Overwhelmed and Over-Functioning: A Love Letter to Moms Doing It All

In Case No One Has Told You Lately

I see you. I see how much you carry every single day.
You wake up and immediately the mental checklist begins – school lunches, work emails, the family calendar, that appointment you still need to schedule. You move from task to task, holding everyone and everything together.

On the outside, you make it look so manageable – the kids are taken care of, the house is running, you’re on top of it all.

But on the inside, it’s a different story. Inside, you might be aching from the weight of it. Inside, you might be quietly whispering, “I can’t keep this up.”

This is a love letter for you — the mom who feels she has to do it all. It’s written in a raw, real, loving, and gentle voice — the voice of a fellow mother and guide who understands.

Take a deep breath, dear one, and let these words wash over you.
You don’t have to hold it all by yourself anymore.

💫 Need relief right now?
Scroll down to the “A Moment to Breathe” section for a quick EFT tapping practice you can try immediately — no experience needed.

Holding It All Together (And Feeling Alone)

You’ve become the master of holding it all together.
You’re the one everyone relies on — the reliable one, the go-to problem solver, the steady rock of the family. It’s a role you play so well that most people in your life don’t even think to question it. How would they? You rarely, if ever, let a ball drop.

From the outside, you appear confident and strong — the mom who can handle anything thrown her way.

But there’s a truth hiding behind your smile and reassuring “I’ve got it, don’t worry.”
The truth is that being the one who “has it all” is exhausting. Some days, you’re running on fumes. Late at night, when everyone else is asleep, you might lie in bed staring at the ceiling, feeling the ache of being everything for everyone. You might wonder why it sometimes feels like nobody is there for you in the same way.

It can feel incredibly lonely to be the one everyone leans on, can’t it?

Perhaps you’ve caught yourself thinking things like:

• If I don’t do it, it won’t get done (or done right).

• I have to stay strong; if I fall apart, who will take care of everything?

• I’m so tired... but I can’t stop. Everyone depends on me.

• No one understands how much I’m holding together. I shouldn’t complain — others have it worse.

• Why do I feel angry sometimes? I should be able to handle all this.

These thoughts are heavy, and they live inside you day in and day out.
Maybe you don’t say them out loud — you just shove them down and keep going.
On the surface, you’re over-functioning. But underneath? You might feel like you’re one missed step away from everything crumbling.

If any of this rings true, I want you to know: I see it. I see you.
And you are not wrong for feeling any of it.

The Heart of Your Inner Voice

Let’s pause for a moment and listen with compassion to that inner voice — the one that drives you so hard.
That voice might be saying, “Keep going. You can’t rest. You have to manage it all.”

It’s a voice born from love and fear all at once.
Love, because you care so deeply about your family that you’ll sacrifice anything for them.
Fear, because somewhere along the line you learned that if you don’t stay in control, something bad might happen.

Maybe you learned long ago that being in charge was the only way to feel safe.

Take a moment and reflect: Where did that voice come from?
Perhaps as a little girl, you found yourself in situations where you had to grow up fast.
Maybe help wasn’t there when you needed it, so you learned to never ask.
Or perhaps you were taught — by family, by culture, by circumstance — that a “good mother” is selfless and tireless, always giving, never needing.

However it began, that inner drive to over-function has been with you a long time, hasn’t it?

And it’s likely helped you survive.
It’s how you became so strong and capable.
There is nothing “wrong” with you — in fact, that over-functioning is a brilliant coping strategy your mind and body created to protect you and those you love.

So if you’ve never heard this before, let me say it clearly:
Of course you feel like you have to hold it all.
Of course it’s scary to slow down.
I honor how hard that journey has been for you.

The very traits that are burning you out now are the ones that once kept you safe.

When “Doing It All” Becomes Too Much

You might notice moments where the weight of doing it all becomes almost too heavy to bear.

Maybe it hits you when you’re loading the dishwasher late at night and everyone else is relaxing.
Or when you’re coordinating the family’s schedule, secretly wishing someone else would take care of it just once.
Perhaps it shows up in the form of that tightness in your chest or the constant knot in your stomach.

Your nervous system has been on high alert for so long — always planning, always scanning — that relaxing doesn’t even feel natural anymore.
Rest can feel uncomfortable when you’re not used to it.
Because the anxious voice quickly whispers, “What did you forget? Get back up.”

