Life

Pivot. Kick, Ball Change!

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Learning to Release Control, Honor Boundaries, and Dance with Life

Pivot, kick, ball change!

This phrase has been running through my head for the past couple of days.

No, I’m not taking dance lessons, although with the fancy footwork life requires lately, perhaps I should!

I’m talking about the dance of life.

The one that doesn’t always follow the music, doesn’t give you a rehearsal, and certainly doesn’t ask if you’re ready for the next move.

It requires patience, flexibility, quick thinking, and sometimes a whole lot of grace.

Let me share a little story from Wednesday morning.

Wednesday is exercise day for Mom. We typically leave the house at 9 a.m.

Simple enough, right?

Well, Mom was having a wonderfully leisurely morning.

She enjoyed her coffee, lounged a little longer than usual, and ate her breakfast very mindfully, chewing each bite with intention.

Meanwhile, I was mentally watching the clock.

I asked what she planned to wear to exercise, which led to the question of whether she needed to shower.

We discussed it, and she decided she’d shower afterward.

Perfect! We were on track.

Or so I thought.

Ten minutes later, Mom was in the shower!

Now, here’s where the dance begins.

I could have interrupted her. Reminded her we were running late. Tried to hurry her along.

But here’s the thing. Mom was independently following a healthy habit and familiar memory pattern.

Why would I interrupt something so valuable just to stay on schedule?

So, I pivoted.

The pup and I enjoyed a little extra cuddle time on the couch.

Around 9:05, Mom emerged, showered, dressed, and ready to go.

Well, almost.

Water bottle needed refilling.

Oops, bathroom break!

And finally, we were off!

Only to arrive at the senior center and discover it was CLOSED.

Seriously?

Pivot. Kick. Ball. Change.

We could have been frustrated. I could have focused on the time we’d lost or everything else waiting for me at home.

Instead, we went for a beautiful walk together.

We admired the changing colors of the leaves, listened to the birds, and enjoyed the fresh fall air.

No rushing. No agenda.

Just Mom and me, enjoying an unexpected gift of time.

And you know what?

It was lovely.

So What’s the Lesson Here?

There was a time when this morning would have stressed me out.

I would have been watching the clock, trying to keep everyone on schedule, thinking about the next thing I needed to accomplish.

Sound familiar?

But I’ve learned something through caregiving, coaching, faith, and simply living life.

Sometimes the greatest source of stress isn’t what’s happening around us. It’s our need to control how everything unfolds.

Think about that for a moment.

How often do we become frustrated because things aren’t happening the way we expected?

How often do we believe that if we don’t do something ourselves, it won’t be done correctly?

Or that if things don’t go according to plan, somehow we’ve failed?

I know I’ve been there.

For me, the need for control has often been connected to the fear of failure and the belief that I’m the one who needs to make sure everything gets done right.

But here’s what I’ve come to understand.

Different doesn’t necessarily mean wrong. And changing the plan doesn’t mean I’ve failed.

Learning to Surrender

This has been a journey for me.

A journey of understanding that I am enough.

That I am fearfully and wonderfully made by God. (Psalm 139:14)

That my worth isn’t determined by how much I accomplish, how perfectly I manage my day, or how many people I keep happy.

And perhaps one of the greatest lessons?

I don’t have to control everything to be responsible, loving, or capable.

Surrender doesn’t mean giving up.

It means recognizing what is mine to carry and what isn’t.

It means doing my part, trusting God, and releasing the belief that I must manage every outcome.

And that brings me to something I teach and continue to practice myself.

Boundaries.

What Does Surrender Have to Do With Boundaries?

More than you might think!

When we believe we’re responsible for everything, we tend to say yes to everything.

We take on more than we should.

We try to keep everyone happy.

We rearrange our schedules, sacrifice our own needs, and sometimes push ourselves right to the point of depletion.

And why?

Sometimes it’s because we’re afraid of disappointing someone.

Sometimes it’s because we believe we’re the only ones who can do it right.

And sometimes it’s because saying no to someone we love feels incredibly uncomfortable.

I’ll be the first to admit, I still struggle with this, especially with loved ones.

But I’ve learned that my responsibility isn’t to make everyone understand or agree with my boundaries.

My responsibility is to communicate them with love, stand firm, and live by example.

Saying no doesn’t mean I love someone less.

It isn’t a personal attack.

It’s simply an honest answer about what I’m willing and able to do without sacrificing myself to exhaustion.

I can love you and still say no.

I can be compassionate and still have limits.

I can be flexible without abandoning myself.

And I can allow someone else to be disappointed without making it my responsibility to fix their feelings.

That’s not always easy.

But it’s a practice worth continuing.

Building Grace and Space Into Our Days

These days, I don’t schedule my life quite so tightly.

I intentionally build in a little more grace and space.

Grace for myself and others when things don’t go as expected.

Space in my schedule for the unexpected.

And boundaries that protect my energy so I actually have the capacity to be flexible.

I’ve discovered that flexibility is much easier when I’m not already running on empty.

And here’s something else I’ve learned.

Not every interruption requires a solution.

Not every change is a problem.

And not every expectation deserves to be met.

Sometimes the best thing we can do is pause, take a breath, and ask ourselves:

What really matters in this moment?

