Ever wake up already feeling behind?

That was my default mode for years. The moment my eyes opened, I felt the pressure: get the kids fed, dressed, and out the door, somehow make it to my desk on time, and still juggle housework, laundry, meals, and the relentless to-do list—all before 9 a.m.

I kept searching for answers. I Googled things like “how to stay organized” or “how to balance work and life as a mom.” The usual advice?

Build a morning routine. Say no more. Stick to a plan.

Great in theory. But my mornings looked more like: making coffee while throwing in laundry, packing lunches mid-sentence, and navigating toddler meltdowns between meetings.

One day, that routine cracked wide open.
My son—usually mildly cooperative—flat-out refused to go to school. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to move. He wanted me—on the couch, reading books, sitting beside him while he worked through his feelings.

And I wanted to be there for him.
But I also had a deadline. And emails. And the dishwasher wasn’t empty. And laundry wasn’t folded. And my carefully balanced plan? Clearly not working.

That morning, I hit a wall. I tried juggling it all—comforting him while scrambling through the rest. But the harder I tried to hold it all together, the more everything unraveled.

That’s when it hit me:
The problem wasn’t that I couldn’t juggle everything.
The problem was that I thought I should.

We’re told that balance is the goal. That if we just tweak the right system or follow the right steps, we’ll finally feel in control.

But here’s what I’ve learned—especially as a mom, a professional, a partner, a human being:
Not everything we’re holding is meant to be held all the time.

Years ago, I heard a metaphor that’s changed how I live and lead my life:
What if the question isn’t how to juggle all the balls:
What if it’s about figuring out which ones are glass and which ones are plastic?

Glass balls are the moments (the people or areas of focus) that truly matter—the ones that, if dropped, can crack. They’re meaningful, irreplaceable, and often time-sensitive in ways that go beyond deadlines.

Plastic balls? They bounce and roll under the couch. They’re taking up space but not breakable in the same way.
They’re the emails, the dishes, the “shoulds.” Important, yes. Urgent? Rarely. And most of the time, they can wait.

That Monday morning with my son and his request to just spend time with me, totally focused on him? That was a glass ball.

By trying to juggle it all, I risked dropping the one that really mattered.

So now, when I feel pulled in ten different directions (which, if I’m being honest, is most days), I stop and ask:
What’s the glass ball right now?
What will I look back on in 5 or 10 years and be glad I protected?

Everything else? It can be set it down.
Not forever. But for now, it’s not the priority.

Because I’ve finally realized:
I don’t have to be the juggler of all the things.
And even jugglers take breaks.