Trickle of overwhelm

on life's little burdens

Mar 16, 2025

*After the Ball* by Ramon Casas y Carbó (1899)

It’s the small stressors, the minor inconveniences that seep in slowly, one after another, that always get to me. Nothing major enough to justify a full meltdown. On the surface, everything looks the same, except the days undeniably feel… heavier.

An unhelpful bank rep explaining, in a monotone voice, why my money hasn’t arrived. Another revision request from a client for a project that should’ve wrapped up weeks ago. Our landlady hiking the rent by more than fifty percent, ignoring the contract’s terms with a casual, “Well, tough.” My pets all suddenly plagued by fleas. My parents' health insurance, which I pay for, increasing its premium to an amount that stings. My boss adding new responsibilities that demand two extra hours of training calls each day—on top of my already full plate. My partner needing emotional support. A friend needing emotional support. Planning a bridal shower for my best friend and all the tasks that come with it.

Drip, drip, drip until the weight piles high enough for me to feel it pressing down.

I slip out of my established daily routine. Miss a workout. Then another. Then two weeks pass. Text messages sit unanswered for days. My novel draft gathers dust. The bookmark in a paperback stays stuck in the same spot. I haven’t touched any of my hobbies. Everything. becomes. annoying.

And yet, I try not to let the built-up tension spill over into this life I wholeheartedly choose. I will myself to make space for my partner and friends. I try not to worry my parents. I make an effort to match my coworkers’ lighthearted banter. I do my best to work well with my client, to stay polite with the bank rep who I know is just reading off a script.

I tell myself: All of this is survivable.

The flea crisis? Solved with a vet visit. The missing money? Finally deposited after a week of follow-up calls. The rent and insurance increases? Grateful that I still have the means to afford them. Weddings and bridal showers don’t happen every day; these are good problems. Yes. Good problems.

The training calls will end, and my workload will settle again. I’ll find a new routine that fits. I can return to exercise, ease back into hobbies, reply to messages—all in small, manageable steps.

Individually, these are tiny bumps on the road. I know this. I know this. It’s just, right now, I find them all incredibly overwhelming.

So, I take a few deep breaths. I name five things I can see, four I can touch, three I can hear, two I can smell, and one I can taste. Standing at the sink, washing dishes, as my inner child throws a tantrum inside my ribcage, I put on affirmations and speak them aloud:

Nothing here is insurmountable.

Nothing here is insurmountable.

I’m an adult.

I'm an adult.

I can do hard things.

I can do hard things.