On Wednesday, what mattered wasn’t getting Mom to exercise at precisely the right time.

It was encouraging her independence, honoring her familiar routines, and enjoying time together.

And when our original plan fell apart, we found something equally meaningful.

A walk.

A conversation.

A moment to simply be.

Come Coach With Me

I’d love for you to reflect on a few questions.

– Where in your life are you holding on too tightly to control?
– Are you afraid that if you don’t do something yourself, it won’t be done correctly?
– Do you associate changing plans with failure?
– When was the last time you said yes when you really wanted or needed to say no?
– What might change if you truly believed you were enough, even when you disappointed someone?
– Where could you create a little more grace and space in your day?

And here’s one question I’d especially encourage you to sit with:

Are you making choices from love and intention, or from fear, obligation, and the need to control?

There’s no judgment here.

I’m still learning, still practicing, and yes, still occasionally stepping on my own toes!

But I’m learning that life doesn’t require me to dance every step perfectly.

It requires me to be present, recognize when the rhythm changes, and have the courage to adjust my steps.

And sometimes that means saying yes.

Sometimes it means saying no.

And sometimes it means taking an unexpected walk with Mom and enjoying the beautiful fall leaves.

Pivot. Kick. Ball. Change.

Because surrender isn’t losing control of your life. It’s learning that you don’t have to control every moment to live it well.

—

A final thought: You are enough. You can love deeply, set healthy boundaries, and trust God with what you cannot control.

And if you’re finding yourself exhausted from trying to do it all, keep everyone happy, or manage every unexpected turn, I’d love to work with you.

Together, we can explore ways to create healthier boundaries, reconnect with what matters, and find more grace and space in your everyday life.

Coaching inquiries: coachvickie24@gmail.com

When Being Flexible Becomes A Way of Life

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Routines, boundaries, and learning when to bend and when to stand firm.

How do you feel about routines?

Personally, I love them. They are the rhythm of my day. They provide structure, predictability, and a sense that I have some control over what comes next.

My typical morning looks something like this:

Wake up, head to the gym, get my workout in, walk the pup, prepare breakfast, get Mom ready and off to exercise, shower, get myself ready, grab some lunch, and head into the office.

And sometimes, somewhere around 10:30 or 11 a.m., I find myself thinking…

Good grief, I’ve already put in a full day, and I haven’t even started my actual workday!

Here’s the funny part.

My work as a massage therapist and life coach often feels like my rest.

Yes, you read that correctly.

After a morning of juggling schedules, caregiving, household responsibilities, and whatever unexpected adventure the day has decided to deliver, spending five to six and a half hours caring for clients, listening, coaching, and helping others actually feels restorative.

Perhaps because, during those hours, I’m doing something I love. I’m present. I’m focused. And I’m not simultaneously trying to figure out what Mom needs, where the dog disappeared to, or what we’re having for dinner.

Then it’s home, figure out dinner, wind down, relax, go to bed, and prepare to do it all again.

Sound familiar?

But What Happens When the Routine Gets Interrupted?

Because we all know it will.

The phone rings. Someone needs something. An appointment runs late. A family member has an unexpected need. The dog decides today is the day to test your patience.

And suddenly, the beautiful rhythm of your day sounds more like a marching band with everyone playing a different song.

How do you respond?

Do you adjust easily? Get frustrated? Feel overwhelmed? Or immediately begin rearranging your own priorities to accommodate everyone else’s?

I know what I often do.

I pray.

“God, I need Your help.”

“Lord, I can’t do this on my own.”

“Please give me the strength, patience, and wisdom to handle what’s in front of me.”

Sometimes those prayers are whispered quietly. Other times, well, let’s just say God and I have some pretty direct conversations.

But lately, I’ve been thinking about something.

What if the problem isn’t that our routines get interrupted? What if it’s that we’ve created routines with no room for interruption?

And perhaps an even bigger question:

What if we’ve become so accustomed to being flexible for everyone else that we’ve forgotten we have boundaries?

When Flexibility Becomes Self-Sacrifice

Being flexible is a wonderful quality.

It allows us to adapt, respond with compassion, and navigate life’s unpredictability.

But there’s a difference between being flexible and being constantly available.

There’s a difference between helping someone because we genuinely want to and helping because we’re afraid of what will happen if we say no.

And there’s a difference between showing compassion and sacrificing ourselves to keep everyone else comfortable.

That last one is worth sitting with.

How many times have you said yes when everything inside you was saying no?

Maybe your jaw tightened.

Your shoulders crept toward your ears.

Your stomach felt heavy.

Or you felt that familiar wave of resentment building because, once again, you were the one expected to adjust.

Our bodies often recognize when something isn’t right before we’re willing to acknowledge it.

Yet how often do we ignore those signals?

We tell ourselves:

“It’s just easier if I do it.”

“I don’t want to upset anyone.”

“They need me.”

“It’s not worth the argument.”

And perhaps the most familiar one…

“I’ve always done it this way.”

But just because you’ve always done something doesn’t mean you have to continue doing it.

Why Are Boundaries So Much Harder With Family?

Have you ever noticed how much easier it can be to establish boundaries with people you don’t know particularly well?

You can politely decline an invitation, turn down a request, or explain that you’re unavailable.

But family?

