We are all just trying to keep up, aren’t we? Summer is quickly approaching and the to-do list before school lets out is never-ending.
I think one of the most common experiences is texting your friend midday and asking, “Are you overwhelmed or is it just me?” And almost immediately getting back some version of, “No, I’m right there with you.”
There’s something comforting about realizing the collective answer is usually “yes.”
“Yes, it’s a lot.”
“Yes, we’re all a little stretched.”
“Yes, we’re all trying to follow Jesus in lives that feel louder and faster than we know what to do with.”
Summer tends to make it more obvious. Schedules loosen up in theory, but in practice everything fills right back in.
Kids are home more, routines fall apart faster, and suddenly the emotional labor of just getting through a day feels different.
The house is louder, the needs are more constant, and even the “fun” parts require energy you don’t always have.
Meanwhile, we’re still trying to be well-rounded women. Good friends. Present moms. People who answer texts in a timely way and don’t forget what they walked into the room for. And it’s not that any of that is wrong. It’s just that it all stacks.
We are carrying our actual lives while also absorbing everyone else’s through constant connection. We know what is happening in too many places at once. There’s way too many opinions about how we should be doing things better, and we exist with a low hum of pressure that never fully shuts off.
So, when someone says, “I’m struggling this summer,” it’s not surprising. It’s very familiar. What really surprises me is how often we assume that we’re the only ones who feel this way.
Because underneath it all, there is a shared experience that most moms recognize immediately. It’s the feeling of wanting deep community but being too drained to build it and wanting meaningful friendships but struggling to initiate anything beyond, “we should get together sometime.”
We mean it when we say it. We just lack the capacity to follow through sometimes. Still, women keep reaching for each other. We send the text anyway. We show up late with something from Target and call it a meal. We laugh about how long it’s been since we had a full conversation that wasn’t interrupted. We admit we’re tired without trying to clean it up or make it sound more spiritual than it is.
As Romans 12:15 puts it, “Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn.”
It sounds simple, but most days it looks like small, ordinary faithfulness. Sitting in each other’s joy when there is energy for it. Sitting in each other’s heaviness when there isn’t a solution, just presence. Responding anyway. Staying connected anyway. And honestly, that’s where the relief is.
Not in pretending we’re doing better than we are, but in realizing we’re not alone in trying to hold it all together in real time. The pressure subsides when you stop assuming everyone else is handling life better than you are. The day feels less isolating. The expectations soften. You can show up as you are without performing a version of yourself that has more margin than you actually do.
There are other women sending the same text, sitting in the same kind of day, trying again tomorrow like you are. You’re not behind. You’re not missing something that everyone else has figured out. You’re just living a full, loud, real life in a season that asks for a lot.
So, if today feels like a lot, you’re not doing it wrong. You’re just in it.
You’ve got this, mama. And we’re all in this together.
(P.S. your coffee is in the microwave)
