how i am getting closer to an aligned reflection

Melissa & Aiden Disneybounding as Olaf and Elsa. I am ALWAYS going to be extra when it comes to Disneybounding.

I don't know about you, but I have 500 tabs open in my brain. One is constantly playing music, while the others are filled with ideas, responsibilities, reminders, plans, worries, and things I'm afraid I'll forget. They all feel important, which is why they never seem to close.

No matter how much I accomplish, my to do list only gets longer and more complicated. I finish one thing and immediately remember three more things that need my attention.

I also don't tend to do things the simple or stereotypical way. My ADHD and anxious brain usually believes in go big or go home. Everything becomes a project, and every project somehow grows into something much bigger than I originally intended. I love having ideas and making things special, but it can become overwhelming quickly.

If that sounds familiar, then you're in the right place.

Welcome to my blog.

the reflection i stopped recognizing

For a long time, I lost sight of the person staring back at me.

It didn't happen all at once. It happened slowly, over years of giving to everyone else, saying yes to almost everything, and continuing to push when my body was begging me to rest. I became so focused on who everyone else needed me to be that I stopped asking who I needed to be for myself.

I was a mom, wife, daughter, sister, friend, therapist, PTA member, room mom, volunteer, planner, and organizer. I was the person who could remember that a friend had an important meeting they were nervous about and check in with them the day of.

I was also the person who bought the birthday cards, forgot to send them, and forgot to say happy birthday.

Every role came with its own set of expectations. There was always another definition of what a good mom, wife, daughter, friend, or professional should look like. I tried to live up to all of them, even when those expectations contradicted one another or required more of me than I had left to give.

Somewhere inside all those roles, being true to myself got squeezed out.

I've always been open about my struggles. I talk about my ADHD, anxiety, health, and the fact that most days are hard. I never intentionally tried to hide who I was, but I still felt pressure to make everything look Pinterest worthy. And honestly, I love that stuff.

I love the details. I love coordinated everything. I love a themed party, custom t-shirts for birthday parties and outfits that take weeks to plan. I love turning an ordinary moment into something memorable and magical. That part of me is creative, joyful, and very real. I don't want it to disappear.

The problem wasn't that I loved doing those things. The problem was that I kept doing all of them when my plate was already full. Correction. My plate was overflowing.

I kept piling more onto it anyway because being extra had become part of my identity. I didn't know where my genuine enjoyment ended and the pressure to prove myself began.

Eventually, I became exhausted by the version of myself I was trying to maintain.

My body was keeping score

My body had been trying to get my attention for years. I was dealing with an immune condition, TMJ, hypermobile Ehlers Danlos syndrome, migraines, kidney stones, multiple surgeries that had complications and then months of healing, and days when I could barely get out of bed. My body was doing everything short of holding up a sign that said, "Please stop."

Instead of listening, I learned how to function despite it.

I learned how to rearrange my energy, hide how much pain I was in, and continue taking care of everyone else. I kept showing up, adding things to my list, and convincing myself I could squeeze in just one more responsibility.

Functioning despite everything started to feel like a strength. In reality, I was measuring my value by how much I could endure without letting anyone down. My physical health wasn't the only thing suffering. Constantly showing up for everyone else took a toll on my mental health too. Being sick took a toll. Pretending I could continue at the same pace took a toll.

I had been setting myself on fire to keep everyone else warm, and I was burned to a crisp.

The moment everything changed

Then one night, my son Aiden told me his truth in the softest possible way. At bedtime, he told me I was still the best mom ever, but not on the days I was sick. Then he started listing those days. He named every major and minor holiday over the previous year. He named his birthday. He remembered all the moments I had missed because my body wouldn't let me show up.

It hit me like a ton of bricks.

I knew I had been sick, but hearing my child describe what my illness looked like from his perspective changed something in me. These weren't simply days on a calendar. They were moments he had noticed, remembered, and felt.

My body couldn't get through to me. My mental health couldn't get through to me. But my son could. A little boy told me the truth at bedtime, and I could no longer pretend that pushing through was working.

Eventually, I was forced to stop. Once I was down, I suddenly had something I hadn't allowed myself to have in years. I had time.

I had time to think about what I wanted, who I was, and what I had been running from. I had time to consider how much of my life was built around obligation and how little of it reflected what I actually needed. For the first time in a long time, I had time to look at the reflection I had been avoiding.

Next: How I started saying no, letting go of the pressure to be extra, and learning what actually matters. Come back for more.

Melissa

…despite it all…