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The universe has a funny way of testing exactly how much you can carry before you break.
We got news about my mom’s cancer last week. Not the kind you want. We scrambled to change our Thanksgiving plans, packing up the kids and driving to be with her and my whole family instead of staying home for the holiday. Two days after we returned, we discovered a water leak in our house. Caused by rodents. When the plumber cut into our ceiling—creating an access point we’d never had before—we also discovered that one of our vents has never worked because the HVAC ducts were never connected in that area. Which means we’ve been unknowingly heating and cooling our attic and garage for ten years.
There’s a metaphor in here somewhere about all the invisible systems we depend on that turn out to be broken. About the energy we pour into spaces no one can see. But I’m too tired to find it right now.
Then the pest control guy showed up. Walked around with my husband. Told him the problem was a “9 out of 10” and quoted him $6,000.
When my husband came inside and told me, you bet I marched right back out there.
I’m the daughter of a contractor. I know fear-selling when I see it. I asked for photos. I researched. I made calls. We ultimately landed with a local company for less than a quarter of what this guy quoted, and I’m filing a complaint because what he tried to pull was predatory.
But here’s the thing: that took energy I didn’t have. Mental bandwidth I’d already allocated to my mom’s treatment options and work deadlines. It required me to be present and sharp and willing to advocate for myself when I wanted to curl up in a ball and let someone else handle it.
This is what nobody tells you about having financial resources: it doesn’t protect you from the emotional labor. It doesn’t protect you from the invisible financial decisions that pile up during crisis: the last-minute flight changes, the rebooked hotels, the contractor quotes you have to challenge, the work you’re missing while someone cuts into your ceiling. Each decision costs something, even when you can afford the expense itself.
And it’s the season. The one with holiday performances and parades to purchase outfits for, gift exchanges and teachers to buy for, elves to move and magic to make. The one where you find yourself eating half a dozen Trader Joe’s Mini Gingerbread People cookies while hiding in your pantry, wondering why your body won’t stop buzzing with a low-grade panic that never quite dissipates.
Nowhere did I mention we also have businesses to run, jobs to hold down, meals that need prepping, and laundry lists that regenerate faster than we can check items off.
The Invisible Load Never Shines Brighter
Nowhere in life does the invisible load reveal itself quite like it does around the holidays. The merry-making is genuinely magical. It’s also genuinely exhausting. We want our kids to feel loved and present during these moments. We also want to be able to show up for them without feeling like we’re drowning. It’s hard to do both when you’re facedown in your closet sobbing from exhaustion.
I applauded myself on Monday this week. Despite feeling like my heart is breaking. Despite the giant hole in my ceiling and my safe space being turned upside down. I still got the damn elf out.
I printed a personalized letter with help from ChatGPT and set him out with two new Elf Pets that my daughter had been asking for for years. This is her first year joining the ranks as a Magic Maker. She’s old enough now to know the truth about Santa, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, all of it. I wanted to show her that it could still be magical even when you know who’s carrying the load. That sharing the spirit of the season matters, even when it costs you something.
Seeing her and her brother’s joy that first morning lit me up. They laid in bed next to me, read the letter from their elf, then spent the next ten minutes absorbed in the books that came with their pets. At one point, she turned to me and quietly mouthed “thank you”. I made myself sit there and soak it all in. No pictures. Just a mental snapshot of what their happiness looked like and why some of that extra exhaustion is worth it.
Those are the moments.
But We Can’t Do It All
Looking at our calendars, we’ve had to say no to multiple commitments. I had to cancel a client meeting today because I wasn’t in the headspace for it. There was a contractor literally cutting a hole into my ceiling thirty minutes before the call. I started beating myself up for not being able to show up to the commitment on my calendar. But I also know my clients deserve the best of me and my full attention. And today wasn’t it.
I called it. They were incredibly kind. We rescheduled.
I’m looking forward to that conversation in two weeks when I can actually be present for it. I love all of my clients, and they deserve better than a half-version of me distracted by ceiling holes and grief.
On Standards and Boundaries
I talked to someone today about standards. She was wondering if hers were too high. What I really saw was someone with better boundaries than most people. She knew what she wanted and didn’t want to settle. That’s not an unreasonable standard. That’s a boundary.
It might be interpreted as an expectation placed upon someone else, but in most at-will relationships, eventually something has to give. A boundary is upheld and someone either meets it or doesn’t. But the boundary itself doesn’t break. She’s not adjusting her standards because someone else can’t meet them.
I admired that. Especially in a season where there is so much expectation and pressure placed on women to bend, accommodate, and make everyone else’s experience smooth and joyful.
We need more unapologetic boundaries. More no’s. More space for joy. More permission to fall to pieces when it actually feels like your world is falling to pieces. Room to process emotions and to be in the present moment. Both can be true.
The Gift of Presence
Which brings me to presence.
Being present (and I mean truly present) is one of the most undervalued gifts we can give ourselves and others. When we’re racing through the season in survival mode, buying things we can’t afford, saying yes to commitments that drain us, we’re not present. We’re performing. And there’s a cost to that.
Presence brings peace. It helps you cut out the unnecessary. It calms your nervous system when it’s buzzing with overwhelm. It brings you back to yourself in moments of crisis. It helps you see clearly enough to know when someone’s trying to take advantage of you, when to challenge a quote, when to say no to another obligation. It brings you back to what actually matters.
Presence and money are deeply connected. When we’re not present, we make expensive mistakes. We say yes to predatory quotes because we’re too depleted to research. We overspend on things hoping they’ll create the magic we’re too exhausted to make ourselves. We pour money into a season that’s supposed to be about connection but ends up being about consumption.
But when we practice presence—when we pause, when we set boundaries, when we protect our energy—we spend differently. We invest in what actually lights us up rather than what we think we’re supposed to do. We create space for the moments that matter instead of filling every second with noise and obligation. We save ourselves $4,500 because we had the bandwidth to show up clear-eyed, even in the middle of crisis.
Life Is Not Linear
Life can be overwhelming. It’s true that when it rains, it typically pours. Sometimes everything happens at once—the cancer news, the house falling apart, the relentless demands of the season.
Being kind to ourselves matters. Giving ourselves permission to say no matters. Finding joy in the small moments matters. Having gratitude even in the hard seasons matters. Feeling our feelings instead of bypassing them matters. Modeling what it means to be an actual living human being (not a robot) for our kids, our communities, and our teams matters.
So if you’re reading this while hiding in your pantry eating cookies, know this: You’re not failing. You’re just human. And maybe that’s the most important magic we can model this season.
Related: Why Your Cash Cushion Never Feels Like Enough — And What You’re Really Chasing