And so you push through. You always push through.

But maybe you’ve also felt the darker side of this pattern:
The burnout creeping in.
The quiet resentment when no one else is helping.
And then the guilt for even feeling that resentment.

It’s okay, love. It’s human to feel that.

You give and give until you’re empty, and a part of you wonders, “Doesn’t anyone see that I could use some help?!”
You might even feel a flash of anger or sadness — Why do I have to be the one who never falters? — followed quickly by a voice that says, “Don’t be ungrateful. Keep going.”

What a painful conflict to hold: deep love for your family, and also this quiet suffering from being stretched so thin.

I want you to know:
Needing help does not mean you’re failing.
Feeling overwhelmed doesn’t mean you’re a bad mom.
It means you’re human — with a heart and body that get tired.

You Are Allowed to Be Human

You don’t have to be an invincible supermom every minute of every day.

Give yourself permission — even if just in the privacy of your own mind — to admit that you have needs too.

It might feel strange at first. You’ve been taught to put yourself last.
But imagine if your dearest friend told you how exhausted and overwhelmed she was — you wouldn’t see her as weak.
You’d hug her. You’d tell her she’s amazing and that it’s okay to rest.
You’d probably help her find ways to make it easier.

Can you offer even a drop of that same compassion to yourself?

Take a breath.

Yes, asking for support can feel terrifying. It stirs up fears like:
Will everything fall apart without me? Am I selfish for needing space? What if someone drops the ball?

Those fears are valid. They come from real experiences.

But here, in this moment, can you gently remind your heart:
It’s safe to ease up — even a little.

You have people who care. They might not help perfectly (and yes, that’s frustrating),
but even imperfect help is still help.

You do not have to earn rest by burning yourself out.
Rest is your birthright. Support is your birthright.
You are allowed to receive them.

A Moment to Breathe: Tapping into What You’re Holding

If you’ve made it this far, maybe a part of you is whispering: I need something to help.
So here’s a moment — just for you. A breath. A pause. A chance to be with what’s true.

Start by placing both hands over your heart. Let them rest there — warm, steady, anchoring you.

Feel your breath beneath your palms. Let yourself be held.

Then slowly slide your hands outward so your fingertips land on your collarbones.
Begin tapping lightly — no rush, no pressure. Just a soft, steady rhythm.

As you tap, try saying these words to yourself — either out loud or silently:

I’ve been holding so much.
I can feel the weight of it in my shoulders… in my chest.
My to-do list never ends.
I feel overwhelmed, like I’m always behind.
I don’t know how to slow down.
It feels like if I stop, everything might fall apart.
So I keep going. Even when I’m running on empty.

Breathe.

A part of me is so tired.
Another part doesn’t know how to rest.
But just for this moment… I pause.
I let myself feel how heavy it’s been.
I don’t need to fix anything right now.
I just need a breath.
A little softness, right here.

Keep tapping as long as you need to.
Let yourself cry. Let yourself exhale. Let the rhythm remind you:
You are allowed to rest.
You are allowed to receive.
You are allowed to be human.

Held, Grounded, and Hopeful (You Are Not Alone)

As we close, I want you to imagine something.

Imagine that these words — this love letter — aren’t just from me.
Imagine they come from a circle of mothers who know exactly how it feels to carry too much.

You are not alone in this.

You are held — by the ground beneath you, by the breath inside you, by the quiet love that exists (yes, even for you).

Let your shoulders drop.
Let your nervous system take one deep sigh.
Let the house be a little messy, let someone else forget something.
Let the small chaos prove that the sky won’t fall if you take a break.

Each pause… each breath… each moment of asking for help is a step toward hope.

Not perfection. Not control.
But hope — that life can feel different. That you can feel different.
And you can.

Dear over-functioning, over-loving, over-working mom:
You have nothing to prove to earn the right to peace.

You are already enough.

Your worth was never measured by how much you do.
You are worthy when you’re doing it all — and just as worthy when you rest.

So when that familiar tension returns — the tightness in your chest, the weight on your shoulders — come back to this note.
Come back to your breath.
Come back to your collarbones.
Come back to yourself.

You are safe here.
You are human — beautifully, messily human.
And you are so deeply worthy of tenderness, too.

With love,
From one mom to another —
You don’t have to hold it all anymore.