The text came across my phone just before we were supposed to leave.
“Pool closed due to storms.”
To most people, it’s an inconvenience. Maybe a disappointed child, a change of plans, or an afternoon spent inside instead.
For me, it felt like someone quietly removed the pressure valve from an already overloaded system.
Swimming isn’t just recreation in our house.
It’s therapy.
It’s sensory regulation.
It’s movement.
It’s a way to calm anxiety.
It’s a place where my child sleeps better afterward.
It’s one of the few activities that gives both of us a chance to breathe.
Now imagine that outlet disappearing.
Again.
People often picture motherhood as homework, sports practices, making dinner, bedtime routines, and laundry that somehow reproduces overnight.
Caregiving for a medically complex child lives on another layer.
There are medications to remember before breakfast.
Appointments that fill calendars months in advance.
Insurance phone calls.
Medical supplies arriving late.
Feeding schedules.
Therapies.
Behavioral challenges.
Constant supervision.
Trying to decipher cries that don’t come with words.
Monitoring every cough, every rash, every unusual movement because experience has taught you that “it’s probably nothing” isn’t always true.
Then there are the invisible responsibilities.
Planning every outing around accessibility.
Packing what feels like enough equipment for a weeklong expedition just to leave the house for an hour.
Wondering whether strangers will stare or offer kindness.
Being the nurse, therapist, advocate, chauffeur, teacher, scheduler, and mom…all before lunchtime.
When the pool closed today, none of those responsibilities disappeared.
They simply had nowhere to go.
The energy that would have been burned in the water bounced around the walls instead.
The repeated questions became louder.
The frustrations became bigger.
The demands became constant.
And because I was the only adult home, every need landed in one place.
Mine.
Some days, caregivers aren’t drowning because something catastrophic happened.
They’re drowning from carrying a thousand tiny buckets of water that never stop arriving.
If that’s where you are today, I hope you hear this:
You are not failing because you’re exhausted.
You are carrying a workload most people will never fully understand.
There is no medal handed to the parent who silently survives another overwhelming day.
But there is strength in admitting today was hard.
Tomorrow the sun may come out.
The pool will reopen.
Your child will smile again.
And you’ll keep showing up, not because it’s easy, but because love often looks like doing the next necessary thing.
That is courage.
Five Things to Try When Plans Fall Apart
1. Create a “Plan B Basket.”
Keep a bin filled with favorite sensory toys, bubbles, water beads, puzzles, washable paint, or activities that only come out when unexpected changes happen. The novelty helps soften disappointment.
2. Bring Water Home.
A sprinkler, kiddie pool, water balloons, cups, or even bath toys in the bathtub can recreate some of the calming sensory input your child was expecting.
3. Build an Indoor Obstacle Course.
Use couch cushions, blankets, masking tape, laundry baskets, or pillows to encourage movement and help burn energy safely indoors.
4. Offer Choices Instead of Answers.
When disappointment strikes, asking, “Would you like bubbles or music?” gives your child a sense of control when circumstances feel unpredictable.
5. Lower the Expectations.
Not every day needs to be educational or perfectly planned. Sometimes simply making it through the afternoon together is enough.
Five Ways to Give Yourself Grace
1. Count Success Differently.
If everyone is safe, fed, and loved today, you’ve accomplished something meaningful.
2. Allow Yourself to Grieve Small Losses.
Cancelled therapy, closed pools, missed routines, and interrupted plans carry emotional weight. It’s okay to acknowledge that disappointment.
3. Take Five Minutes Without Feeling Guilty.
Step onto the porch. Drink your coffee while it’s still warm. Sit in silence if you can. Five intentional minutes can reset an overstimulated nervous system.
4. Stop Comparing Your Motherhood to Anyone Else’s.
Your parenting journey includes responsibilities many families never have to consider. Comparing yourself to a different set of circumstances isn’t a fair measure.
5. Celebrate the Invisible Wins.
The medication given on time.
The meltdown you helped de-escalate.
The appointment you remembered.
The hug you gave after a hard moment.
The calm you created when everything felt chaotic.
Those victories may never make it onto social media, but they are the quiet foundation your child builds their world upon.
To every caregiver reading this:
Some storms happen outside.
Some happen inside our homes.
And some happen quietly inside our hearts.
When all three arrive on the same day, remember this:
You don’t have to be a perfect parent.
You simply have to keep showing up.
That, in itself, is extraordinary.
