Today, I’m Tired

Today, I’m just tired—deeply, mentally, and physically exhausted. I’m stretched so thin trying to please everyone, manage my business, and take care of the endless needs of others. I swear I hear my name a thousand times a day. And when I finally come home, even more people need me. Don’t get me wrong; I adore my children, and I’m so grateful for them. But I am tired. Some days, honestly, I have no idea where I find the strength to keep going.

There are moments when envy quietly creeps in, and I feel guilty even admitting it. I watch other families enjoying dinners. They celebrate milestones that seem so natural—first words, first days at school, first time writing their names. I smile at their joy. Inside, my heart aches a little. Those moments look so effortless. For us, they are not.

Tonight, sitting at my husband’s bar and venue, I watched couples laughing and enjoying each other’s company. It made me happy for them, yet angry and frustrated for myself. I wish so badly for those carefree moments with my husband. Anxiety and worry about my son Paxton hold me back. Trusting someone else with Paxton, especially since he’s nonverbal, feels impossible sometimes.

I miss date nights. Most evenings feel lonely because Paxton requires my constant attention. He doesn’t worry because he knows I’m his protector—I know him better than anyone else. I’m his safe place and his peace. Some days I feel strong, proud of how far we’ve come. Other days, like today, I just want to cry myself to sleep. My house is a mess, and a million tasks wait, but Paxton needs me first. He always does.

At dinner tonight, my middle child jokingly said, “Me and my sister know Paxton’s your favorite. You post about him all the time.” I laughed it off, telling him Paxton is different because he’s special needs. But later, alone, those words hit me hard. It forced me to realize how Paxton’s autism overshadows my other children’s needs. Do they feel neglected? Do they think they’re not as important? My heart hurts wondering this because they’re just as precious and loved.

Yet every morning, the first place my older children go is to Paxton’s room—to see him, to make him smile. How have I missed seeing how they really feel? How have I been so blind?

They matter. They matter just as much as Paxton. And tonight, amid the exhaustion, guilt, and tears, I keep asking myself: How do I manage everything?

Tomorrow I will try again and remind myself how far we have come as a family.