And honestly? I get it.

This week, our five-year-old lost iPad privileges.
He looked my husband dead in the eyes and said:
“It’s fine. I’ll just hack your servers.”

Sir.
You’re five. You still need help opening a string cheese.

But also?
Same.
If I knew how to hack the actual servers of life right now —
to reprogram this week, this body, this entire overstimulated season —
I would. No hesitation.

Because here’s where I’m at:

We’re planning a move, but have nowhere to move to.
My husband’s been traveling, so it’s just me vs. the chaos.
Our five-year-old has had night terrors almost every night,
which means I haven’t slept in… I don’t know. Time is a construct.
I’m running on Starbuck Passion Tea (no caffeine), emotional whiplash, and Target drive-up orders.
And somewhere in the middle of it, I’m supposed to be calm.
Steady. Grace-filled. Emotionally regulated.

Yeah, no.

The truth?

I don’t feel calm.
I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs and maybe
throwing a laundry basket just to hear something break.

Not because I’m unwell —
but because I’m a human woman carrying too much, with too little rest,
and somewhere along the way I got the message
that I’m not allowed to unravel.

Also? Let’s talk about being over 40.
My face is breaking out like I’m 17,
but my knees sound like Velcro.
My body is confused.
My self-image is struggling.
And no, I don’t want to try a new collagen powder right now, thanks.

All the curated self-care routines in the world can’t fix
what sleep, space, and feeling seen might begin to heal.

But I’m still here.

Still making lunches and dinners.
Still managing the moods and meltdowns.
Still trying to be the stable presence in a house full of humans
who are all feeling a lot, all at once.

Still loving this life —
even while fantasizing about a solo retreat with no Wi-Fi and no one saying “Mom.”

So this one’s for:

The woman holding it together while quietly falling apart.
The mom who’s regulating everyone else and running on fumes.
The wife in that strange stretch of silence and sharpness.
The empath who can’t catch a breath between everyone else’s needs.

You’re not failing.
You’re just full.
You’re allowed to be angry.
You’re allowed to not be okay.
And you’re still worthy of softness, support, and being seen.

Maybe today we scream into the void.
Maybe we laugh at the absurdity.
Maybe we cry in the car with the A/C on and call it holy.
Maybe we just tell the truth:
“I’m not okay today.”
And let that be the most honest prayer we offer.

You’re not alone.
You’re not broken.
You’re just real.

And if you do manage to hack the servers…
please… take me with you.

Still soft. Still strong. Still slightly unhinged,
-J

💬 Want to reflect?

Prompt:
What’s one thing you’ve been holding in that you need to say out loud — even just to yourself?