Ending 37 with Gratitude: A Mother’s Honest Journey Through Burnout, Healing & Faith

The end of 37 has felt like a slow unraveling. I’ve been out of it—physically here, emotionally elsewhere. Most days I just want to be alone. Not because I don’t love the life I have, but because I’m tired of living inside a mind that won’t stop aching.

I’ve been crying almost every day—short bursts of sadness that last about 10 minutes, sometimes longer. I sit in the silence and just let it out. I hate feeling this way. I hate how heavy everything feels.

And yet, I keep repeating to myself: I’m choosing what’s next.
I’m choosing joy.
I’m choosing life.
I’m choosing God.
I’m choosing my kids.

But it’s been rough. The sadness clings to me, and no matter how much I try to shake it, it lingers. I know I’m blessed—I really do. I’m grateful for my husband, for our children, for the life we’ve built with so much love. But knowing you’re lucky and feeling joy aren’t always the same.

My hormones feel completely out of balance. I was doing so well last month—waking up at 4:30am, blogging consistently, working out. I felt like I had a rhythm again. But it didn’t last. After just a few days, I was burnt out.

Working nights, pulling doubles, doing graveyard shifts while still being “mom” every hour of the day and night… It caught up to me fast. Lillian’s not sleeping through the night, and now she ends up in Autumn’s bed. I haven’t had a full night of rest in weeks. My brain feels foggy. Tired. Unmotivated.

June 5th hit especially hard. The anxiety, the depression—it came in like a wave and knocked me over. And the worst part is that I’ve been taking it out on my kids. That’s the part that breaks me. I feel sad, and then I feel guilty.

I haven’t been the soft, gentle mom I want to be. Some days I hate my personality. I cry five times a day—short, messy moments of overwhelm. But I guess that’s better than the hour-long breakdowns I used to have. That’s progress, right?

I know I’m working on myself. I know healing isn’t linear.
Mental strength is a daily grind.
Some days I show up for myself. Some days I just survive.

But I’m still here.
Still trying.
Still believing, somehow, that things can get better.

I’ve realized that tracking my body, my cycle, and my moods has helped me understand the timing of when these emotional waves hit. It’s been eye-opening—seeing the patterns, connecting the dots. Last month, I felt grounded. Motivated. Like I was finally ready to grow into the version of myself I’ve been chasing.

But this month… not so much. Everything feels off again. I’m tired. Dull. Heavy.

I keep reminding myself this is part of the postpartum journey—my body still trying to return to itself. I read somewhere that it takes up to two full years for a woman’s cycle to fully regulate again after having a baby. And while that makes sense, it doesn’t make it easier.

But I don’t want to end the last hours of 37 in sadness. And I definitely don’t want to begin 38 carrying the weight of what I didn’t do or how lost I’ve felt lately.

Instead, I want to end this year in gratitude—and begin the next one rooted in peace, purpose, and presence.

So I’m choosing to mentally pause and remind myself of everything I have accomplished. Of the beautiful life I’m already living. Of the abundance that surrounds me, even in moments when my mind tries to convince me otherwise.

This past year brought so many blessings—starting with the birth of my healthy baby girl, Lillian Rain Rossi Lawton. I built an ADU in our backyard. I’ve been with my partner for 12 years. My son graduated from medical assistant school. My daughters turned 2 and 4.

I have a career that provides enough for me to work part-time and still be present with my family. We have two cars, a loving dog, and a table that’s always filled with food. There’s a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs, and clean water in our glasses.

I’m typing this on my computer, wearing shoes, drinking water, and feeling thankful for a body that—while not perfect—is strong and capable and healing.

I have a mom. A brother. A family that loves me. Beautiful friendships. Financial stability. A home filled with laughter and noise and grace.

And above all else—I have God.

So tonight, as 37 comes to a close, I won’t focus on the lows. I’ll breathe deeply, thank God for this life, and step into 38 with hope in my heart. I’m not just surviving—I’m growing. Becoming. Healing.

Here’s to serving in God’s purpose.
To living in gratitude.
To walking into another year, fully present and wide open to joy.