If you’re trying to be everything for everyone, and wondering why it feels so hard, this might be why…

Some days, you are holding so much it feels like your body might crack under the pressure.
But you still make the lunches.
You still remember the costume for Book Week.
You still rock the baby while replying to emails with one thumb.

People say you are amazing.
That you are superwoman.
That they do not know how you do it all.

And yet.
You lie in bed at night running through the list of everything you did not do.
You wonder if you were too snappy, too distracted, too much, too tired.
You beat yourself up for checking your phone too much.
For not being more present.
For wanting space, even from the little humans you love more than life.

And then there is the other voice.
The one that whispers,
"Why is this so hard?"
"Other mums seem to be handling it."
"Maybe I am just not cut out for this."
"Something must be wrong with me."

Let me say it clearly.

There is nothing wrong with you.
But there might be something missing. Not in your parenting, in your past.

Because when you grew up not getting what you needed emotionally or relationally, your body did not just forget that.
It adapted. It braced. It learned.

Maybe you had to be the easy one.
Maybe you became the helper.
Maybe no one ever checked in on your feelings because there just was not space for them.
Maybe love felt earned instead of safe.

And now, here you are. A grown woman raising a child, holding everyone’s schedules and emotions in your system like it is second nature.

You are across school pickups, sports drop offs, birthday parties, holiday planning, meal prepping, friendship drama, emotional regulation, missing socks, drink bottles, end-of-term projects, and last-minute text messages from school at 2:40 pm.

You are across it all.

You wear all the hats: the organiser, the nurse, the teacher, the therapist, the house manager, the emotional anchor, the soft place to land.

You are so attuned it hurts sometimes.
You notice the shift in your child’s tone.
You clock the micro-expressions.
You feel their nervous system in your own.

And no one sees it, not like you do.
No one feels the ripple effects of everyone else's emotions quite like you do.

You are more committed than you have ever been.
To this child.
To showing up.
To doing it differently.

You might not even realise it, but there is a quiet grief living inside you.
A part of you that aches, just a little, every time you give your child what you never got.
And you do it with love.
With your whole heart.
But sometimes it stings.
Because you are holding space for your child while stuffing down the parts of you that never got that same tenderness.

You are giving it your all.
And some days, it still feels impossibly hard.

That is not weakness.
That is unprocessed pain.
That is the little one inside of you still waiting to be held.

You are not only navigating nap schedules and toddler tantrums.
You are also navigating your nervous system.
The guilt that shows up when you rest.
The discomfort that rises when your child has a big feeling.
The panic that flares when your partner does not respond the way you hoped.
The pressure to always be the calm one, the grounded one, the one who holds it all together.

And no one sees that.
Not fully.
Not unless they have lived it too.

So let me say this.

You are not too much.
You are not weak.
You are not doing it wrong.

You are a woman carrying the weight of your past while trying to create a different future.
You are holding it all. The nappies. The school pick-ups. The emotional labour. The guilt. The love. The fear. The hope.
All with a heart that was never fully mothered.

No wonder it feels hard.
No wonder your body tightens when you try to relax.
No wonder you are hyper-aware of everyone’s emotions, even when no one is saying anything.

This is what happens when you were taught to attune to everyone but yourself.
This is what happens when your childhood taught you that peace comes from performance.
That love comes through effort.
That being needed is the safest way to be loved.

But it does not have to stay that way.

You are allowed to be held.
You are allowed to feel.
You are allowed to be more than just the one who keeps everyone else regulated.

Because the truth is,
You are not just parenting your child.
You are also parenting the parts of you that still ache for what you never got, and that is sometimes the hardest job of all.

And those parts do not need fixing.
They need space.
They need softness.
They need you.

You are allowed to exhale.
You are allowed to rest.
You are allowed to not always have it together.

Especially if no one ever taught you how.