That’s an entirely different conversation.

Family members know the version of you who always said yes.

The one who rearranged her schedule.

The one who stepped in, figured things out, smoothed things over, and made life easier for everyone else.

And sometimes, when you begin setting boundaries, they don’t particularly like this new version of you.

Not necessarily because they don’t love you.

But because your boundaries may require them to adjust.

They were comfortable with your flexibility, even when that flexibility was costing you your peace.

And that’s where boundary work becomes real work.

Because setting a boundary isn’t simply learning how to say no.

It’s learning how to tolerate someone else’s disappointment without immediately abandoning your own needs.

It’s recognizing that another person’s frustration doesn’t automatically mean you’ve done something wrong.

It’s understanding that you can love someone deeply and still have limits.

And it’s remembering that you are not responsible for making every situation comfortable for everyone else.

Boundaries Aren’t Something You Learn Once

Have you ever taken a class, read a book, or attended a workshop about boundaries?

Maybe you walked away feeling empowered.

“This is it! I’m going to start saying no. I’m going to protect my time. I’m going to stop overcommitting!”

And then Monday morning arrives.

Someone needs a favor.

A family member has an expectation.

Your carefully planned day starts unraveling.

And before you know it, you’ve said yes three times when you meant no.

Welcome to being human.

Boundary work isn’t a one-time lesson.

It’s a practice.

And I say that as someone who teaches this work, believes deeply in it, and still has to remind herself to use it.

Especially when it involves people I love.

Building Flexibility Into Our Routines

So what if we approached our routines differently?

What if, instead of trying to fit every possible task into every available minute, we intentionally created breathing room?

What if we stopped treating every request as an emergency?

What if we gave ourselves permission to say:

  • “I can’t do that today.”
  • “Let me think about it before I commit.”
  • “I can help, but not right now.”
  • “That doesn’t work for me.”
  • “No, thank you.”

No elaborate explanation.

No lengthy apology.

No carrying the guilt around for the rest of the afternoon.

Just a respectful, compassionate boundary.

Because here’s something I’m learning:

Being available to everyone else shouldn’t require being unavailable to yourself.

And sometimes, the most loving thing we can do is allow another person to figure something out without immediately stepping in to rescue them.

A Little Coaching Moment

This is where I invite you to become curious about your own patterns.

Not judgmental. Curious.

The next time your routine gets interrupted or someone asks something of you, take a moment before responding.

Pause and ask yourself:

  1. Body: What is happening in my body right now? Am I feeling tension, exhaustion, tightness, or resistance?
  2. Heart: Am I saying yes out of love and willingness, or guilt, obligation, and fear of disappointing someone?
  3. Mind: Is this truly mine to handle? Is it urgent, or have I simply been conditioned to respond immediately?
  4. Spirit: Am I acting from a place of peace and discernment, or am I trying to control everything and keep everyone happy?

Then ask yourself one more question:

What would it look like to respond with compassion without abandoning myself?

That’s where the work begins.

Not in creating a perfectly organized schedule.

Not in learning to say no to everything.

But in recognizing when flexibility is healthy and when it has quietly become self-sacrifice.

A Final Thought

I don’t want to give up my routines.

I love my morning workouts, my walks with the pup, caring for Mom, and the meaningful work I get to do with my clients.

These things are important to me.

But I’m learning that a good routine shouldn’t just make room for responsibilities.

It should make room for me, too.

For rest.

For unexpected moments.

For saying no without guilt.

For saying yes because I genuinely want to.

And for remembering that I don’t have to hold everything together all the time.

Sometimes I simply need to pause and pray:

“Lord, give me the wisdom to know when to bend, the courage to know when to stand firm, and the grace to recognize the difference.”

Because maybe the goal isn’t to become better at doing everything.

Maybe the goal is to become more intentional about what we’re willing to carry.

Come Coach With Me

If you’ve found yourself constantly adjusting your schedule, your needs, and your boundaries to accommodate everyone else, perhaps it’s time to explore a different way.

This is part of the work I’m passionate about: helping people reconnect with themselves, recognize their limits, and develop healthier ways of navigating life’s demands.

You can be compassionate without being constantly available.

You can love deeply without losing yourself.

And you can create routines that support your life instead of simply filling it.

Let’s explore what that could look like for you.

Reach out at coachvickie24@gmail.com.

Because your time, energy, and peace matter, too.

When Life Backs Up: A Lesson in Capacity

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Maybe the lesson isn’t to push harder. Maybe it’s to recognize when you’re full.

So today is the second Monday in a row that I’ve had plumbing problems at my house.

Last Monday, plumbing issues.

This Monday, plumbing issues.

And at some point this morning, I found myself thinking:

Okay, God. What are You trying to tell me? I’m listening.

Because apparently we’re doing object lessons through plumbing now. 😂

And here’s the thing. We aren’t throwing crazy things down the toilet. Nobody flushed a towel, a toy, or something that obviously doesn’t belong there.

There is just a clog.

Something isn’t moving through the way it’s supposed to.

And while I was waiting for the plumbing situation to be resolved, it got me thinking about something I talk about often in coaching:

Capacity.

How many spoons do you have today?

There’s a concept often called “spoon theory” that uses spoons as a simple way of thinking about the amount of physical, mental, and emotional energy we have available.

