Lesson 9 Grief: The Myth of Balance

We’ve all said it: “I just want a balanced life.” In adult‑speak that usually means an even distribution of energy across everything that matters—raising children, nurturing friendships, excelling at work, moving our bodies, tending the budget, praying or meditating.
Parents feel this pressure in Dolby Surround Sound: an enriching home life and a thriving career and deep self‑care and community involvement.

But—let’s be honest—I’m calling B.S.

The Lie We Keep Telling Ourselves

Balance implies simultaneously holding every plate at the exact same height. Physics—and parenthood—say otherwise. Dave Hollis, in his Built Through Courage tour, joked that the only perfectly balanced objects are dead things. Real life, he argued, is about rhythm: some plates spin high while others rest on the counter until the next verse plays.

Tiffany Dufu takes it a step further in Drop the Ball. She describes her early‑career attempt at “doing it all” (working mom, PTA, spotless home) and the crushing guilt of inevitable misses. Her breakthrough came with the radical idea of intentionally setting certain balls down, trusting that the most important ones—health, relationships, core values—would stay aloft.

Both writers arrive at the same truth: The pursuit of perfect balance is a fast track to grief.

My NICU Wake‑Up Call

For years I chased that elusive equilibrium—color‑coded calendars, habit trackers, and the promise that if I just organized harder everything could fit. Then Charli was born at 29 weeks, and the concept of balance shattered overnight.

Suddenly my days were governed by monitors beeping and scrubbing in at the NICU door. My body was healing from an emergency C‑section while I pumped every three hours, desperate to provide milk she might better tolerate. When I left her bedside to answer client calls, I felt guilty for working; when I dove into work, it became an escape from the terror of tests and brain scans.

Friends tried to visit, family needed updates, bills still arrived, and the rest of the world kept turning as if time hadn’t stopped inside that unit. I couldn’t find my footing—let alone balance.

That season taught me a hard truth: every choice came with loss. If I was at the hospital, I wasn’t resting. If I slept, I wasn’t pumping. If I pumped, I wasn’t holding her tiny hand. The grief of those trade‑offs was relentless.

Now, when I work with parents whose children are in medical or mental‑health crises, I see the same pattern. Jobs quit, friendships paused, gym shoes gather dust. They aren’t failing; they’re triaging. And triage is inherently unbalanced.

Why Grief Shows Up

Grief isn’t reserved for funerals. It’s the emotional bill that arrives every time we choose this over that.
Think of time as the only non‑renewable resource:

• 24 hours in a day

• 7 days in a week

• 52 weeks in a year

Every yes inside those blocks is also a no. An evening answering emails is an evening not reading bedtime stories. A Saturday soccer game is a Saturday not catching up with friends. Date night means missing bedtime routine.
The pang you feel in these trade‑offs? That’s grief—the normal, human response to giving something up, even for a noble reason.

Naming the Grief Matters

When we name the loss (“I’m sad I missed dinner”), we stop calling it failure or incompetence. We call it what it is: the cost of limited time.
Recognizing grief allows compassion to step in—and compassion is the antidote to parental guilt.

Five Gentle Reframes for Parents

1. Season Mapping
   Borrowing Dave Hollis’s idea of seasons. Sketch the next three months and mark the big rocks—NICU follow‑ups, a fiscal close at work, a partner’s travel, the kids’ swim season. Decide what naturally rises to the top for this season only. When the calendar turns, reassess. Seasons shift; your focus can, too.

2. Drop‑the‑Ball Lists
   Inspired by Tiffany Dufu: draw three columns—Must Do, Can Delegate, Can Delete. Be ruthless. If no one will get hurt and your core values stay intact, drop it. (Pro tip: letting kids pack their own lunches might produce wild food combos—but also independent humans.)

3. Value‑Based Scheduling
   Before saying yes, ask: Does this align with our family’s top three values right now? If not, default to no. Values act as airport runway lights in fog; let them guide where your limited yeses land.

4. Micro‑Moments of Presence
   You might not have an hour for the gym, but you have 90 seconds to stretch and breathe while the coffee brews. Tiny deposits add up and ease the grief of larger withdrawals. (Charli and I have a 60‑second morning dance party—mini but mighty.)

5. Weekly Debrief & Reset
   Each Sunday, spend ten minutes celebrating what did happen and consciously releasing what didn’t. Guilt festers in silence; naming things out loud clears the slate.

Dave Hollis’s Bucket Check: Ask yourself, “Which three buckets got filled this week—relationship, health, work, service, fun?” Celebrate those and accept that a few went dry. Next week, tilt the hose toward the empties.

A New Definition of “Having It All”

Having it all doesn’t mean holding everything at once. It means living on purpose with the time you’re given, acknowledging the small sorrows of trade‑offs, and trusting that different plates will rise again in another season.

Imagine your life as a symphony rather than a tightrope: certain instruments rest while others take a solo, yet over the whole performance every voice is heard. That’s rhythm. That’s grace.

Your Turn

I’d love to hear how you are learning to thrive without the myth of balance. What plates have you willingly set down, and how did that feel?
If this resonates—or if you’re drowning in grief disguised as guilt—reach out. Send me a note at shayna@preparetobloom.com or tap the contact form on the site. Let’s explore rhythms that honor your season and your sanity.

Together we can prepare to bloom—even when the scales refuse to stay level.