Life Gets Loud
It's been a little while since our last blog.
Normally, that would have bothered me. A lot.
For years, I've strived for consistency. Show up. Keep your commitments. Stay on schedule. It's a fundamental value I learned from Ricardo early in our marriage. It's something Gary and I try to demonstrate in the way we approach our work with our clients.
But over the past several weeks, life had other plans.
Without sharing the details, our family suddenly needed us in a very real way. Overnight, our routines changed. Our home became much fuller—and much louder. There were little ones to care for, adults navigating difficult circumstances, clients who still deserved our full attention, and a workshop that still needed to be taught.
Writing a blog simply wasn't at the top of the list.
And surprisingly...
I was okay with that.
Not because writing isn't important. It is. I love writing because it gives me an opportunity to reflect, to learn, and hopefully to encourage others along the way.
But for this season, something else mattered more.
A few weeks ago, I wrote to a friend:
"I totally get it when it comes to life having loud moments. And loud seasons.
Like you, when the loudness enters my life, I rebalance. Some things that were priorities need to take a back seat for a while. It's not a judgment statement, just a reality.
We each have only so much bandwidth, and I believe the balancing act is to use that bandwidth wisely so we don't deplete ourselves while being there for others."
As I reread those words, I realized I had written them as much for myself as for my friend.
We spend so much of our lives trying to manage our time.
But I'm becoming convinced that what we really need to manage is our capacity.
There are seasons when our emotional, physical, and mental bandwidth feels almost limitless. We tackle projects, pursue goals, check things off our lists, and somehow still have energy left over.
Then there are the loud seasons.
The seasons that arrive uninvited.
The seasons that don't ask whether there's a convenient time on our calendar.
The seasons that remind us that life is wonderfully unpredictable.
I've learned that one of the greatest sources of unnecessary stress isn't the loud season itself.
It's arguing with reality.
We find ourselves thinking:
"This shouldn't be happening."
"I should be getting more done."
"If only..."
But reality always gets the final say.
The question is whether we'll keep arguing with it—or accept today's reality and decide how to respond.
We don't have to like today's reality. But we do have to start there.
Acceptance isn't resignation.
It isn't giving up.
It isn't lowering our standards.
It's simply recognizing that our choices can only be made from the reality we're actually living, not the one we wish we were living.
That shift changes everything.
Instead of focusing on everything I wasn't accomplishing, I found myself asking a different question:
Given today's reality, what matters most?
Some days, the answer was making sure our clients had the attention they deserved.
Some days, it was preparing for a workshop.
Some days, it was simply being present for family members who needed a safe place to land.
And yes, some days it meant the blog would have to wait.
Oddly enough, once I stopped arguing with that reality, the guilt disappeared.
Not because I cared less.
Because I was clear about my priorities.
One lesson this season reinforced is that we can't live someone else's life for them.
When people we love are struggling, every part of us wants to fix things. We want to remove the obstacles, ease the pain, and make everything better.
Sometimes we can help.
Sometimes all we can do is listen.
Sometimes we offer guidance.
Sometimes we simply provide a safe place to land.
And sometimes, after we've done all we can, we have to trust others to make their own choices.
That isn't easy.
But it's reality.
And reality always gets the final say.
One of my favorite definitions of forgiveness is this:
Forgiveness is finally accepting that you can't change the past.
Perhaps peace has a similar definition.
Peace is accepting today's reality without arguing with it.
Not because we like it.
Not because it's fair.
Not because we've stopped hoping for something different.
But because today is where our choices live.
Eventually, this loud season will quiet down.
The projects that were paused will still be there.
The routines will return.
The blog will get written.
Life always finds a new rhythm.
Until then, I'll keep reminding myself of something this season has taught me.
We all have loud moments.
We all have loud seasons.
When they arrive, perhaps the most compassionate thing we can do isn't to demand more from ourselves.
Perhaps it's to rebalance, use our bandwidth wisely, and trust that doing what matters most today is enough.
Because sometimes success isn't measured by everything we accomplished.
Sometimes it's measured by the people who knew they weren't alone because we chose to be there.
Please share your thoughts on this topic in the comment section below.
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