Today I feel like falling apart while trying to hold everything together

How is it possible that in one day I can feel so completely overwhelmed in life, experiencing the full range of emotions from elation at new paths unfolding and bold plans forming, to incredible anger, disappointment, standstill and sadness — tears rolling down my face unannounced in the middle of a grocery shop? To the outside world I look and act as if I have it together. That’s the strange thing about feeling overwhelmed in life — it rarely looks as chaotic on the outside as it actually feels. I talk about plans as if they were decisions made over a quick cup of tea and a biscuit. Inside, the reality looks chaotic and at times unrecognisable to myself.

And I am not new to the game. I have had my share of life events, years to practice life… but the last few weeks have had a new edge to them. Ever since the bureaucratic powers that be decided that an Australian GP isn’t qualified to practice medicine on the anatomically very different Swiss people, forcing the decision for my husband to return to Australia, something internally shifted. Options, decisions, thoughts — they don’t line up anymore. Sometimes on an hourly basis I go from “right, I will pack up and leave and only return for awesome holidays” to “oh, but wait, I am not quite ready to pull down the structures I have carefully put in place over the last six years.”

I feel as unstable as a feather being blown around in a small cyclone. I can’t land a fucking thought and stick with it. I twist and turn, reaching out for help — someone please help me decide — only to snap back into my own thoughts and stubborn decision-making mode. This constant internal shifting is exhausting, like being stuck in a state of feeling overwhelmed in life without any real pause.

Add to this the relationship layer. Relationships are already difficult at the best of times, but they become something else entirely when your path keeps presenting long-distance as the only viable option — something I’ve already lived through in more detail here. Both of us don’t want that. Neither of us can shift enough to permanently commit to one place. So on an energetic level, the moment it became clear that another stint of long distance was on the horizon, the protective layers went up. Instead of leaning into the last months of togetherness, we both brace for the inevitable hurt. We both know we are doing it, and we both can’t seem to stop.

That can feel incredibly lonely. You feel the disconnection before it even happens. And the tragedy is that if only we could stay fully open, this wouldn’t need to happen at all. We could absolutely see each other — pain, confusion and sadness included — but old patterns resurface easily when you are in it too deep. Instead of putting a hand up and saying “oi, I need help over here,” you pretend that you can handle it, even when the tears streaming down your face tell a very different story.

Feeling Overwhelmed in Life Isn’t Something You Can Just Fix

I have been a solver of problems all my life. It is part of my foundational identity. And right now, I am in the process of shedding some of those traits. That sounds like a very zen version of me going on a holiday, but in reality it takes an enormous amount of willpower to sit and watch. To not react. To let things unfold. Where once I would have pushed through and solved the problems for everyone concerned, I am now holding space for everyone to come to their own decisions and find their own solutions.

That creates guilt. Because you are used to carrying everyone’s stuff. And when you suddenly don’t anymore… who are you even? You stop recognising yourself. A true identity shift is really hard. It sounds easy — you can visualise it: the person who doesn’t take on everything, the person who has time for what she chooses, the person who knows her worth and stands tall. But getting there? There are so many wobbles that the version of you that you are trying to evolve from suddenly looks stable as fuck. At least you knew how to navigate her. This new version? You’re not even sure where the indicators are, or if there are any at all.

And the world around you notices. Maybe not loudly, but in small glances, subtle shifts. There’s a sense of “is she okay?” in the air. And your inner doubtful voice joins in, whispering, “just go back to the safe version.”

So the whole situation becomes a bit of a clusterfuck — layers stacking on top of each other until you can’t see the forest for the trees, which is exactly what feeling overwhelmed in life can start to look like when everything hits at once. I am angry, scared, spiralling, lashing out, pulling back and wondering if I am the problem and everyone else is fine.

But the truth is probably closer to this. I have always expressed everything. Maybe too much, who knows. On a relationship level, I am the talker, my husband is the thinker and listener. So of course my emotional turmoil looks louder, wilder. He isn’t wired to show it the same way. Not his fault. Just as it isn’t mine to feel things as deeply and visibly as I do.

We are who we are. And in order to weather this current storm, I have to allow myself to move through it. Light and darkness follow each other. Love and anger can swap places. I can be strong and still fall apart. None of it is a complete collapse. These are waves, moving through me, and I don’t need to fix them. And this is also where something like Manifest AI has been unexpectedly useful for me. Not because it fixes anything — it doesn’t — but because it doesn’t let you hide from your own patterns either. It sits there with you in the mess and forces you to actually look at what’s going on instead of endlessly circling it in your head.

What I can do is support myself through them. I can ground myself in simple, real tasks that bring me back to me — gardening, baking, knitting, weaving. And when the lighter moments come, I can lean into those too — writing, planning, enjoying the time we have together.

I don’t need to hold everything perfectly together.
And I don’t need to stop myself from falling apart a little either.