The Day I Realized I Was Missing My Own Life
It was a Thanksgiving party in one of my kids' classrooms, and I was running it.
I'd gotten up early to prep everything: paper turkeys, glue sticks, little cups of snacks lined up on a tray. I was doing all the things a good room mom does when, somewhere between the construction paper and the third runny nose, a thought landed so clearly I almost laughed out loud.
I do not belong here.
Not because I didn't love my kids. I loved them more than anything. But I looked across the room at another mom who was genuinely delighted to be there, and I realized I wasn't.
I don't like glue. I don't love runny noses. And I was already raising seven children of my own before I volunteered to take care of everyone else's too.
It was simply a bad fit for who I was. I was there anyway because I thought I was supposed to be.
When Your Life Becomes a Checklist
I came home from that party and went straight to the calendar. Who needs to be where tomorrow, how is everyone getting there, and who's doing what?
That was my life: one checkbox after another.
Seven baths. Seven sets of teeth to brush. Bedtime stories. The cat litter box.
My brain was a never-ending to-do list. Underneath it was the fear that I'd drop something important, so I held on tighter. I tracked more. I planned further ahead.
And somehow, the person I kept leaving behind was me.
Mom, Why Aren't You Answering Him?
One evening, I was standing at the sink washing dishes. My hands were moving, but my mind was already in tomorrow: rides, schedules, sickness, logistics.
One of my sons was saying, "Mom. Mom. Mom."
I didn't hear him.
He said it again. Then one of my other kids came over, tugged on my pants, and asked, "Mom, why aren't you answering him?"
I had no idea I wasn't.
I was standing just a few feet away, but I was completely gone. I was so consumed with making sure everything was taken care of that I missed the little boy trying to get my attention.
That's what feeling like you're missing your own life can look like. It isn't always dramatic. Sometimes it's a kitchen sink and a kid saying your name.
Physically There, Mentally Gone
If this feels familiar, it doesn't mean you don't love your life. I loved mine. I was grateful for it. I had built exactly what I thought I wanted.
But somewhere along the way, managing my life crowded out the experience of living it. There was no room to breathe, enjoy, or even notice what was happening around me.
A lot of capable women live here. We're good at handling things, and that's part of the trap. The more we can carry, the more we take on, until there's very little of us left for the moments we're working so hard to create.
The classroom party and that night at the sink both happened before December 18, 2018, when a car accident changed everything. It took that accident for me to understand how much I'd been missing while I was busy holding it all together.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Walking Back Into the Surf Shop
Recently, I went back to Newport Beach, where we used to go for spring break when the kids were little. I walked into the 15th Street Surf Shop, a place we stopped every trip, and it hit me all at once.
I could see us there: kids needing swimsuits, T-shirts, beach toys, and everything else. And I could see myself running the operation.
What does everybody need? Everybody carries something. Are we good?
I was there for all of it, and I barely remember it.
Standing in that store now, I thought: I wish someone had told her. Get help. Do less. Be present.
Then I felt something I didn't expect: gratitude.
I've come a long way. These days, I let things look messy. I let them be imperfect. The beach photos may not be Instagram-worthy, but they're ours. And I was actually in them.
What I'd Tell Her Now
If I could go back to that woman at the sink, the one running the classroom party she didn't want to run, I'd put my hands on her shoulders and say:
Girl, if today were your last, would you even know what happened? This is a game. Have fun. Learn how to play again. And let go of all the heaviness you're carrying alone.
We think we're protecting our lives by managing every detail. But you can't really live a life you're too busy to notice.
If You're Reading This From the Middle of the Checklist
You don't have to blow up your life to come back to it. Start with these three things.
Get help. Doing everything yourself isn't a badge of honor. Hand one thing off this week.
Do less. Find your Thanksgiving party: the thing you're doing because you think you should, not because it fits who you are. Say no to one of those things.
Be present. Choose one ordinary moment today, like the dishes, the drive, or bedtime, and let it be the only thing you're doing. When someone says your name, hear it the first time.
Someday you will want to remember these years.
Today is a someday. Don't miss it.
Frequently Asked Questions
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It means you're physically there for your days but your mind is somewhere else, planning, managing, or worrying about what's next. Life is happening, but you're not really in it.
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Usually it's a sign that responsibility and mental load have taken over. When your mind is always on what's next, it's hard to notice or enjoy what's right in front of you.
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Start small. Ask for help with one thing, drop one obligation that doesn't fit anymore, and pick one ordinary moment each day to be fully where your feet are.
