Running on Empty (But Still Showing Up): A Love Letter to the Moms Doing All the Things

Life lately?

Chaotic.
Hectic.
A circus — and somehow you’re the ringmaster, the clown, the tightrope walker, AND the person folding the laundry that magically multiplies when no one’s looking.

And if we’re being honest, the laundry is the real ringleader around here.

And layered on top of all that?
You’re also a coach’s wife in November — which is a whole different sport, lifestyle, and emotional endurance test.

Because motherhood? It’s not for the faint of heart.
It’s for the caffeinated, the emotionally resilient, and the women who can locate a lost shoe in under 30 seconds using nothing but mom-instinct and mild rage.

Between running operations for a nonprofit, keeping a household alive, shuttling kids like an unpaid Uber driver, and remembering 47 different school spirit days… let’s just acknowledge the universal truth:

Mama, we are tired.

Like, “Is it morning or is it Thursday?” tired.
Like, “Where and who do we play again this week?” tired.
Like, “Why is it pitch black outside when it’s barely 6pm?” tired.
(Still personally offended by the time change.)

And then add the coach’s wife schedule — where your husband works seven days a week, film never sleeps, and Thanksgiving week isn’t a break… it’s another game week.

But hear me clearly:
This isn’t a complaint.
We love this life.
We love practicing during Thanksgiving week.
We love playing football on Thanksgiving week.
We love the adrenaline, the tradition, the community, the purpose, the pride.

Most families are thawing turkeys.
We’re praying over our athletes and living in the playoff glow — and honestly?
We wouldn’t trade it.
Turkey can wait.
Sleep can wait.
This is the good stuff.

The Version of Me My Boss Sees vs. The Version My Kids See

At Work:
You’re competent.
You’re put together-ish.
You have answers.
You have a voice.
You have… real pants on.
You’re leading teams, solving world problems, sending emails with words like “circle back” and “attached for your review.”

At Home:
You’re the Chief Everything Officer.
You juggle dress-up days, barn schedules, UIL sign-ups, homework folders, church nights, homemade lunches, missing water bottles, and the emotional fallout of “MOM, YOU FORGOT TO SIGN THIS.”

Your hair may or may not be in the same bun you slept in.
Your shirt has yesterday’s coffee on it.
You’re not wearing real pants anymore.
And somehow — somehow — you still get it all done.

The Barn Life: A Commitment No One Warned You About

If your kid rides horses… listen.

You live at the barn now.
That is your home.
Your actual address is “Next to the tack room.”

You go for what should be a quick 5pm ride and suddenly it’s 7pm, you’re covered in shavings, your child is laughing with friends, and you’re standing there like,
“Okay but who’s making dinner because it sure isn’t me?”

And then — like magic — everyone still gets fed.
Not always vegetables… but fed.
They’re bathed-ish, teeth brushed-ish, and in bed before 9pm.
(We do not speak of your bedtime. That’s between you, your melatonin, and your scrolling addiction.)

The House? Yeah… About That.

You used to have a clean house.
You remember her.
You loved her.

Now? Your home is giving:

• “Lived-in but adored.”

• “We’re not dirty, but please don’t open that hallway closet.”

• “If you ask me to do one more load of laundry, I will simply run away.”

And listen — no shame.
This is a season.
One day the house will be clean again.
Probably when the kids move out… or when you move out. Either way.

Running on Fumes, Messy Hair, and Whatever Hope Is Left in the Cup

Some days you’re composed.
Some days you’re chaos in yoga pants.
Some days you’re sipping iced coffee like a responsible adult.
Other days you’re cracking open a High Noon at 6pm like:
“I’m not saying it was a bad day… but it wasn’t not a bad day.”

And on those days — the hard, heavy, “why are there so many feelings in this house?” days — you remind yourself:

I will miss this.
I’ll miss the busyness.
I’ll miss the noise.
I’ll miss the packed schedules and the little voices yelling “MOM!” every 13 seconds.
I’ll miss the mess and the magic and the miracle of these tiny — and not-so-tiny — humans growing right in front of me.

Even when it feels like you’re sprinting a marathon… with one shoe… uphill… carrying a backpack full of everyone else’s stuff…
while your husband is at practice in week 14.

And still — somehow — your heart is full.

To the Moms Holding It Together (But Barely):

This season is hard.
It’s loud.
It’s nonstop.
It’s exhausting.

But it’s also holy.
And beautiful.
And shaping you into someone stronger, softer, and more powerful than you’ve ever been.

Give yourself grace.
You are not failing — you’re functioning at elite-athlete levels with half the sleep, double the responsibilities, and a brain that hasn’t known silence since 2013.

You’re raising babies.
You’re loving your people.
You’re keeping a whole world spinning.
You’re surviving football season and motherhood and life — all at once.

You’re showing up — even when you’re running on empty.

And honestly?
That’s the real highlight reel.
That’s the real Hudl moment.