“‘That’s it, I’m moving out!’
And yes, it all started because of a single, stupid shoe.
Okay, fine—it wasn’t really just the shoe.
Also, I’m not actually moving out.
But there I was, yelling this ridiculous declaration at my people first thing in the morning, and honestly, it felt dramatic and justified in that moment.
Most of the time, I can find the joy in the chaos. I really try to focus on the good, to send everyone off with a hug, a smile, and a little encouragement. And usually, I succeed. Most days are manageable. Most days, I am me.
But every now and then, something small—like a missing shoe—triggers a meltdown. Especially when my repeated pleas to put shoes away in pairs or to not borrow my stuff without asking have apparently fallen on deaf ears. That’s when I crack. That’s when I act like a full-on maniac.
I yell absurd things at my people:
‘I can’t take this place! I’m moving out!’
‘That’s it, I’m throwing away all the toys!’
‘No one in this family is allowed to use the downstairs bathroom ever again!’
‘If you don’t eat the lunches we packed for you, we’re done feeding you—you can just go forage for food in the wild.’
Basically, I reach the Breaking Point. And at the Breaking Point, there is no good. No blessings. No patience. All that’s visible is chaos and disaster looming in every corner.
Have you been to the Breaking Point? Trust me, it’s not a fun place.
And yet, inevitably, something shifts. I find the missing shoe. Or the kids finally clean up the playroom. Or I escape the house for a few minutes and take a breath. And suddenly, I feel a million times lighter. The world seems less catastrophic. I move on from the Breaking Point, only to arrive, inevitably, in the next stop: The Land of Regret.
And in that place, I feel terrible for having lost it. For yelling. For overreacting. For being human in front of the people I love.
But here’s the thing: we have to be allowed to lose it sometimes. It’s okay to be blind to the blessings every now and then. It doesn’t make us bad parents, partners, or humans. It just makes us human. We are not perfect, and we are not meant to be.
The beauty is in what comes next. We regroup. We apologize. We forgive ourselves and each other. We move forward. And our kids—our wonderful, resilient kids—learn something valuable too. They learn that adults are human, that love is stronger than messy bathrooms, lost shoes, and uneaten lunches. They learn that it’s okay to make mistakes, to apologize, and to keep going.
And yes—they also learn they might need to tidy up their stuff before mom loses her mind again. Hey, a girl can dream.
So, to anyone who lost it today, I invite you to come back from the Breaking Point. Don’t linger too long in the Land of Regret. Step back into the World of Being Human—a place where love hides in the chaos, where the joy is waiting even when the house is messy, and where your people love you, even when you act like a maniac. Just like you love them.
Because at the end of the day, that’s what matters. The shoes can be found. The mess can be cleaned. But the love—the messy, loud, chaotic love—is forever.”
