By a Wife, Mom, Fiction Writer, and Real Estate Agent Who’s Just Trying to Breathe
There are days when I look at my to-do list and feel the tears sting before I even get out of bed. I’m a wife. I’m a mom. I’m a fiction writer. And I’m a real estate agent who hustles 24/7 in a business that rarely sleeps. Somewhere in the mix, I’m also a woman who keeps forgetting to take care of herself. And some days—maybe today—I just want to give up.
Not because I don’t love my family. Not because I’m not grateful for my clients or the opportunity to tell stories. But because the sheer volume of it all feels like a tidal wave crashing over me. Over and over again.
The Weight of Mom Guilt
The mom guilt is real. Over the years I have missed the school assemblies, or I’m answering a client call during dinner. I’m thinking about an upcoming showing while my child just needs to talk. And don’t even get me started on the guilt of screen time when I just need a moment to breathe or send a contract.
And then there’s the emotional math I do constantly—“If I work a little more tonight, maybe I can take Saturday off…” But Saturday comes and someone wants to see a house. Or something falls apart in escrow. Or I just can’t ignore the buzzing of my phone. Again.
The Loss of Me
Somewhere between the showings, the open houses, the packing lunches, the editing/writing deadlines I never meet, I stopped taking care of myself. I skip meals. I run on caffeine and adrenaline. My writing? It waits in the shadows, a dusty notebook or half-open document that aches for attention but never quite gets it. That hurts the most. Because writing is the piece of me that feels like me. And she’s the one I abandon first when life gets busy.
I’ll be honest: sometimes it feels like everything I do is for everyone else. Clients. Kids. My spouse. I show up, smile, problem-solve, negotiate, fix, drive, cook, clean—and then collapse. But rarely do I pause and ask myself: Am I okay?
The Illusion of Control
Real estate doesn’t come with predictability. You can do everything right, and the deal still falls through. A client can change their mind. A buyer can ghost. A seller can panic. And in the meantime, your child spikes a fever, your spouse is working late, and your characters are still sitting in chapter six, waiting for you to bring them to life.
It’s chaos. And it’s hard to admit you’re drowning when your job requires you to be the calm in everyone else’s storm.
When It’s Too Much
So what do I do when it’s all too much? When the plates I’m spinning start crashing to the floor?
Here’s what I’m learning—sometimes painfully slowly:
- It’s okay to say no. You don’t have to be everything to everyone all the time. Boundaries aren’t selfish—they’re survival.
- Ask for help. Whether it’s your partner, a friend, a colleague, or a therapist—reach out. You don’t earn extra points for suffering in silence.
- Find micro-moments for yourself. Maybe it’s a five-minute journal entry. A short walk. A hot coffee sipped in actual peace. It matters. You matter.
- Put writing back on the calendar. Even if it’s just 10 minutes a day. Writing isn’t a luxury—it’s your breath, your voice, your therapy. Don’t let it die in the name of “busy.”
- Rest is not lazy. You are not a machine. Rest. Sleep. Unplug. You’ll come back stronger, clearer, and more present.
- Forgive yourself. For the forgotten lunch. For the client you lost. For the book you haven’t finished. You’re human. You’re trying. That’s enough.
One Breath at a Time
Some days, the only thing I accomplish is keeping everyone alive. Some days, I close a deal, make dinner, and write a paragraph I actually like. But every day, I’m learning to show myself more grace. To stop chasing perfection and instead chase peace.
If you’re in the thick of it too—if you’re a mom, a partner, a worker, a dreamer—just know this: you are not alone. You’re not failing. You’re carrying a lot. And it’s okay to feel like it’s too much.
Just don’t give up. Pause. Rest. Refill. Cry if you need to. Then take the next small step. Not for the world. Not even for your family. But for you.
Because you’re worth saving, too.
Nina Soden 