So let’s imagine that on a really good day, you wake up with 25 spoons.

You slept well.

Your body feels good.

You’re emotionally grounded.

Nothing major is weighing on your mind.

You have energy to work, exercise, care for other people, make decisions, cook dinner, walk the dog, answer the text messages and maybe even deal with an unexpected problem without completely losing your marbles.

That’s a 25-spoon day.

But then there are other days.

You didn’t sleep well.

You’re worried about someone you love.

You’re caregiving.

You’re grieving.

Your body hurts.

You’re stressed about work.

Your hormones are doing whatever adventure they’ve decided we’re going on today.

Or maybe you can’t even identify one particular thing. You simply wake up and realize:

I don’t have 25 spoons today.

Maybe you have 12.

Maybe you have 10.

Maybe you have 6.

And here’s where I think we get ourselves into trouble:

We still expect 25-spoon performance from a 10-spoon body.

We look at the same to-do list.

We expect the same productivity.

We say yes to the same responsibilities.

We take care of everybody else.

We keep pushing.

And then something unexpected happens.

The toilet backs up.

Someone needs you.

The phone rings.

Plans change.

There’s an appointment you forgot about.

The dog needs something.

And suddenly that unexpected situation just ate four of the ten spoons you had for the entire day.

Now you’re standing there holding your remaining six spoons thinking:

But I still have all of this to do.

Maybe you don’t.

Your capacity is not your capability

This is an important distinction.

Having less capacity today does not mean you are less capable.

It doesn’t mean you’ve become lazy.

It doesn’t mean you’re failing.

It doesn’t mean you need to try harder.

It simply means that today’s available resources are different.

And maybe that’s where we need to become a little more curious and a little less critical of ourselves.

Instead of asking:

What’s wrong with me today?

Try asking:

What is taking up my capacity today?

Maybe your body is already using energy managing pain.

Maybe your heart is carrying grief.

Maybe your mind has been quietly running through worst-case scenarios since 4:00 this morning.

Maybe caregiving has required you to stay alert for so long that you don’t realize how much energy that vigilance consumes.

Those things count.

Even when nobody else can see them.

Check your capacity before you spend it

This is where I come back to a framework I’ve developed in my own coaching work.

Before automatically pushing through, I stop and check in.

BODY:
What is happening physically? Am I tired? Tense? Hurting? Rested? Energized?

HEART:
What am I carrying emotionally today?

MIND:
What is occupying my thoughts? What am I worrying about, planning, anticipating, or replaying?

SPIRIT:
Where am I feeling grounded? Where am I feeling depleted? Where might God be asking me to loosen my grip a little?

Then I ask:

Given all of that, how many spoons do I actually have today?

Not how many I wish I had.

Not how many I had yesterday.

Not how many everyone else seems to have.

How many do I have today?

And then comes the harder question:

What deserves them?

Maybe dinner doesn’t need to be homemade tonight.

Maybe the laundry waits.

Maybe the workout becomes a walk.

Maybe you don’t return every phone call.

Maybe you say no to something you normally would have squeezed in.

Maybe one of those remaining spoons belongs to sitting outside with a cup of coffee.

Maybe one belongs to prayer.

Maybe one belongs to absolutely nothing.

Because rest doesn’t have to be what happens after you’ve spent every last spoon.

Rest can be one of the things you intentionally spend your capacity on.

And apparently, God sent me a clogged toilet

Twice.

Two Mondays in a row.

Message received. 😂

Because maybe there’s a lesson hiding in something as ridiculous as plumbing.

When a system has reached capacity, continuing to force more into it doesn’t make things move faster.

Sometimes it creates a bigger mess.

We’re not all that different.

There are days to push.

There are days to stretch.

There are days when we have 25 spoons and can pour ourselves into the world.

And there are days when wisdom looks like recognizing:

I have 10 today.

So I’ll choose those 10 carefully.

I’ll give some to the people I love.

I’ll give some to the things that truly matter.

I’ll save at least one for myself.

And I’ll trust that tomorrow’s capacity may look completely different.

Because maybe the goal was never to prove how much we can carry.

Maybe the lesson is learning to recognize when we’re full.

And, God willing, maybe next Monday’s lesson won’t involve a plumber. 😂

When You Finally Get the Peace and Quiet

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How many times have you said it?

“I just want some peace and quiet.”

I know I have.

But I’ve been thinking about what I actually mean when I say that.

For me, peace and quiet doesn’t necessarily mean complete silence. Let’s be realistic, I almost always have a dog tethered to me in some capacity, or at least following me around like my little furry shadow.

For me, peace and quiet means not having any demands placed on me.

Nobody needs me to make a decision.

Nobody needs me to fix something.

Nobody needs me to be somewhere, remember something, prepare something, answer something, or take care of something.

For just a little while, I get to be.

And today, I had one of those moments.

I was sitting along a walkway where there were birds everywhere. And for about ten minutes, I just sat there.

I watched them fly around. I watched them land. I listened to them. I noticed what was happening around me.

And I could feel something changing.

I felt myself settling.

Not just mentally.

It felt like the quiet was settling into my bones.

And it made me wonder…

We spend so much time saying we want peace and quiet.

But when we finally get it, what do we do with it?

