At the End of the Driveway

Do you ever have days when you wake up and think, I just can’t do it today?

And then almost immediately feel guilty for even thinking it — because not doing it isn’t really an option?

Today was one of those days.

I woke up like most mornings lately — tired. Maybe more than tired. Sleep has been elusive. I made sure everyone was where they were supposed to be, moved through the usual routine, made my tea, and walked into my “office” — which is really just a room in my house. I’m grateful I can work from home, even if it doesn’t always feel light.

This week has been heavy. Problems that won’t resolve. Upset clients. Team members stuck in the same cycles. Emails that keep coming, asking for more. Normally, I can put on my work hat and move through it. And for most of the week, I did.

Until today.

After an online team session where I heard the same questions I’ve heard for years, and more emails asking for answers others should already know, something in me just… stopped.

My brain was screaming.
My mind couldn’t process one more thing.

And I hadn’t even gone downstairs yet to check on my dad and brother — though thankfully, the helper was there with my dad.

I took a deep breath.

I gathered my laptop, Kindle, headphones, chargers, phone, keys, wallet — and I put it all in my bag. Then I walked out of the house.

No dramatic announcement.
No explanation.
Just left.

I drove to a local coffee shop. Ordered something to eat and drink. Found a table.

And then I sat.

For the next few hours, I wrote. I read. I listened to music. I stared into space.

It was quiet.

No problems.
No crises.
No demands.

Just space.

I could breathe.

Eventually, I packed up my things and headed home.
The quiet didn’t follow me. By the time I turned onto our street, I could feel life beginning to gather again.

I pulled into the driveway.

The front door opened.

One of the twins — my stoic, loving one — walked toward the car with that half-serious look that says, How dare you leave me? which really means, I missed you. Most people don’t see the soft underneath his prickly edges.

Then the door opened again. His twin — all warmth — smiled, leaned in, and kissed me.

And then the door opened a third time.

The oldest ran down the driveway, jumped into the front seat, and wrapped me in the kind of hug that resets your nervous system.

And in that moment, I remembered:

There are going to be days when I just can’t do it.

And that doesn’t mean I’m failing.
It means I’m human.

There was love waiting at the end of the driveway.
There was comfort.
There was grace.

I can do it.
I just needed a moment to breathe.

So on the days when it feels like too much —
When your brain is loud and your heart is tired —
When you think you just can’t do it —

It’s okay to stop.
It’s okay to walk away.
It’s okay to breathe.

Because at the end of your driveway — in whatever form that takes — are the reasons you keep going.

Even the prickly teenagers.
Especially them.

You can do this.

You are strong.

And even the strongest hearts need somewhere to rest.

With love,
Margaelin

Seen. Held. Understood.