I'm not sure who first coined the phrase "juggling all the balls", but I suspect they never had children. Or if they did, their children certainly weren't involved in soccer, netball, gymnastics, choir, flute lessons, band, swimming, hip hop, jazz, ballet and whatever other activity gets added to the family calendar after you've confidently told yourself, "I think we're actually getting on top of things."
As I write this, we're deep into one of those seasons. The kind where school leadership is demanding everything it normally demands, plus a little bit more. The back end of term has arrived. Reports are being written and require proofing. Assessments are rolling in and need marking and mark checking. Events seem to appear out of nowhere. Every conversation feels important. Every decision matters. At the same time, life outside of school doesn't suddenly become less busy because work is. Children still need to be driven places. Uniforms still need to be washed. Homework still needs attention. People still need feeding. And despite my repeated attempts to negotiate with reality, the week stubbornly refuses to contain more than seven days.
As a single parent, there are moments when the sheer logistics of life feel like a second full-time job. Not because I don't love it. I absolutely do. But there are seasons where the cumulative weight of everything can leave you feeling as though you're operating with one eye closed and about 37% battery life. You know the feeling. You're still functioning, showing up, and still doing what needs to be done, but you also know you're not bringing your absolute best self to every moment. The challenge is that life doesn't tend to pause while we recover. The responsibilities and expectations keep coming and the people who depend on us still need us.
The older I get, the more I realise that some of the pressure comes not from what we're carrying but from what we expect of ourselves while carrying it. Many of us continue to hold ourselves accountable to standards that were established during seasons when life looked very different. Times when we had more energy, more margin, more capacity, fewer commitments and potentially fewer people relying on us. Then we become frustrated when we can't perform at exactly the same level under completely different circumstances. That doesn't make much sense when you say it out loud, yet many of us do it.
I've come to believe there is a significant difference between lowering your standards and adjusting your expectations. Lowering standards is deciding that excellence no longer matters. Adjusting expectations is recognising that excellence looks different in different seasons. Some days excellence is innovation, creativity, energy and inspiration. Other days excellence is getting everybody where they need to be, completing the critical tasks, responding kindly to people and making it to bedtime without causing unnecessary damage. Both count. In fact, I'd argue the second version often requires more discipline than the first.
One of the biggest lessons I've learned is that self-awareness becomes increasingly important as energy decreases. When I'm rested, I can usually navigate most things reasonably well. When I'm tired, however, I become a much more interesting leadership case study. My patience shortens. My tolerance for inefficiency drops. My natural tendency toward decisiveness can become abruptness. My inner dialogue becomes less generous, and when I’m particularly tired and not careful, my outlook starts narrowing to whatever challenge happens to be directly in front of me.
I've learned not to be surprised by these things anymore and instead I ensure I notice them. Awareness doesn't eliminate exhaustion, but it does stop exhaustion from taking control. One question I often ask myself during these periods is, "Who am I becoming because I'm tired?" Not, "Why am I tired?" I usually know the answer to the why. The better question is whether my exhaustion is making me someone I don't want to be. The reality is that tired leaders, tired parents and tired people can still be good humans, but only if we're paying attention.
One of the practical strategies I try to adopt during these seasons is to lower unnecessary expectations while fiercely protecting the important ones. The house doesn't need to be perfect. The inbox doesn't need to be empty. Every task doesn't need to be completed immediately and not everything deserves my emotional energy. What does matter is how I speak to people, how I show up for my children and ensuring I maintain perspective. I need to be sure that my temporary exhaustion doesn't become somebody else's permanent memory.
That last one has become increasingly important to me. Because when our reserves are low, we have a tendency to leak. Stress, frustration, impatience… it all leaks. Unfortunately, it often leaks onto people who had nothing to do with creating it. In those seasons, I try to remember that everyone else is carrying things too. The parent who forgot something, the student who seems disengaged, the colleague who appears short-tempered or the friend who hasn't returned a message. We rarely know the full story.
Grace costs us very little yet often gives people exactly what they need. Including ourselves. In fact, if there is one thing I think many high-performing people need to get better at, it's self-forgiveness. That’s not making excuses or lowering expectations but simply recognising that being stretched does not make you inadequate. Being tired does not make you ineffective and likewise, having a difficult week does not mean you're doing a poor job. Sometimes it simply means you're carrying a lot. There is a difference.
I've also become convinced that during difficult seasons, outlook matters just as much as output. Most driven people naturally focus on output. What have I achieved? What have I completed? What have I produced? But outlook often determines whether we can sustain the journey. Am I noticing what is going well? Am I celebrating progress? Am I appreciating the people around me? Am I paying attention to the things that refill the tank rather than simply monitoring the things that drain it?
For me, that often means intentionally finding small moments. A coffee in silence (bliss!) or a conversation with one of my children in the car between activities. I try to find a laugh with a colleague or go for a walk. I’d love to say read a good book – but honestly the space for that during term time rarely happens. Lately, the more I realise resilience is often built in those moments rather than the grand ones. We often think recovery requires a holiday, but sometimes it starts with ten minutes of presence, gratitude or perspective.
So if you're currently in one of those seasons where you're wondering how you can possibly keep all the plates spinning, perhaps the answer isn't to spin them faster. Perhaps it's to remember what matters most. Be kind, be aware and manage yourself before you attempt to manage anyone else. And when all else fails, remember that sometimes staying the course is its own form of success. Not because it is glamorous, but because there is something deeply admirable about continuing to show up with purpose and integrity when every part of you would quite happily choose a quiet room and approximately fourteen hours of uninterrupted sleep.
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