Do we actually receive it?

Or do we immediately pick up our phones?

Do we replay the conversation from yesterday?

Do we worry about tomorrow?

Do we take something that happened and turn it over and over in our minds until we’ve used up the very ten minutes of peace we said we desperately needed?

Do we become uncomfortable and decide we’re bored?

Do we start looking for something to do?

Maybe you’ve never wanted peace and quiet at all. Maybe being around people fills you up. Maybe conversation, activity, music, movement, and stimulation are what restore you.

That’s worth knowing about yourself, too.

Because perhaps the real question isn’t:

“How do I get more peace and quiet?”

Maybe it’s:

“What actually restores me?”

And when I get it, do I allow myself to receive it?

So here’s something to sit with:

When there are no demands on you, what happens inside of you?

Can you be still without needing to fill the space?

Where does your mind go when nothing is asking for your attention?

Do you rest, or do you ruminate?

Does quiet feel peaceful to you, or uncomfortable?

What makes you feel genuinely restored?

And maybe most importantly:

When was the last time you allowed yourself ten minutes that didn’t need to accomplish anything?

Today, mine happened to include some birds, a walkway, and my ever-present four-legged shadow.

Nothing profound happened.

I didn’t solve a problem.

I didn’t check something off a list.

I didn’t become more productive.

I just sat there.

And maybe that’s exactly why it mattered.

For ten minutes, nothing was asking anything of me.

And instead of filling that space, I let myself have it.

I let the peace settle into my bones.

The Things That Remain:  Permission to Exhale

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There are things in this world that have stood the test of time.

The ocean continues to meet the shore.

Trees grow, shed their leaves, stand bare for a while, and somehow know when it is time to bloom again.

The seasons arrive without asking our permission.

None of them seem particularly concerned with our schedules.

And maybe there is something to learn from that.

Lately, life has felt full of movement. Caregiving. Work. Family. Decisions. Appointments. Responsibilities. The unexpected things that somehow find their way into an already-full day.

Go. Adjust. Handle it. Keep moving.

And then occasionally, life interrupts all of that.

A day comes when there is nowhere I absolutely have to be. Nothing immediately demanding my attention. I can walk a little slower. Drink my coffee while it’s still hot. Take the dog outside and actually notice the trees instead of mentally making a list of what I need to do when I get back.

And here’s the interesting part.

Sometimes slowing down feels uncomfortable.

I start thinking, Shouldn’t I be doing something?

And that’s when the coach in me gets curious.

What is this teaching me about myself?

Maybe I’ve become so accustomed to being needed that being still feels unfamiliar.

Maybe I’ve connected productivity with worth more than I realized.

Maybe my body has been asking me to slow down long before my mind was willing to listen.

Or maybe I’ve simply been moving so quickly that I haven’t had enough quiet to notice what I need.

This is where I come back to a method I’ve developed in my coaching work. It helps me slow down enough to check in with myself instead of automatically pushing through.

I notice what’s happening in my body.

I make room for what I’m actually feeling.

I pay attention to the thoughts and stories running through my mind.

And I reconnect with what grounds me and reminds me who I am.

I don’t necessarily need to fix any of it in that moment.

Sometimes I simply need to notice.

Because awareness has a funny way of showing us things that busyness can hide.

Maybe the interruption isn’t the problem.

Maybe sometimes the interruption is the invitation.

The ocean doesn’t hurry.

The trees don’t panic when their leaves fall.

The seasons don’t fight one another for their turn.

They simply move through their rhythms.

Perhaps we weren’t designed to live every day at full speed either.

So today, I’m giving myself permission to walk slower.

To leave some things undone.

To notice what is still good, still beautiful, still here.

And instead of immediately filling the empty space, I’m going to get curious about it.

What is this slower pace teaching me about myself?

Because sometimes we don’t need another thing to accomplish.

Sometimes we need enough quiet to hear ourselves again.

Inhale.

And, finally…

exhale.

And if slowing down feels harder than it sounds, or you’re not quite sure what you’re hearing when you finally do, that’s part of the work I love doing with people.

Sometimes we don’t need someone to give us the answers.

We need someone to help us slow down long enough to discover what our own life has been trying to tell us.

Before You React, Breathe

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Lately, I’ve had a lot of opportunities to practice something I teach.

Funny how life does that.

It’s one thing to talk about staying grounded when you’re sitting comfortably with a cup of coffee. It’s another when something unexpected happens, someone needs you, plans change, your phone is ringing, and your brain is already five steps ahead trying to solve everything.

As a caregiver, I know this feeling well.

Something happens with Mom and immediately my mind wants to go to: What do I need to do?

But I’ve been practicing something different.

Stop. Assess. Listen. Soothe. Then act.

Stop & Assess

Before I jump into action, I ask myself:

Is this actually an emergency?

Does something need to happen immediately, or does it simply feel urgent because my nervous system has sounded the alarm?

There is a difference.

Listen

Then I check in with my body.

What is happening right now?

Is my heart racing?

Are my shoulders practically touching my ears?

Am I holding my breath?

Is my stomach tight?

Am I sweating?

Is my jaw clenched?

Our bodies are incredibly good messengers. The problem is, we’re often so busy trying to fix the situation that we don’t stop long enough to hear what they’re saying.

