When My Body Said “Enough”

 

I’m close to the finish line with this flooring project, and it’s taught me a few things along the way.

First, I’m someone who truly needs personal space to process anxiety, stress, and frustration. Without it, everything starts to stack up. Second, I don’t compartmentalize stress well. I can try to push it aside, but eventually it finds its way out. Even when I know a project is temporary, my body doesn’t always cooperate with the plan to “just hold it together.”

Today, it didn’t.

I had my first panic attack in a while, and it hit hard.

It’s only Monday, but this week has already been full. The flooring demo is done and we’re in the rebuilding stage, which is exciting, but still messy and time-consuming. On top of that, I volunteered for Prom Committee and took on painting the baseboards at home… which all somehow landed on today.

I managed to keep things mostly together on the outside. I was only 15 minutes late to prom decorating, got some baseboards painted beforehand, and of course, that’s when the landscaper showed up and kicked up grass that may now need sanding out. The new flooring is going in, but parts of the house are off-limits, which turns simple things like walking across the room into an obstacle course. The kids can step over everything like it’s a game. I cannot.

I made a quick trip home to paint more baseboards, went back to help with prom decorations, then headed home again to feed everyone. It was one of those days that just keeps moving, whether you’re ready or not.

Somewhere in the middle of all that, my body decided it had enough.

After I got through it, I realized what had been building underneath everything. Normally, I’m intentional about taking a little time to breathe, reflect, and process what I’m feeling. Lately, that hasn’t been possible. Right now, all of us are basically living out of my bedroom and the loft. The loft has exactly two seats thanks to the mountain of board games we’ve stored there, so even finding a quiet corner has been a challenge.

No space has meant no pause. And no pause caught up with me.

The good part is, now I understand what led to it, and that awareness helps me move forward a little more gently.

I’m especially grateful for Skyler, who sat with me and helped me feel grounded again. Panic attacks are scary, and having someone there makes all the difference.

Moments like that remind me how compassionate my kids are. I see it in how they show up, how they notice, how they care. I hope they carry that with them as they grow, because it’s something truly special.