I never expected June to come with so much pressure—the kind that whispers so much to do, so little time.
Last year, I was in a role that required me to work through the summer. It was the first time I had done that since college. As a former teacher, summers off had always been a treasured perk.
I’ll be honest—it didn’t sit well with me.
I had never missed a summer with our three kids. And even though I knew they were thrilled to binge-watch TV and play video games, I felt disconnected and guilty. I hated missing out on one of the best times of the year.
I transitioned into a new role at the beginning of this year. This role would allow me to enjoy most of the summer with my kiddos. I was stoked. It felt like I was finally getting to have my cake and eat it, too!
Over the past several months, I started planning. I marked days off on the calendar and started a “Summer To-Do/Not-Do” list in my phone. All of this was done in hopes of making sure I did all the things I had missed the summer before and making sure I didn’t get myself busy with something that would take away from truly enjoying the summer.
But what I didn’t expect was the pressure that had been quietly building.
Like many families, we were deep in the trenches of spring sports. Since March, our schedules had been jam-packed. Our once-steady rhythms of workouts and meal planning fell away. Between weeknight practices and weekends full of six or seven games, we were running full speed.
During one of our late-night dinners around the island, I wrote a countdown to the end of the school year on the kitchen chalkboard. It was my motivation to “keep on keepin’ on.” As the numbers got smaller, I started to feel a tug—an urgency to define our summer.
One night at dinner, eyes heavy and bodies worn out, I asked if anyone had a word they wanted to choose as a theme for our summer. Something we had done in summer’s past.
No one answered.
The next night, I tried again. Maybe one word for the whole family was too broad. What if each of us picked a word for ourselves? Again, nothing. At this point I chose my word, “roam,” and wrote it on the chalkboard. Maybe I was trying to stick a peg in a square hole at this point.
My efforts to prepare for summer only landed me at the end of the season feeling sick and tired—literally.
We had run so hard as a family that I ran myself into the ground. I spent the last week of May in bed and on the couch, sicker than a dog, and I’m still dealing with lingering fatigue and a horse sounding voice. And during one of those last rides to practice, I realized the time I thought I had—two months of unscheduled summer—was actually just one.
Just like that, eight weeks of imagined freedom became four. This felt like the last straw.
This was not how I pictured starting summer.
Like a jar under pressure, I popped this past Monday. I was frustrated that I still didn’t feel well. I was over being so dang tired. Then came the spiral: the house to-do list, the weight I wanted to lose that was gained during the busy season, the schedule I needed to make for the next week of things I wanted to do… and finally, the tears.
I broke down, feeling like time was sand slipping through my fingers with no way of stopping it.
The next morning, the bible app’s verse of the day met me where I was it read:
“Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.”
-1 Peter 5:7 NIV
What began as a well-meaning and intentional plan for summer turned into a reminder that even the best-laid plans can weigh us down when we forget to leave room for grace.
If you’re stepping into this season feeling behind, worn out, or overwhelmed by expectations—know you’re not alone.
Let this be your permission to pause. To release the pressure. To trade perfection for presence.
Whether your summer is fully booked or wide open, there’s still time to shift.
To rest. To roam.
Summer isn’t lost, friends.
It’s waiting.
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