It was a beautiful night…chaotic, yes, but the kind that feels worth it.

My oldest daughter had just been promoted to General Manager, and we all showed up to help her decorate for Free Tea Day. Her big brothers were there and her little sisters tagged along. Glitter. Balloons. Laughter. Smiles.

It was loud, messy and wonderful.

We stayed too long.

We got home late.

I crawled into bed at 3 a.m.—bone-tired, but proud.

And then…

The morning hit like a truck.

No slow wake-up. No sipping coffee before the house stirs.

Just—

• Over 100 emails

• Work texts and client calls

• A toddler yelling for me

• A 5-year-old asking about breakfast

• A kid who’s struggling but doesn’t have the words to say “I need help”

• A school sports appointment that somehow has to be made today

• My husband—also my business partner—needing input

• Managers needing answers

• Dinner that no one planned

• And a brain that feels like it’s buffering on dial-up speed

I didn’t cry.

But I wanted to.

Not because any of these things were bad.

But because they all came at once.

I was supposed to be the one who held it all together.

The one who woke up early, planned the day and thought ahead.  I am supposed to have the meat laid out, the meals planned and knock out emails before the rest of the house even blinked.

But instead… I overslept.

I slipped behind.

And the tiny moment I tried to take for myself evaporated before I could even hold it.

This is the part of motherhood no one really talks about…

The invisible weight we carry.

The emotional multi-tasking, the guilt and the “be-everywhere-for-everyone” pressure. The way our to-do lists stretch from therapy strategies to school lunch reminders to client deliverables to bandaids and bedtime kisses.

And we carry it.

Silently. Daily.

Some days, we just want to disappear. Not forever, don’t worry, just for an hour. Long enough to hear our own thoughts again.

But then… one of the kids laughs.

Or hugs us.

Or says, “Thank you for helping me.”

And suddenly, the weight doesn’t go away—but it shifts.

We’re still tired but we remember why we carry it.

Today wasn’t easy.

But I showed up.

Not perfectly. Not gracefully.

But fully.

And maybe… maybe that’s grace.