needs to be remembered.
Something that can’t be dropped without it affecting someone else.
And when everything stacks at the same time, it doesn’t feel like one big thing.
It feels like a hundred small things that never stop.
And Somehow, Life Still Happens Anyway
In the middle of all of this, life didn’t pause.
We took a quick overnight trip to IKEA.
Got a hotel so the kids could swim.
Packed bags. Forgot things. Grabbed extras. Managed blood sugars in a different environment. Tried to make it feel fun while still watching the numbers.
It wasn’t some big, relaxing reset.
It was loud, chaotic, and honestly a little exhausting.
But it was still good.
6 went to her first concert with a friend.
Her biggest takeaway?
“They don’t believe in personal space.”
Which, honestly, felt accurate.
And 4 finally took the kids out for their Christmas gift.
It only took three months to line up everyone’s schedules.
Spring break felt like the only reason it actually happened.
Nothing lined up easily.
Nothing fit neatly.
But those moments still mattered.
Even in the middle of everything else.
We’re Not Thriving Right Now—We’re Showing Up
There isn’t a clean ending to this.
There isn’t a lesson tied up neatly at the end.
This is just what life looks like right now.
Everything happening at once.
Some of it good.
Some of it heavy.
Some of it completely out of our control.
We’re not thriving.
We’re not “handling it all” in some polished, put-together way.
Some days feel like survival.
Some days feel like checking boxes.
Some days feel like nothing at all.
But we’re still showing up.
For our kids.
For the hard decisions.
For the things that matter.
And right now—
That counts.
It’s not one big thing. It’s everything. All at the same time.
Photo by Pixabay
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