As I walked out of my classroom door on the last day with students before winter break, it hit me like a tidal wave. The kind that comes out of nowhere, knocks the wind out of you, and leaves you standing there wondering how something invisible can feel so heavy. I was suddenly flooded with emotion, so much so that I didn’t even know where to begin processing it. All I knew was that I needed to make it to my car before the waterworks started.
I could already feel the tears welling up in the corners of my eyes, and I silently begged that dam not to burst before I made it out of the building. Truth be told, it has been a difficult day, though, honestly, most days are in the public school system. But this day felt especially heavy.
For many students, winter break means stepping away from the stability and routine school provides. It means no guaranteed breakfast or lunch, no predictable schedule, no consistent structure. Even when parents and guardians have the very best intentions, students often feel the shift long before it happens. That buildup shows itself in frustration, sudden outbursts, tears over seemingly nothing, arguments, defiance, or withdrawal. It’s a lot for them. And it’s a lot for their teachers, too.
Educators care deeply. We don’t just teach content, we absorb emotions. We carry pieces of our students with us, even after the bell rings. And while I could say more about that, I’ll pause there.
Because I’m not just a teacher. I’m also a parent.
And as a parent, especially a parent of teenagers, it can often feel like being an emotional punching bag. You’re there to listen, absorb, reflect, guide. You help them push past resistance, talk them off ledges, and sometimes save them from themselves. You carry their emotions alongside your own, often quietly, often without recognition.
Many parents can also relate to being the sole, or primary, person responsible for the household. The bills. The schedules. The groceries. The meals. The appointments. The laundry. The fixing of things that somehow always break at the worst possible time. The mental load never really shuts off.
And for those also taking college courses or working through graduate school, there’s that added “blessing.” And I say that genuinely. It is a blessing. But when you’re in the thick of it, when the finish line feels a million miles away, it doesn’t always feel inspiring. Sometimes it feels exhausting. Sometimes it feels like, Maybe I’ll finally start my career before I turn 50. And then you laugh, because if you don’t, you might cry.
But I digress.
This is where I’m going with all of this.
This is a letter to the parents, the mothers especially, who feel the tsunami coming as winter break approaches. To those who feel the floodgates opening, the wave crashes into them just as they’re already tired. I want you to know something deeply important:
It’s okay to not be okay.
It’s okay to not be bringing your best self every single day. It’s okay to take the mask off. It’s okay to be real, authentic, and genuine with your children. In fact, it’s healthy. You are modeling what it looks like to be human, to feel, to struggle, to keep going anyway.
It’s okay if you bought pumpkins three days before Halloween with the best intentions of carving them, and now they’re still sitting in your backyard surrounded by leaves that never got raked. It’s okay if you cut down your Christmas tree almost a month ago and it still doesn’t have lights or ornaments on it. It’s okay if your house is messy and has that unmistakable “lived-in” look.
It’s okay if you don’t feel like you’re where you should be by now.
Because here’s the truth: there are no written rules. No universal deadlines. No checklist that determines whether you’re doing life “right.” There are no timelines for growth, healing, success, or figuring it all out.
It’s okay because you are a work in progress.
Don’t compare your rough draft to someone else’s polished, premiere film. In fact, don’t compare at all. Comparison is the thief of joy, and social media is its favorite playground. Instead, take notice of what you’ve already overcome. Look back at where you were two years ago. Think about how much you’ve grown, what you’ve survived, what you’ve learned. Now imagine where you’ll be in two, three, or four more years.
It’s okay to feel like everyone else has their life together except you. But here’s the honest-to-God truth: no one has it all together. Everyone has insecurities. Everyone has fears. Everyone has a carefully curated highlight reel. They show the world while keeping the mess, the doubt, the struggle, and the vulnerability hidden behind the scenes.
It doesn’t matter your economic status, your career, the car you drive, or the clothes you wear. Deep down, we all have that wall. That shield. That mask. That fear of being discovered, of being seen as someone who doesn’t quite have their shit together.
And that shared humanity? That’s what connects us.
So as you head into winter break, tired, stretched thin, emotionally full, I hope you give yourself permission to rest. To feel. To breathe. To let go of perfection. To meet yourself where you are.
You are enough. Even on the messy days. Especially on the messy days.
It’s okay to not be okay.
Mom on the go in Holy Toledo 