When we’re under stress, our sympathetic nervous system can kick into gear. That’s our fight-or-flight response. It’s designed to protect us, and it’s incredibly useful when we truly need to respond to danger.

But not every stressful moment requires an emergency response.

Soothe

This is where I breathe.

Sometimes it’s several slow, intentional breaths.

Sometimes I walk outside with the dog.

Sometimes I pray.

Sometimes I need five minutes in nature before I decide what comes next.

Slow, controlled breathing can help settle the body’s stress response and support the parasympathetic nervous system, the part associated with “rest and digest.”

And here’s what I’ve learned:

A calmer body gives me access to a clearer mind.

I’m no longer trying to make a decision while my internal fire alarm is blaring.

Then Act

Only after I’ve stopped, assessed, listened and soothed do I ask:

What actually needs to happen next?

Not five steps from now.

Not every possible worst-case scenario.

Just the next right step.

That little space between reaction and response can change everything.

It doesn’t mean the situation isn’t difficult. It doesn’t mean I’m magically calm or that caregiving suddenly becomes predictable.

It means I’m learning not to let the loudest moment make the decision for me.

As a coach, this is something I want others to learn too.

When life gets loud, don’t immediately demand an answer from yourself.

Stop.
Assess.
Listen.
Soothe.
Then act.

Take the breath.

Lower your shoulders.

Feel your feet on the ground.

Step outside if you need to.

Pray.

Walk.

Give your nervous system a moment to realize that you are safe enough to think.

Then decide what comes next.

Sometimes the most powerful thing we can do in the middle of chaos isn’t to move faster.

It’s to create enough space to choose our next step.

When All You Can Do Is Laugh

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You know those moments when life piles on one more thing and all you can do is laugh?

That was my morning.

I got home from the gym, talked to Dad, walked the pup, greeted the contractors working on the house, and finally walked inside.

And there comes Mom toward me…

with one hand twice the size of the other.

Seriously. 😳

Deep breath.

Get the ice pack.
Ice and elevate.
Quick shower.
Get dressed.
Load Mom into the car.
Load the precocious puppy into the car.
Off to urgent care.

And now… we sit.

Funny thing is, sitting here, I can finally breathe.

The workday I had planned? That’s going to have to flex.

The contractors? They’ll figure it out.

The puppy in the car? Well, he’s along for today’s adventure. 🐾

And Mom?

She’s right here beside me, and I’m doing everything I can to take care of her.

I think this is one of the strangest parts of caregiving. You can wake up with a perfectly reasonable plan for your day, and within minutes, life grabs the calendar and scribbles all over it.

There are moments when I want to cry. Moments when I’m frustrated. Moments when I wonder how I’m going to get everything done.

And then there are mornings like this when I just have to laugh.

Not because it’s funny that Mom is hurt.

But because sometimes laughter is the release valve.

It’s the moment I realize:

Okay, God. Apparently this is what we’re doing today.

So I breathe.
I adjust.
I take care of what’s directly in front of me.

And I remind myself that I don’t have to manage the entire day right now.

I just have to manage this moment.

A few caregiver reminders for days like this:

– Your plans are allowed to change.
– Not everything that felt urgent this morning is still urgent.
– Take care of what actually needs you first.
– Breathe before jumping ahead to the next problem.
– And when the day becomes so ridiculous that you don’t know whether to laugh or cry… sometimes laughing is exactly what you need.

Can you relate?

Have you ever had one of those caregiving mornings where you thought, You’ve got to be kidding me… and it’s not even 9 a.m.? 😂

Maybe finding calm in the chaos doesn’t mean the chaos disappears.

Maybe it means learning how to find yourself in the middle of it.

It’s Only 10 AM

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Today feels like I’m on s̶c̶r̶e̶t̶c̶h̶.
Actually, scratch that. I’m on all cylinders. 😂

It’s only 10:00 a.m.

Go to the gym. Get my workout in.
Call Dad on the way home to check in and hear how he’s doing after chemo.

Quick shower.

Off to the chiropractor, where naturally Mom and the puppy decide they’d like to come along too. Because apparently, I’m not just the driver. I’m the transportation department.

Add a little extra time.

Come home.

Contractors are working on the sunroom, which means decisions need to be made.

The puppy gets loose.

More decisions.

More adjusting.

More “Wait…what are we doing now?”

And then, finally, I’m rushing out the door for a pedicure.

Because apparently my version of downtime requires me to schedule it between twelve other moving parts. 😂

Does this feel familiar?

Caregiving can feel like living on a moving train. Plans change. Someone needs something. A conversation takes longer than expected. An appointment gets added. A contractor asks a question. The dog escapes. Life happens.

And you flex.

You make the best of it.

You take a breath.

You pray.

And then you pray some more.

This is one of the things I’m learning about caregiving: flexibility is a survival skill, but constantly running on empty is not.

There is a difference between being able to adapt and believing you have to carry everything.

That’s where I think about my Compass Method.

When everything around me feels blurry and unpredictable, I have to come back to what is true.

Body: What is my body telling me today?
Heart: What am I feeling instead of pushing it aside?
Mind: What actually needs my attention right now?
Spirit: Where is God asking me to pause, trust, and breathe?

