the journal · mental load
You don't need more time. You need more capacity.
by Caitlyn Skolnick, LCSW, PMH‑C · 6 min read
You wake up groggy, with a one-year-old pressed up against you, sleeping peacefully. It was one of those nights. You were up five times. Someone needed a lovey. Then a binky. One of the older kids had a night terror. You finally fell back asleep, only to hear someone calling for you again. Your feet haven't even hit the floor, and you're already thinking, today is going to be hard.
Then the older toddlers come barreling into your room, immediately bickering over headbands and blocks and who had what first. Your one-year-old pops up, suddenly wide awake and excited because clearly this must mean it's time to get up. Except it's 6:00 a.m.
You're not ready to start your day. But you're not really on your timeline anymore, are you?
Your patience is already thin, and you snap at your "big kids," even though you know they're still so little. You tell your youngest to go back to sleep, knowing full well that no one is listening. For just a second, your mind drifts back to the life when you could wake up naturally. When mornings were quiet. When you could lie in bed for a few extra minutes without someone needing something from you. When stillness was something you experienced without having to schedule it.
And then you're snapped right back into the present when a little body launches itself onto your stomach.
Okay. We're up.
And the list starts. Breakfast. Diapers. Getting everyone dressed. Trying to convince small children that brushing their teeth is, in fact, necessary. Finding the missing shoe. Wrestling someone into clothes.
Your phone starts buzzing. An email comes in. Then another. You realize you're already running out of fruit, even though you just went grocery shopping three days ago. A client asks if you can squeeze them in urgently. Another client cancels. A family member texts you because something feels urgent to them, and now you're trying to decide whether you have the capacity to deal with that, too.
And somewhere in the middle of all of it, you realize: I haven't actually been present all morning.
Your kids are pulling on your leg. Someone is telling you a story. Someone else needs you. And you desperately want to slow down and enjoy it. Because you know these years are fleeting. You know you'll miss their little voices. You know you'll someday wish you could go back to this exact age and hold them for one more minute.
But for some reason, being present feels really, really hard.
And then comes the guilt.
- Why can't I just enjoy this?
- What's wrong with me?
- I have so much to be grateful for.
- I wanted this.
- Why am I so overwhelmed by a life I love?
you may not need more time — you may need more capacity
We talk about time. The problem is usually capacity.
We talk about time constantly as moms. I just need more time. More time to get ready. More time to make dinner. More time to answer emails. More time to exercise. More time with our kids. More time for ourselves.
But sometimes the problem isn't actually that there aren't enough hours in the day. It's that you've been asking yourself to operate at full capacity for far too long while dipping into tomorrow's reserves.
Think about everything your brain is carrying before 7:00 a.m. You've already responded to the needs of multiple people. You've made decisions. You've regulated your children. You've been interrupted. You've anticipated what everyone will need next. You've shifted from one demand to another without ever having a moment to reset.
And that's before you even get to work. Before the appointments. Before the emails. Before the errands. Before the grocery list. Before the laundry. Before the family texts. Before the invisible mental checklist that somehow never shuts off.
This is what I mean when I talk about capacity.
Your capacity is not infinite. And when your capacity is already depleted, one more thing doesn't feel like one more thing. It feels like the thing that might break you.
What I see in the therapy room
As a therapist who specializes in maternal mental health — and as a mom myself — I see this constantly. Moms often come into therapy believing they have a problem with patience, anxiety, irritability, or time management. Sometimes what they're actually experiencing is chronic depletion.
Your capacity is affected by so much more than the number of hours you have in a day. Sleep deprivation, sensory input, mental load, constant transitions, emotional demands, lack of recovery, and the ongoing responsibility of caring for other people all take up space.
And when you are already stretched thin, adding another productivity system or telling yourself to "just manage your time better" isn't necessarily the answer.
Sometimes you need fewer demands. More recovery. Protected quiet. Help that actually removes responsibility rather than creating another thing for you to manage. Boundaries. Realistic expectations. Permission to stop treating every need as equally urgent.
Maybe the answer isn't figuring out how to get everyone dressed, fed, cleaned up, emailed, scheduled, and out the door more efficiently.
Maybe the answer is recognizing that you were already depleted before the day even began.
You don't need to become a better version of yourself who can carry more.
You deserve a life that asks you to carry less.
Let's talk about what you're carrying
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