I Don’t Do It All

Let’s just go ahead and say it:

I don’t do it all.

Not even close.

I know how it can look from the outside—muddy boots drying on the boot rack, happy kids running wild, homemade berry jam and pickles cooling on the counter, a husband who makes me coffee in the mornings, a home that holds so much love.

But also… there’s a pile of laundry in the corner of my closet that might be old enough to vote. I’ve served mac and cheese for dinner more times than I care to admit. I haven’t sent thank-you cards from the birthday party 6 months ago. There’s a stack of half-read books next to my bed and a mental to-do list that hums in the background like a fridge I can’t unplug.

I love my life, but I don’t do it all.

And the truth is, I never really wanted to.

I’ve let go of the pressure to have a perfectly styled home or life. My hair is usually in a claw clip and still damp from a rushed shower. My house is cozy, but always a little chaotic—like a cabin curated by an 4 year old interior designer who’s obsessed with hot wheels and legos. I’ve let go of trying to match anyone else’s motherhood aesthetic. Joy doesn’t care if your throw pillows match or even if your kids are wearing pants.

I’ve also made peace with the reality that my house won’t forever be spotless. I clean in layers: first the floors, then the counters, followed by a load of laundry or 3 or 4, and then I light a candle and call it “vibes.” There’s always a trail of dirt in the entryway, some mystery craft project happening on the kitchen table, and dishes on the dry rack that just live there now. But if it means I get more time for bedtime snuggles or an extra 10 minutes to sit on the porch and breathe in the evening, I’ll take the mess. Every time.

And yes—we do some of the homestead things. We make jams and jellies from the berries we pick. We pressure can fish in the fall, grow a small garden in the summer, and eat salmon we caught together. But also… we eat chicken nuggets on busy nights. Sometimes the flowerbeds are overrun with weeds. Sometimes frozen pizza wins. Both can be true, and both are enough.

I’ve stopped trying to keep up online, too. Some weeks I post, some I don’t. I answer messages when I remember. Sometimes I fall off the grid entirely and resurface with stories about berry-stained fingers or muddy hikes, and that’s enough. The real life happening right in front of me matters more than what anyone else sees on a screen.

And the mental load? That’s the one that nearly broke me. The constant tabs open in my brain: who needs new socks, did I remember the field trip form, do we have enough sandwich bread, when’s the dentist appointment, why is someone crying—and is it emotional, physical, or just tired? There are days I feel like my brain is juggling flaming swords while also trying to remember everyone’s favorite snack this week. If I waited until everything was done to rest, I’d never rest at all. So I stopped waiting.

And even with all of that, the guilt still sneaks in. That quiet, nagging voice that tells me I didn’t play enough today. And in those moments, I’ve had to choose grace on purpose. Not the kind that excuses everything, but the kind that sees the whole picture—my love, my effort, my exhaustion—and says, “That’s enough, Mama. Truly.”

So no, I don’t do it all.

But I do what matters most. I show up. I love hard. I laugh when I can, cry when I need to, and keep doing my best in this loud, sticky, beautiful life. And I’ve come to believe—deep down, not just on good days—that this is what enough looks like.

So if you’re feeling behind, buried, or like you’re failing at keeping up… you’re not alone. You’re in good, imperfect company. And maybe today, instead of doing more, you just need someone to remind you:

You are already doing enough.

You don’t have to do it all.

You just have to love them through it.

And let grace fill in the rest.