When Rest Looks Nothing Like Rest: A Working Mom’s Reflection on Overwhelm, Purpose, and the Truth About “Doing It All”

If your Thanksgiving was anything like mine, it wasn’t restful—it was a logistical triathlon wrapped in the expectation of gratitude. I spent the week working, planning, preparing, traveling, cooking, trying to exercise, trying to find joy… just with more people, more opinions, more noise, and infinitely more moving parts.

We took a trip to the aquarium, which was supposed to be the moment of pause. Instead, one of my children struggled—overwhelmed by crowds, unable to explain the intensity building inside his body. And I didn’t see it soon enough. I pushed. I questioned. I asked, “What’s wrong with you?” when the truth was that nothing was wrong. His nervous system was just flooded. Mine was too.

That’s the part of motherhood that cuts the sharpest: the mismatch between what our kids need and what we have left to give in the moment.

By Sunday, after transporting three dogs, two kids, an entire Thanksgiving meal, and every invisible-labor detail required to keep a family functional on the road, I did what I always do: I kept moving.

I walked. I drank coffee while Willie was driven to 8am hockey and then 10am ninja school. I made homemade chicken noodle soup. I washed sheets and towels and travel clothes. I baked bread and pretzels. I meal-prepped for the week. I ordered the Christmas card. I cleaned. I decluttered. At 3pm I realized I’d been “resting” all day by taking care of everyone and everything else.

When I think of rest, I think of a hotel room. Ten in the morning, still in pajamas. Nothing to clean. Nothing to manage. Nothing to hold. Just quiet. Just me. Feeling really okay with doing absolutely nothing.

And the truth is: even when I’m exhausted, I move. I need fresh air. I disrupt the crash. Maybe because some part of me still believes I have to earn my rest. I hate that sentence. But it’s real.

This week felt like the endurance race of parenthood layered on top of the marathon of leadership layered on top of building an empire for girls—girls who will grow up believing they can, that they will, that they rise and lead. Because we aren’t building ladders anymore. We’re building a mother fucking escalator.

And in two weeks, I’ll stand on a stage and give a thousand-person keynote. I’ll open preorders for Lead Anyway: The Glow-Up Guide to Leadership That’s Real, Not Perfect. My love letter to leadership. To mentoring. To anyone who feels called to lead because it’s in their bones, even when it’s heavy.

Maybe this post isn’t about rest at all.

Maybe it’s about the electricity of building something meaningful. The way purpose hums under your skin even when life is demanding. The way women hold stories, responsibilities, expectations, and generations of emotional labor—and still show up. Still build. Still lead. Still bake bread. Still catch the moment when a child says “I love you” because he’s learning to name the feeling in his body.

Maybe it’s about the knowing nods of a room full of women who recognize your story as their own. Women who hold entire worlds together while protecting the pieces of themselves that are still becoming.

And if you’re on the verge of losing it, wondering what ball you’re going to drop this holiday season, you’re not alone. Families are complicated. The emotional temperature of a room is its own full-time job. You’re not failing. You’re not behind. You’re actually crushing it. That’s why it’s hard.

No one is coming to save us—except for us. So we keep building. Together.

So…Rest Anyway

Rest is not always stillness. Sometimes it’s motion. Sometimes it’s recalibration.
Sometimes it’s acknowledging that you’re tired because you’re doing extraordinary things.

Rest anyway.
By telling the truth about how hard it is.
By giving yourself the kindness you give everyone else.
By letting something—anything—be easy.
By remembering that exhaustion is not a weakness; it’s evidence of effort.
By stepping out of the performance and back into your body.
By naming what you need before the world demands something else from you.
By recognizing that feeling overwhelmed doesn’t mean you’re failing—
it means you’re carrying something meaningful.

Rest anyway.
Because the work matters.
Because you matter.
Because even women who are building the mother fucking escalator
deserve a hotel room at 10am in pajamas, doing nothing at all.