As I was contemplating what to write about from this turbulent, difficult, joyful day, I heard the words mess, falling apart, can’t handle, and exhausted. It hit me that if I wrote those, and all felt true, I would be lying. And if I didn’t write them I would be lying. It took me a second to figure out what I meant (and yes, I know this makes me sound crazy).

I feel as though I’m occupying two wildly different spaces right now. On one level there is this life where Ada is an emotional wreck, I’m an emotional wreck, our house is in chaos, Steve is on the road half the time and I can barely handle simple tasks like doing the dishes or getting my daughter in the car.

Underneath all of that, at a deeper, wider level, is a sense of internal space, of deep peace and a knowing that everything is as it should be. It’s an odd and wonderful feeling. Despite Ada’s tummy aches, bewildering tears and the six splinters I’ve been trying to remove from her right hand, I have so much less fear than I did even two weeks ago that I feel like a different person. When I found myself flat on my emotional back the other night, gasping for air, the experience of it was searingly new. I felt every emotion more deeply than ever before yet by the time I went to bed, I was filled with an incredible peace, that feeling of internal space and a deep trust that I will be fine.

I wish I could point a finger and say, This is what’s making the difference, but that’s simply my brain trying to tell a story. The truth is, it doesn’t matter if it’s the magician, or the Reiki, or working with amazing coaches, the last books I read, meditation, yoga, my new gluten-free diet, or the convergence of all of them at this exact point in time. What matters is the feeling, the peace, the space.

The challenge is to find it when my fatigue hits, my frustration mounts and my sense of humor evaporates. The goal is to live in it more often than not.

In a moment of desperation, these words helped. I share them, hoping they might speak to you too.