And sometimes the answer is simply:

Go get the pedicure. 💅

Not because everything is finished.

It never is.

But because I matter in the middle of it, too.

A few reminders for the days when you’re running on all cylinders:

  • You are allowed to flex without abandoning yourself.
  • Not every decision has to be made immediately.
  • A deep breath can be a boundary too.
  • Pray before you react.
  • Ask yourself, “What truly needs me right now?”
  • And remember: rest doesn’t have to wait until everything is done.

Because in caregiving, everything may never be done.

So sometimes we have to learn to find little pockets of peace right in the middle of the unfinished.

Maybe you need a compass, too. 🧭

If you feel like you could benefit from a framework to help you navigate the unpredictability, emotions, boundaries, and everyday demands of caregiving, I’d love to work with you.

My life is busy too. I live this journey every day. But even in the middle of my own full and sometimes chaotic life, I’m deeply passionate about helping other caregivers find their footing, create healthier boundaries, and care for themselves while caring for someone they love.

You don’t have to navigate this journey alone.

If you’d like to learn more about coaching or the Compass Method, reach out to me at:

coachvickie24@gmail.com

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I Don’t Want to Pick Up One More Thing

This morning, it was the silverware.

Not the big stuff. Not a major disagreement. Not anything worthy of a relationship crisis.

Just silverware.

I asked my husband, probably with more exasperation than curiosity, “Why aren’t you putting your silverware in the dishwasher? You always used to.”

And then there was the pizza pan.

It was still sitting out.

My husband looked at me and said something that stopped me in my tracks.

“You always jump on me when I leave stuff out. But you leave stuff around all the time, and I never give you a hard time.”

And just like that, we were having one of those ridiculous little marital spats that somehow isn’t about the thing you’re arguing about at all.

Because in my head I was thinking:

I don’t want to pick up one more thing.

I don’t want to pick up after Mom.

I don’t want to pick up after the dog.

I don’t want to keep track of what everyone needs, what everyone forgot, what needs to be scheduled, cleaned, moved, washed, fed, remembered or handled.

And I don’t want to pick up after you, too.

But I couldn’t get those words out.

Instead, they came out as:

“Why aren’t you putting your silverware in the dishwasher?”

There’s a difference.

Maybe it’s not the silverware.

I’ve been thinking about how many women are doing exactly what I’m doing right now.

Caring for an aging parent.

Managing a household.

Working.

Being a wife.

Being a mother, perhaps.

Taking care of pets.

Trying to stay healthy.

Trying to remember everyone’s appointments.

Trying to remember our own appointments.

And somewhere in the middle of all of that, our bodies are changing, too.

Perimenopause and menopause don’t exactly send a formal invitation.

They just start rearranging the furniture.

Sleep changes. Energy changes. Mood can change. Stress can feel different. Your body may suddenly have opinions about things it previously tolerated quite well.

And then there’s caregiving.

So I started wondering:

How many women are caring for their parents while simultaneously navigating perimenopause or menopause?

As it turns out, researchers are beginning to ask that question, too.

A 2025 Mayo Clinic study looked at more than 4,200 women between the ages of 45 and 60. Nearly 20% identified as caregivers. And here’s the part that really caught my attention: menopause symptom burden increased as caregiving hours increased.

Among women providing 15 or more hours of care a week, about half reported moderate or worse menopause symptoms in at least one symptom area.

We don’t yet have a reliable number telling us exactly what percentage of female caregivers are simultaneously navigating perimenopause or menopause.

But we do know that the overlap is substantial enough to deserve our attention.

The average family caregiver in the United States is 51 years old.

Sixty-one percent of family caregivers are women.

And nearly a quarter of caregivers report providing 40 or more hours of care each week.

So maybe we need to start talking about this intersection.

Because there is another thing I’ve noticed about myself.

I’m reaching a no-bullshit phase of life.

Not an unkind phase.

Not an “I don’t care about anyone else” phase.

Just a phase where I am much more aware of what costs me.

My time.

My energy.

My peace.

My body.

And maybe that awareness isn’t a problem.

Maybe it’s information.

I used to do it. Why don’t I anymore?

This is where things get tricky.

My husband remembers the woman who used to just do things.

She’d pick it up.

She’d take care of it.

She’d remember.

She’d handle it.

And now, sometimes, I don’t want to.

That can feel confusing to the people around us.

“Well, you always used to.”

Yes.

I did.

But “I used to” isn’t necessarily a lifetime contract.

Sometimes our capacity changes.

Sometimes our responsibilities change.

Sometimes our bodies change.

And sometimes we finally realize that something we have been doing automatically for years is actually something we don’t want to be responsible for anymore.

That doesn’t mean we love people less.

It means we’re beginning to understand the difference between helping and carrying.

And that distinction matters.

Because I can love my husband deeply and still want him to put his own silverware in the dishwasher.

I can love my mom deeply and still recognize that caregiving takes something from me.

I can love my dog and laugh at the ridiculous amount of care a puppy requires while simultaneously thinking, “Seriously? You need me to do that too?”

And I can love all of them without wanting to be needed every minute of the day.

Sometimes what we really want is nobody to need anything from us.

That’s the part I’ve struggled to explain.

There are moments when quiet feels almost medicinal.

No one asking a question.

No one needing a decision.

