When Rest Doesn’t Come

Yesterday was my Friday.

That meant I had two days to do five.

Not just the normal five. Everything I already knew was coming. Every one-on-one. Every team touchpoint. Every meeting that couldn’t slip. Barriers to break. Conversations to start. Things that should be happening without me, but weren’t.

All of it compressed.

Two days.

My schedule was full before it started.

And then came the last-minute reach-outs.

The ones that come after weeks of spiraling. The ones that suddenly become urgent when they realize you won’t be there.

I answered them.

Calm. Direct.

Out of office.
Plan accordingly.
This is not becoming my crisis.
This is not becoming my team’s crisis.

It may have landed hard.

That’s fine.

When you plan, you protect your time.

When you don’t, you don’t get to borrow someone else’s.

Sometimes leadership isn’t about helping more.

Sometimes it’s about holding the line.

A hedge of protection.

Most of the family is doing better.

Zoey is mostly back.
David made it through a day without meds.
Jacob is eating again.

Asher is still a little off.

But better.

I’m not.

But that doesn’t matter.

Both David and Jacob have missed practice this week.

Our rule is simple.

Twenty four hours without fever.
Eating.
Back to themselves.

Then we return to normal life.

Not before.

No exceptions.

Today was supposed to be different.

A sleep in day.

I asked for it.

No alarms.
Quiet house.
A slow start.
A good breakfast.

I needed it.

I planned for it.

I was counting on it.

The first sound woke me up at five.

I was out of bed by six thirty.

Angry before my feet hit the floor.

I’ve spent the last stretch taking care of everything.

Planning. Adjusting. Carrying. Covering.

Making sure everyone else has what they need.

And this was supposed to be the moment I got a little of it back.

But it didn’t happen.

It doesn’t usually.

And if I’m being honest, some of that is on me.

I sleep lighter than most.

I wake faster than most.

Old habits. Old wiring. Things like PTSD don’t just disappear because the schedule says it’s time to rest.

They stay.

They show up early.

And they come with an edge.

So I get up.

I check it.

I slow it down.

And I move.

Instead of rest, the day starts.

Dump run.
Cinderblocks to load.
Another trip for dirt.
Supplies for chicks and chickens.
Building the base for a new run.

Work that needs to be done.

Work that will get done.

With the family.

Hopefully with some laughter in between.

Hopefully not taking too long.

But we’ll see.

We’ll see if the kids keep improving.

We’ll see if baseball happens tonight. Or tomorrow. Or at all this week.

We’ll see how the prep for Zoey turning fourteen unfolds.

That’s coming fast.

Too fast.

Today is not about rest, anymore.

It’s about movement.

Dragging a tired body forward.

Getting what needs to get done, done.

And maybe, if there’s space somewhere in it, finding rest later.

Another day.

I’m starting to understand that rest doesn’t always come when you plan for it. Sometimes it gets pushed. Sometimes it gets taken. Sometimes it never shows up at all. But the work still needs to be done. The family still needs to be cared for. And the responsibility doesn’t wait for you to feel ready. The goal isn’t to eliminate the frustration. It’s to move through it without letting it take control.

No answers yet.
Just attention.

This is where I’m writing from today.

Tired.
Clear.
Still moving.

Much love. Stay safe. Wash your damn hands. I’ll see you Friday.