Lately, I've been reflecting. And I'll be honest with you — I messed up. I lost it. I slipped up and freaked out on my girls. And then came that heavy, awful feeling afterward… that sinking sense of having lost control of yourself.
I'm hard on myself. Too hard, if I'm being real about it.
My mind spirals in the smallest moments. If someone stares at me just a little too long, I'm already gone — running through every possible reason why.
What are they looking at?
Are they noticing my wrinkles?
Did I say something weird?
Do I smell? (I'm laughing but I'm also serious.)
It sounds irrational when I type it out. But in the moment? It is completely, totally real. And when I finally slowed down enough to ask myself where does this come from — the answer surprised me.
I've been criticized my whole life. And I didn't even fully know it.
Where it startedThere's a memory I keep coming back to. A family member pointed at my leg and asked what my cellulite was. My mom — without meaning any harm, just without thinking — said I needed to lay off the ice cream. It was a passing moment. We've talked about it since, we've worked through it, and I know there was no malice in it. But here's the thing about those kinds of moments — they don't ask permission to stay. They just plant.
And I think a lot of women who grew up in certain households — especially in the South — know exactly what I'm talking about.
"Powder your nose, paint your toes,
line your lips and keep 'em closed.
Cross your legs, dot your I's
and never let them see you cry."
That lyric hit me somewhere deep the first time I heard it. Because that was the unspoken rulebook. Keep it together. Look put together. Be put together. And whatever you do — never let them see you fall apart.
The tired that sleep can't fix"If you know someone who is a perfectionist about their hair or makeup… look closer. Chances are, it started long before they had a choice in the matter."
Here's where I'm at right now. We just had the most incredible vacation — road trips, the beach, Disney. Just me behind the wheel, making it happen, making memories I'll hold onto forever. I drove instead of flying to cut costs. Worth every mile.
And then we got home and it was straight back to work, a fundraising event, and now a dance competition. I am grateful — genuinely, deeply grateful. But I am also exhausted in a way that a good night's sleep doesn't touch.
This is single mom tired. And it's different.
There's no one to hand it off to.
No pause button.
No one who steps in and says, "I've got them — go rest."
It's just me. All the way down.
I have to be the disciplinarian and the soft place to land. The authority and the nurturer. The one who makes the hard calls and the one who wipes the tears after. I don't get to just be one. I have to be both, always, at the same time. And if you get to just be one of those things? I genuinely hope you know how lucky you are.
When I get this depleted, everything gets louder. The clutter feels heavier. The noise is sharper. Mess isn't just mess to me — it feels like chaos, and chaos feels like losing grip on everything. And when I feel out of control… I spiral. And when I spiral, I don't always land gracefully.
What I'm learning"My heart is full. But my head is on overload and my body is running on fumes. And sometimes those things crash into each other."
So I messed up. And I feel terrible about it. And I'm also learning to hold both of those things at once — the accountability and the compassion — without letting one erase the other.
Because here's what I've finally started to understand: I didn't become a perfectionist because I wanted to be impressive. I became one because I was trying to stay safe. Perfection was protection. If everything looked right, maybe no one would find something to criticize. If I held it together, maybe I wouldn't give anyone a reason to point.
But that's not a way to live. And it's definitely not a way to heal.
So that's what I'm doing today. Owning it. Apologizing where I need to. Giving myself a little more of the understanding I'd hand to literally anyone else without thinking twice.
I don't need to be perfect to be a good mom. I just need to keep showing up — learning, growing, and loving my girls the best way I know how.
This was a mind dump. Straight from the heart, no filter. And if even one person reads this and feels a little less alone in their mess — then it was worth every word.
Today, that's enough.