No one needing a ride.

No one needing to be fed.

No one needing something cleaned up.

No one asking, “Can you just…?”

Just me.

For a little while.

Not because I don’t love my people.

Because I need to hear myself think.

And perhaps that’s one of the lessons of this season of life:

Rest isn’t always about sleep.

Sometimes rest is being temporarily released from responsibility.

Maybe that’s why that silly silverware argument hit such a nerve.

It wasn’t about the dishwasher.

It was about capacity.

It was about the accumulation of a thousand tiny responsibilities.

It was about feeling like I am always the person who notices.

And perhaps most importantly, it was about realizing that I need to communicate that before resentment does the talking for me.

Because my husband can’t respond to what I don’t say.

He can’t know that I’m overwhelmed if all he hears is criticism about a pizza pan.

And I can’t expect him to understand that what I’m really saying is:

“I need you to carry some of this with me.”

Helpful reminders for the woman in the middle

1. Irritation can be information.
Before judging yourself for being “too cranky,” ask what the irritation might be telling you. Are you tired? Overextended? Feeling responsible for too much?

2. “I used to” doesn’t mean “I always will.”
Roles evolve. Families change. Bodies change. Capacity changes. It’s okay to renegotiate what you’ve always done.

3. Say the thing underneath the thing.
Instead of “Why can’t you put your dishes away?” sometimes the deeper truth is, “I’m exhausted from feeling responsible for everyone.”

4. Ask for partnership, not permission.
You don’t need permission to have needs. You do need to communicate them clearly.

5. Build moments where nobody needs anything from you.
Even a small pocket of uninterrupted time can matter. Protect it.

6. Pay attention to your body.
Midlife changes deserve attention, not dismissal. If you’re experiencing significant menopause symptoms, talk with a qualified healthcare professional. You don’t have to simply white-knuckle your way through this season.

7. And finally… put your own damn silverware in the dishwasher.

Because sometimes the smallest acts of shared responsibility create the biggest sense of relief.

Maybe the goal isn’t to stop caring.

Maybe it’s to stop believing that caring means carrying everything.

And maybe that’s where compassion for ourselves begins.

When Your Body Says, “Slow Down”

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A Caregiver’s Reminder That Rest Is Part of Recovery



I’m a little bit of a nerd. I like tracking my fitness and health—numbers and trends that help me understand what my body is saying.

During this season of caring for my mom, I’ve become especially interested in my HRV, or heart rate variability.

HRV measures the variation between heartbeats and can offer clues about how your nervous system is handling stress and recovering. A higher or steadier HRV relative to your baseline may suggest better recovery, while a sustained drop can signal increased strain.

Stress can be physical, emotional, mental, relational—or simply the result of poor sleep, caregiving, worry, or too many responsibilities.

Recently, my husband asked if I wanted to go hear live music. My immediate response was:

No.

Not because I didn’t love him or enjoy live music. I just didn’t want to get dressed, leave home, socialize, or do one more thing.

So I stayed home with the pup.

And it felt luxurious.

The house was quiet. Nobody needed anything. There was nowhere to be and nothing to organize. Just me, the pup, and stillness.

I realized how desperately my nervous system needed it.

Maybe we’re not resting as much as we think we are.

We may exercise, eat well, take vitamins, attend church, or take a day off—but are we actually recovering?

Stopping isn’t always recovery. You can sit on the couch while mentally running through your to-do list. You can take a day off while caring for everyone else. You can keep exercising when your body needs rest.

Maybe you’re tired, irritable, sleeping poorly, unmotivated, or simply don’t want to go anywhere.

Maybe that’s information.

Your body is communicating. We have to be willing to listen.

Your 100% might look different today.

Giving 100% doesn’t mean doing 100% of what you normally do.

If your capacity is 30% and you give that 30% everything you have, you gave 100%.

Your capacity changes. Some days it’s 90%. Some days it’s 30%. That doesn’t make you less committed. It makes you human.

Caregiving requires constant adaptation. What worked yesterday may not work today. That isn’t failure. It’s your body asking you to pay attention.

A simple check-in for when your body says slow down

Ask yourself:

– What is my body telling me? Where am I holding tension? Am I tired or pushing when I need to pause?
– What am I feeling? Have I allowed myself to feel it?
– What is taking up mental space? What can wait, be delegated, or remain undone?
– Where am I finding peace? Am I making room for quiet, prayer, connection, faith, or stillness?

Sometimes getting back on course doesn’t require doing more.

Sometimes it requires stopping long enough to hear what you already know.

A little challenge for this week

Ask yourself:

1. How am I really recovering?

Not how am I functioning or accomplishing. How am I recovering?

2. What is my body telling me?

Notice your energy, sleep, mood, tension, motivation, and desire to withdraw. Wearables that track HRV can help you notice patterns, but you don’t need a device to listen to your body.

3. Where can I create more quiet?

Maybe it’s an hour alone, saying no, delegating a responsibility, sitting outside, or staying home with the pup.

Whatever it is…

Give yourself permission to recover.

Caregiving asks so much of us, but you don’t have to run yourself empty to prove your love.

Your loved one needs you.

And you need you, too.

So if your body says, “Stay home tonight,” listen.

Sometimes the most productive thing we can do…

is absolutely nothing.