Some days, I genuinely doubt my ability to keep going. Those days are filled with shouting and tears, followed by even more yelling — this time louder — and, inevitably, more tears. I often find myself silently praying for a moment of sanity. As I glance upwards, I find my children staring at me, questioning if I’ve finally lost my mind.
On those particularly challenging days, I find myself begging my kids to sit down and focus on their schoolwork so I can catch up on my own tasks. I urge them to stop their incessant bickering and just play nicely together. After weeks of constant sibling interaction, my older child, Jack, is done with it, while little Sophie is gearing up for her 5,000th round of hide-and-seek.
Now I juggle two roles: a full-time professional and a full-time educator. I finish a conference call and immediately switch back to teacher mode, reading Jack his assignments as outlined in his 504 plan. I lay out his organizational tools and create a step-by-step approach to help him tackle his tasks independently, just like his aide would. I allow for necessary breaks, mimicking the approach of his classroom teacher. I am grateful for my background as a speech therapist, which gives me a basic understanding of his challenges and the tools that aid his learning.
Next, I move to Sophie’s learning on her iPad. Is her assignment in One Note or Teams? Why do these worksheets seem to hide in various applications? Did I catch the updated class emails from earlier? Why isn’t this link functioning? What is her password again?
My computer chimes with incoming work emails that will have to wait. Time is slipping away. By 1:00 p.m., I retreat into my “office” for tele-health sessions, leading therapeutic groups for the next two hours. My children know not to disturb me, but they often slip notes under the door: “Can I use my iPad yet? I’m hungry, when can I have a snack? Sophie is bothering me! Jack won’t play with me (angry face, angry face)!!!”
The sound of paper hitting the floor briefly distracts me. My clients notice. Should I pause to read the note and assist my kids, or continue with my therapy session? Both my clients and my children need my attention, and they all deserve it.
I feel as if I’m being pulled in two different directions, forced to be two distinct people within one small space. Like many of you, I am both physically and emotionally drained. Balancing full-time work with kids at home feels unsustainable. I am anxious about what the upcoming summer may bring.
Strangely, I find a sense of acceptance. It’s not due to my mental health training or my own therapy experiences; it’s because, in many ways, this situation feels eerily similar to my life before the pandemic. I was already exhausted. My mental load was at its peak. I felt overworked and neglected. There was always too much to do and not enough time before.
I had already mastered the dual roles of super mom and dedicated employee. While I won’t downplay the unique stress of our current circumstances, these feelings are not new to us parents. It feels as if we’ve been preparing for this moment for years. “Put me in, coach; I’m ready!”
What troubles me is the realization that my emotional overload feels almost identical to my everyday life. Each day, I prepare breakfasts, tackle laundry, and pack school bags before heading to work. I rush to pick up one child by 5:30 and then hustle across town to fetch the other by 6:00. Once home, I juggle making dinner and wrapping up homework.
I’ve taken calls from school during therapy sessions, left work early for emergency doctor visits, and spent weekends managing grocery runs, household chores, and shuttling kids to activities. I’ve found myself reciting my “mental list” just to stay organized, ensuring I meet everyone’s needs.
Though I have my husband’s support, I still struggle to prioritize my own well-being. I don’t remember when the pressure to be superhuman crept in, but I know I’m not alone in feeling this way. There’s always so much to do for our families that it never feels completed.
If I’ve learned anything from this difficult experience, it’s that I need to prioritize my own needs more often—not just with quick self-care treats but by making significant lifestyle changes. I am not superwoman; I am simply Emily.
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Summary
The struggle of balancing work and parenting during the pandemic has left many feeling overwhelmed. This reflection on shared experiences reveals that the exhaustion and emotional load aren’t new for parents. Instead, the pandemic has intensified existing challenges, prompting a need for self-care and lifestyle changes.
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