Emotionally Exhausted? Respectfully, Same.

Last night, somewhere between a delayed red-eye, a storm rolling in, approximately 47 bags, and my toddler throwing herself dramatically onto a hotel lobby floor like she had just been betrayed by the universe, I started wondering if there's a return policy on adulthood. Respectfully, I'd like to return my adulting membership—temporarily, just for 24–72 business hours.

We had already moved our flight from the day before, so by the time the red-eye got delayed nearly three hours, morale was fragile. Dangerously close to that "we may need to deplane" announcement that makes every parent internally spiral. There was too much luggage—so much, in fact, that we had to drop some off at a friend's house like we were starring in a low-budget travel survival show.

I slept approximately two hours. My toddler? She chose to express herself. Not like the Madonna song, but more like: I am upset, everyone should know, and I will now be performing this emotion publicly. After holding her for hours on the plane while Daddy somehow managed to sleep for most of the flight—honestly, even before the plane took off—I entered my own personal endurance competition. Meanwhile, my daughter entered her Daddy is King era, and Mamma? Apparently, public enemy number one. Every request was shouted. Every opinion was passionate. Every emotion was large.

Then came the Uber. We specifically ordered the "large trunk" option. Friends, a toy car arrived. Who exactly categorized this vehicle as "large"? A minimalist? Someone traveling with one emotional support backpack? We ended up squished together like human luggage so the actual luggage could sit in the front seat.

And because life enjoys a sense of humor, every single person who apparently received the memo that I was "on vacation" suddenly needed something. Emails. Questions. Logistics. Forms. Appointments. Vacation where? At one point yesterday, before our flight, I was carrying a screaming toddler while doing laundry in a hotel, searching for the exact right snack like I was competing on a reality show called Survive Motherhood: International Edition. Eventually, in a moment of complete surrender, I handed over a cookie. Organic ideals? Temporarily suspended. Peace was purchased.

And yet—because toddlers are confusing little spiritual teachers—there was this moment. After all the chaos, my daughter stood in the hotel lobby smiling at strangers saying, "Hello man! Hello woman!" The joy on people's faces was everything. Somehow, in the middle of total overstimulation, exhaustion, and crying (bathroom crying, bed crying, the glamorous kind), there was still sweetness. There was still humor. There was still a tiny reminder that hard moments and beautiful moments can exist in the very same day.

So if you're emotionally exhausted right now? Respectfully: same. Some seasons aren't about thriving. Some seasons are about making the flight, feeding the toddler, crying in the bathroom, and somehow still showing up. And maybe adulthood deserves a one-star review sometimes. But maybe exhaustion isn't failure. Maybe it's evidence that you've been carrying a lot.

Emotional Exhaustion Is Real (Especially During Big Life Changes)

Moving. Travel. Parenting. Sleep deprivation. Logistics. Constant decisions. Sometimes what looks like "falling apart" is actually a nervous system quietly asking for a minute—not forever, just a minute.

You're allowed to be tired. You're allowed to laugh about it. And you're absolutely allowed to buy peace with a cookie every once in a while.

About the Author | Day 141

I'm a soul-led coach, writer, mother, and recovering perfectionist currently surviving red-eye flights, emotional support cookies, toddler protests in hotel lobbies, and the deeply humbling realization that a car labeled "large trunk" means very different things to different people.

After 141 straight days of showing up here—through moves, meltdowns, travel chaos, delayed flights, and the emotional whiplash of major life transitions—I've learned something important: exhaustion doesn't mean you're failing. Sometimes it simply means you've been carrying a lot.

And if all you did today was survive, feed the tiny humans, answer a few texts, cry a little, and keep going? That counts.

I write for overwhelmed humans, nervous-system warriors, tired parents, recovering overfunctioners, and anyone trying to find humor while holding life together with caffeine, hope, and maybe one emergency snack.