When the Waves Don’t Stop Coming

The pain in the chest makes it hard to get up some days.

It makes it hard to look at the kids without feeling overwhelmed.

It comes in waves.

Like a movie.

Like the Titanic.

Like something is slowly sinking, and there is no clear way out.

At first, there is no understanding of what is happening. Only the feeling that this might be the end. Not the dramatic kind, but the quiet kind. The kind where the weight becomes so heavy that existing feels unbearable. The kind where staying feels harder than leaving.

Help is asked for. More than once. In different ways.

But no one reaches out and grabs the hand being extended.

So the body goes under.

Sleep disappears. Days blur together. The kids have not been out of the house in a while. Cleaning takes an entire week, and by the time it is finished, the mess has already returned. Even small tasks, like going to the laundry room, feel overwhelming. Blankets get left behind, not because they do not matter, but because there is only so much energy to give.

There is an awareness that, technically, there is enough time in the day. A knowing that pushing through is possible. It has been done before.

But exhaustion is not about capability.

It is about doing everything alone.

Being a parent is still something to love. Deeply. Fiercely. But there is nowhere safe to put the feelings that come with it. The kids cannot carry them. And the adults around either cannot relate or do not truly listen. Explaining becomes another burden.

At the same time, old wounds are being revisited. Parental trauma. Childhood trauma. Generational trauma. All while actively trying to break cycles in real time. Parenting while re parenting. Healing while holding everyone else together.

Then there are added layers. A child with special needs. Appointments. Advocacy. Constant mental tracking. Another child being evaluated. More questions. More uncertainty. The load keeps growing, whether there is room for it or not.

Because of this, people start to feel distant. Not out of coldness, but out of self preservation. Too many games. Too much emotional imbalance. There is no space for one sided relationships anymore.

Most people are focused on themselves.

That is not the problem. Caring about oneself is necessary. The problem is when care is never mutual. When giving and giving begins to take away from the kids. From the very people who need consistency, presence, and safety the most.

That kind of over giving has to stop.

So boundaries are drawn. Not out of bitterness, but out of responsibility. Not because love is gone, but because love has priorities now.

The hardest realization comes quietly.

When things fall apart. When someone is drowning. When survival becomes the focus. Most people do not actually show up.

And that truth changes everything.

So choices change.

Energy gets protected.

Care becomes intentional.

Not because connection is not valued.

But because no one can afford to keep abandoning themselves just to keep others comfortable.