I'm about to delve into some deep and vulnerable territory here. Lately, I've been grappling with a sense of struggle. It's a phase—a season, I tell myself—but in the midst of it, I feel like I'm trapped in a cycle, much like a hamster endlessly spinning on its wheel. While the solution may seem glaringly obvious to an outsider, for me, it remains elusive.

Over two years ago, I welcomed my fifth child into the world. Before his arrival, I was cruising along in a well-established routine—a reliable rhythm that kept me grounded. Each morning, like clockwork, I'd rise around 5 am to immerse myself in personal growth. Whether it was diving into a chapter of a book, finding solace in scripture, or pouring my thoughts into a journal, my mornings were sacred. I'd meticulously plan out my day, review my goals for the month, and occasionally squeeze in a rigorous workout, be it an hour of yoga, a session of high-intensity interval training, or even a six-mile run on the mornings my husband was home.

My evening ritual was a sanctuary, a tranquil prelude to a restful night's sleep that would set the stage for the dawn of a new day. After tucking all the kiddos into bed, I'd immerse myself in the soothing strains of calming or worship music, enveloped in the gentle glow of ambient lighting as I indulged in a leisurely, steamy shower with the main lights turned off.

Following my shower, I'd lavish my skin with my favorite essential oils and luxuriate in the soothing embrace of magnesium lotion, while filling the air with the comforting scent of my preferred oils in the diffuser. Then came the quiet moments of reading, prayer journaling, and reflection on a daily devotion, each step a cherished part of my nighttime routine.

Our homeschooling regimen mirrored the same sense of structure and solidity. Even amidst the ebb and flow of life, my work routine remained steadfast. As the kids stirred from their slumber each morning, we'd gather for breakfast before diving into our academic pursuits. Once the lessons were completed, I'd carve out time for my own work while the children enjoyed some free time, before reconvening for an afternoon filled with shared activities guided by our collective interests and inspirations.

I found myself thriving—attending Zoom calls, immersing myself in books, and dedicating hours to study. It was a season of growth, both metaphorically and quite literally, as I nurtured our fifth child within. Yet, beneath the surface, a sense of apprehension lingered, knowing that the imminent birth would inevitably disrupt the beautiful routine we had cultivated.

And disrupt it did. Now, I'm grappling with the stark contrast from before. Journaling feels like a Herculean task, and reading my Bible daily has become a struggle outside of the convenience of the app on my phone. The simple act of finishing a book feels like an elusive feat. Zoom calls for training are missed, and my participation in crucial groups has waned. Keeping pace with the ever-changing demands of life feels like an uphill battle.

Attempting to go live in a Facebook group has been thwarted time and again by the demands of the baby, each interruption a poignant reminder of the new season I find myself in.

On some days, I navigate the constant interruptions with grace and patience. But on others, frustration creeps in, and I find myself longing for more time for focused work. Yet, amidst the ups and downs, I hold onto the assurance that this is just a season—a transient phase that will eventually give way to something new.

No matter how often I remind myself, there are days when I still find myself ensnared in the trap of comparison.

It's a truth we hear time and again: comparison is the thief of joy.

As I pour my heart into nurturing my five children, homeschooling them, and carving out time to build my business in the tiny pockets of my day, I can't help but notice others seemingly thriving in every aspect of their lives. Their businesses soar, they effortlessly juggle countless training calls, and they seem to effortlessly keep pace with life's ever-shifting demands.

It's a curious paradox, isn't it? We extend grace so freely to those around us, yet struggle to offer the same compassion to ourselves. Somehow, we hold ourselves to impossible standards, expecting perfection even as we recognize the imperfections in others. Perhaps it's time we learn to turn that same kindness inward, granting ourselves the grace and understanding we so readily offer to others. After all, we too are deserving of compassion and forgiveness as we navigate the complexities of life.

Stay Wild & Free,
-Brandy

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