In the Middle of Everything

Lately, I wake up with a small elbow in my ribs.
My husband? Sleeping diagonally in the six-year-old’s twin bed because he got pushed out of ours.
The dog is over it.
Honestly, so am I.

Something feels off lately. Not bad, just… off.
The big kid is having nightmares again.
Climbing into bed most nights—sometimes crying, sometimes silent—but always seeking comfort.
Always looking for us.

And I think he feels the shift.
Not just the baby—though yes, his brother takes up a lot of my time and energy.
He sees that I’m busy, distracted, stretched thin.
But it’s more than that.

He senses me — my emotional unease.
The quiet tension I carry. The sadness I don’t name.
He picks up on the static in the background, the heaviness that comes from things even I don’t fully know how to process.

He’s also been… softer.
Saying “please” and “thank you” without prompts.
Helping with the baby. Hugging me out of nowhere.
Like he knows I’m stretched and he’s trying to tether us both.

So we’ve been checking in more.
“Anything on your mind?”
“Is there something you’re wondering about today?”
Sometimes the answers are silly.
Sometimes they’re heavier than expected.

And I wish I had the bandwidth to meet it all perfectly.
But I don’t.
I forget things. I snap. I get touched out before breakfast.
Then I spiral—wondering if I missed a moment that mattered.

So I’m doing something different than what I was shown growing up:
I let him see me struggle.
I tell him when I’m having a hard day—not to make it his burden, but to help him understand that even adults have big feelings.
That moms get sad. That we get overwhelmed.
That we don’t stay there forever.

I show him the work.
The deep breaths. The pauses. The “I’m sorry”s.
The way I reach for calm instead of pretending I already have it.
The way I ask for help.

I talk about going to therapy. I tell him when I’ve leaned on his dad.
Because asking for support shouldn’t be a secret skill.
It shouldn’t be saved for when you’re falling apart.

That’s the cycle I want to break.
Not hiding the hard stuff.
Not pretending everything’s fine.
But showing him how to feel the hard things and move through them—with tools, with grace, with people you trust.

Even when everything’s a bit off…
We’re still finding our way.
Together.

Talk soon,
Tara
CEO of Chaos & Co.