We got a new puppy.

This is usually the part where I’d insert something charming and Instagrammable: tiny paws, floppy fuzzy ears, a metaphor about new beginnings. But instead, let me be honest: I wildly underestimated how much work a puppy would be.

I’m not talking about just the training and the accidents and the sleep disruption (though yes, all of that). I underestimated how much mental space a puppy takes up, sneaking into every quiet moment, tipping an already-full cup just enough to spill.

The other day, I sat down to write in this space. I opened my laptop with good intentions, stared at the screen, and decided the only thing I was capable of was a haiku about how hard the puppy stage is.

I wrote it.
It was… mediocre at best. A little odd, for sure.
Then I deleted it.
Closed my laptop.
And walked away, feeling defeated.

The blank post space, the closed laptop felt symbolic to me. You see, I’ve been feeling a little off lately, but not in a dramatic, everything-is-falling-apart way, but in the quieter, more confusing way. The way where you’re still showing up. Still making meals. Still homeschooling. Still mothering three whole humans who need you frequently, but inside, something feels foggy and heavy.

I have a history with depression, which means I’m always doing this low-level internal scan: Is this just tiredness? Is this a season? Is this something I need to pay closer attention to? Motherhood doesn’t exactly leave a lot of room for stopping to figure that out. Responsibility has a way of marching forward whether you feel emotionally capable or not.

Just to continue with this brain dump, here’s the thing that feels almost laughable to say out loud: I’m currently working on three books.

Three.

On paper, that sounds impressive. In real life, it feels overwhelming. Creative expression, something I deeply love and even need, has started to feel like another area I’m failing in instead of a refuge. In my perfect world, I cook three beautiful home-cooked meals, keep a tidy home, provide a feast of an education for my children, exercise, make appointments promptly, connect with my daughters in a meaningful way, maintain friendships, have a fabulous marriage, memorize scripture, read the Bible in a year, rear a perfectly well-mannered dog, and, on the side, writes and illustrates 3-4 books per year, earning enough money for all the extras.

But right now, sometimes all I have is a half-written haiku and the desire to close my laptop.

So maybe this post is me not doing that. Maybe it’s me leaving the laptop open a little longer and saying: this is what it looks like when I’m in between inspiration and burnout. Between capability and exhaustion.

I don’t have a neat ending or a takeaway lesson. I just know that naming where I am feels important. Acknowledging the weight, without dramatizing it or minimizing it, feels like a form of care for myself, and maybe for someone else reading who feels similarly off but can’t quite explain why.

The puppy will grow. (she’s very cute)
The fog will lift, or at least shift.
The books will get written…eventually.

For now, my laptop is open, and I have enough space in my day to throw some laundry in.