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A love letter to every mom barely holding it together right now:
May used to feel like the warm-up to summer—sunshine, field days, and a slow fade into freedom.
But somewhere along the line, May turned into a second December. (Except without the twinkling lights or peppermint lattes.)
Now, it’s an avalanche of school deadlines, sports travel, teacher gifts, birthday parties, summer camp forms, and one million logistics that somehow all matter. Right now. For moms, May is often one of the most demanding, overloaded, emotionally fraught months of the year—and we’re supposed to just smile and keep going.
This year, May almost broke me.
My son plays on a high-level travel team. We live in a rural area, so “away games” aren’t a short drive—they’re four hours one way. This May was packed with tournaments, hotel stays, cooler-packing, and long drives. On top of that, my son’s birthday landed right in the middle of everything.
Cue: mom meltdown.
I also tried to pull off a birthday party while already out of town for soccer. The planning was rushed, the timing was tight, and I was spread thin. My son was disappointed it didn’t look like what he imagined. I was crushed with guilt.
It all felt like too much.
But in the mess of that weekend, something cracked open. I found my way back to center—not by doing more, but by doing less. By telling the truth. By loosening my grip.
Here’s what helped:
1. I managed expectations—his and mine.
I realized I was trying to manufacture a “perfect” birthday party in the middle of chaos because I didn’t want to let him down. But when he was disappointed, I had to step back and ask: Was I trying to meet his needs—or my own need to never disappoint anyone?
We had done our best. We were dealing not just with his desires, but with other families’ boundaries—no one wanted their kids staying out past 10 p.m. after a full day of soccer. That wasn’t something I could control. I reminded him of that, gently.
And then something lovely happened: the boys had a great time anyway. They played laser tag, laughed, and devoured cupcakes. Every single kid said it was awesome.
It wasn’t perfect. But it was enough.
2. I said no to things that didn’t need to be mine.
There’s a cultural script that says “good moms” show up with casseroles, creative crafts, and themed party favors—even when they’re barely hanging on.
This May, I opted out. I passed on cooking for the teacher appreciation luncheon and donated money instead. I didn’t make fancy dinners every night—we had pizza and leftovers and cereal-for-dinner nights. And I decided that was okay.
Letting go of these small expectations made a big difference in my capacity. Every “no” I said made more room for my nervous system to settle. Sometimes survival looks like less effort, not more.
3. I found tiny, doable ways to soothe my anxiety.
I didn’t need a full self-care routine. What I needed were micro-moments of grounding that I could sneak into the day without them becoming another to-do list item.
So I started describing the room I was in out loud. I noticed the light. I watched the wind move through the trees outside my office window. I took slow, intentional breaths.
These small check-ins brought me back to the present. They reminded me I didn’t have to hold it all at once. I just had to be where I was, in that moment. And sometimes, that’s enough to reset.
4. I named the system that’s designed for me to fail.
Here’s the truth: it’s not just about my schedule or my planning. It’s not even just about May.
It’s about a patriarchal culture that conditions women to carry the emotional labor, the mental load, and the “magic-making” of family life—without complaint, without help, and without rest. We are expected to look good, be nice, remember everything, and never crack.
And then we blame ourselves when we can’t keep up.
This isn’t just a personal failing. It’s a cultural setup. And the more I name it, the less power it holds over me.
So here’s what I want every mom to know:
You are not failing. It was just May.
It’s okay to say no. It’s okay to drop balls. It’s okay to let the birthday be simple, the dinner be cold, the calendar be incomplete.
Our kids don’t need us to make it magical. They need us present. Human. Breathing.
And if all you did today was keep going while the world around you felt like too much—you’re already doing enough.
~
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