I got into my car and drove away from my family.
I didn’t really know where I was going.
I walked past the TV playing Mickey Mouse, stepped over the mess scattered across the floor, and glanced at my husband sitting silently on the couch. My patience was gone. I was frustrated with my kids and angry at my husband, carrying it all in my chest.
So I walked out the door and left.
I started driving with no destination in mind, just moving forward because standing still felt unbearable. For a brief moment, I wondered what it would be like to just keep going—to drive far away, maybe forever.
For a second, it actually sounded like a good idea.
But then I felt my arms turning the steering wheel into Sonic, searching for a parking spot among unfamiliar cars, carefully avoiding anyone I might know or anyone who might try to make small talk. I needed space where no one expected anything from me.
And it makes me sad to admit that the things causing me the most heartache in my life are the very things I once prayed for, dreamed of, and wanted so deeply. That realization alone brings guilt.
I feel like because I have a husband and healthy kids, I should be overflowing with gratitude at all times. Like thankfulness should cancel out frustration completely.
I don’t allow myself to complain because of this “I have it good” mentality, or the constant reminder that I’m supposed to “enjoy every second,” even when I feel like I’m unraveling.
But the truth is, the good things are the hard things.
The things that bring me the most joy in this life are also the ones that push me to my limits and stir the most anger and exhaustion.
And feeling sadness about them doesn’t make me ungrateful.
I’m not sick. I’m not going through trauma. I’m not physically hurting. So I tell myself to suck it up, because there are people facing real pain, real loss, real struggles—and I’m supposed to be okay.
But these good things?
This mom thing.
This wife thing.
This adult thing.
This whole life thing.
It’s hard.
Like, really hard.
And the world has a way of making it even harder when you admit you’re struggling—especially when, on paper, your life looks good.
So I’ll probably drive home in a moment.
Honestly, I already feel a little better. I’m not thinking about disappearing or driving to the beach anymore.
But if the good things in your life feel heavy right now, please know this: good does not mean easy.
It’s okay to want something deeply and still feel frustrated by it.
It’s okay to get what you hoped for and be completely blindsided by parts of it.
You’re not a machine. You’re not a fortune teller. You’re not God. You’re human.
Before you pull your big girl panties back on, give yourself a moment. Take a drive. Pray. Cry. Order a large Cherry Vanilla Coke with lime.
All good things are hard sometimes.
