The Invisible Work of Showing Up

A Moment of Real Life

Phone in hand, I just finished adding yogurt to the grocery list when a text comes through that a dental colleague called out sick to the clinic. As I shuffle to get the lunch boxes loaded into the backpacks, I brainstorm ideas with my site manager on how we’re going to move patients around in our already overpacked schedule. Anticipating a busy day in the clinic, I pour an extra large glass of iced coffee hoping that I remembered to send in the permission slip for next week’s field trip. I wrestle a squirming baby into a new diaper while my husband puts four different breakfasts on the table.

“Remember, I’m in the city today,” he tells me while he grabs the crockpot from the garage so I can start the chili for dinner. We give each other quick kiss as we set off to continue our morning routine.

It’s only 7 am.

This isn’t what I’d consider multitasking. It’s non-stop, full-contact life management. I’m wearing every hat at once.

It’s More Than The Weekly Menu

Our schedules and routines are on a constant loop—yet I am always feeling like I am trying to catch up. I plan the weekly menu with family favorites and new recipes. I dig through the pantry and the deep freezer to see what we already have so I don’t buy yet another box of farfalle pasta and a pound of ground beef. I keep tabs on everyone’s preferences, dislikes, and flavor du jour for breakfasts, packed lunches, and dinners. What was devoured last week is “the worst food I’ve ever had” this week.

It’s remembering the homework and the playdates. It’s the laundry and the bath times. It’s managing staff relationships and patient loads.

This part isn’t just tiring—it’s invisible. The kids don’t see the part where I try to balance protein and fiber against their love of sugary snacks. The patients don’t see that I’m running on a few hours of sleep from a teething baby but still provide expert care. The invisible parts are often the most draining.

Whiplash

There is a mental, emotional, and physical balance between dental leadership, patient care, and motherhood. I toggle between being the one every body depends on to wondering if I am dependable enough. I maintain a warm and professional demeanor at work and then become utterly overstimulated the second I get home. But the truth is there is no objective standard by which I determine my value as spouse, mother, and professional.

I become my own measuring stick, but I am always moving the goal post.

At work, I lead with confidence. But at home, I second-guess whether I’ve lost my shit one too many times or if I’m giving them too much screen-time and lucky charms cereal. I care deeply in both space but I still wonder if I’m doing it right.

The Car is the New Therapist Couch

I drive to drop the kids off at school, I drive to work. I drive to the grocery store, I drive to the next appointment. The car is where I find a moment to pause between my overlapping worlds. It is where I breathe for five minutes, scream-sing to Taylor Swift, grab a few minutes of an audiobook, and even cry.

It’s where I’ll call a friend and we’ll vent about all the things that feel hard and heavy. And sometimes, I’ll sit at a red light and let out a deep sigh to center myself before moving to the next part of my day.

The car isn’t just transportation (or a snack carrier as my kids like to see it), but it is a transition. It is where I am often reminded that I have feelings. And sometimes those feelings spill over. And honestly, it helps.

Keeper, Rememberer, and Detailer

(Say that three times fast.)

It feels like everything flows depending on whether I’ve remembered the details. The calendar, the appointments, the schedule, the school events, the patient charts—I keep it, I detail it, and I better remember it. The mental load is heavy, it’s growing, and it’s invisible.

I am grateful to have an incredible, involved, and dedicated parter in my husband. He’s an attentive father, loving spouse, and faithful friend. But he isn’t a working mother in a society that tells women they can have it all, but they shouldn’t want it all, and they should be humble, but they should be bold, and they should be caregivers, but also girl bosses. Again with the whiplash.

I remember who likes peanut butter and who hates bananas. I know the good night song and how to soothe a hurt boo boo. I know how to calm an anxious patient down and organize a staff meeting. I AM a caregiver. AND a girl boss. But carrying this much takes a toll—even if you do it well. And even if you lose your patience and then cry in the shower.

What If This Is Enough?

But I am doing it. In fact, I am writing this last paragraph while nursing the baby and chili is in the crock pot. I am doing it for my family, for my patients, for myself.

I am doing it. Not perfectly. Not always calmly. And not always with clean hair.

I show up even when I’m tired, unsure, content, or weary. I show up when I’m running on prayer, memes, and caffeine. And maybe that’s not just enough—maybe it’s everything.