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How do you keep going when the sun is blazing, the kids are on your last nerve, and you want every human out of your house?
You open Instagram for a moment of calm, but one accidental click on a “suggested post” two weeks ago and now your feed is just flames, flight scares, and reasons to stay indoors forever. (Ask me how I know.)
We’re not a traditional summer-break family. Year-round school brings its own rhythm and its own flavor of chaos.
The pro? I love being able to travel during fall, winter and spring when everyone else is tethered to traditional summer schedules. The con? We've barely recovered from the Maycember madness of end-of-year activities when we're thrown right back into the back-to-school whirlwind.
On the last day of school, I'm already behind on buying next year's backpack. We have exactly six weeks to squeeze in summer fun, relaxation, unlimited sibling fights, and those inevitable reminders of "this is why we send you to camp."
This year was different, though.
I left a demanding job two weeks before school ended, thinking I'd finally dip my toe into a period of "slowing down." While I did slow down, I was also immediately faced with two children whom I absolutely adore, but also whom I have zero desire to spend my hours mediating and entertaining.
I love them deeply, I want to create memories with them, but call me old school—I don't believe it's my responsibility to be their entertainment director every waking moment. And I don't think that's a screen's job either.
As I tell them: I had two of you for a reason. Entertain yourselves.
Which brings me to the lull. You know the one I'm talking about.
It's those lazy days when the house feels like a disaster zone and you're standing in the middle of it all, so overwhelmed you genuinely don't know where to start.
The laundry mountain has achieved Everest status, dishes are staging a revolt in the sink, and your children seem to need things you can't quite identify but somehow feel responsible for providing.
Your phone buzzes with another apocalyptic news story, another friend's perfectly curated vacation photos, another reminder that you should be doing something, being somewhere, achieving more.
The heat presses against your windows like it's trying to break in, and you realize you've been holding your breath since sometime in May.
This heavy, suspended feeling settles over everything like dust on surfaces you meant to clean weeks ago.
It’s a lull.
And that lull isn't failure. It's not laziness or poor time management or evidence that you're somehow falling behind in life. It's a sign.
Before you tackle that overwhelming to-do list or referee another sibling argument over who breathed on whom, you need to do something for yourself first.
I know, I know—the guilt and shame are already bubbling up.
"But there's so much to do."
"But I've only been spending time with the kids. I already had a break."
And let me be clear: I have kids. I love my kids. Time with them can fill my cup and drain my mental reserves. Both can be true. (We can tell the truth here.)
What I've learned the hard way: doing things for others is not the same as taking care of yourself.
It may feel like it. It may be your default way of earning self-worth, your go-to method for feeling valuable. But running yourself ragged caring for everyone else isn't the same as giving yourself the time you need to think, reflect, process, move your body, drink water, rest, or just stare at a wall without apologizing for it.
I'm not here to prescribe exactly how you should care for yourself. Maybe it's calling a friend, writing three sentences in a journal, taking a walk around the block, or having a solo dance party in your kitchen (yes, I absolutely do this).
Whatever it is, when you find yourself staring down that endless list while feeling overstimulated beyond belief, recognize it as a signal from your nervous system.
You need a break. Your body is demanding what it needs to carry you forward.
The lull isn't something to power through or push past.
It's summer saying: slow down, the world will wait.
It's that flight safety instruction we all tune out until we desperately need it: put your own mask on first.
The guilt will whisper its familiar complaints—but the kids need things, but there's so much undone, but everyone else seems to have it all together.
That's just noise. Trust the lull instead.
Fill your own cup first, with whatever brings you back to yourself, whatever helps you remember who you are underneath all the doing and managing and caring.
You’ve been carrying everyone else.
It’s time to carry yourself, too.
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