Have you ever had that airplane taking off sound coming from your computer when you have approximately 30 tabs open in your browser, 10 apps, and hundreds of downloads? I truly can’t think of a better comparison to the mental load after having a baby and the way my mind has felt as I’m figuring out how to work and mom all at the same time.

There are the big things that compound like managing all of our life admin and health appointments around naps and childcare coverage, or the ongoing journey we’ve been on to organize our financial house a bit more now that we’re parents. Oh yeah, and why not throw in trying to figure out who I am as a mom and in my routine now that I’m moving out of that new postpartum period.

Yet even on the simplest days, there’s still the constant loop of thoughts that live in my mind rent free; When did he last eat? When does he need to sleep? Is that red mark on his face new? Did I wash the pump parts? Do we have enough diapers? When is his next pediatrician appointment? Is that onesie officially too small or can I emotionally squeeze one more wear out of it? Did I ever order more vitamin D? If we leave at 10, will he fall asleep in the car? Should I feed him before we go? Do I bring milk? If I bring milk, do I need to pump?

I haven’t found that my thoughts really ever slow down in any way that I used to really rely on during chaotic weeks. I’ve even noticed that I’m still thinking about these things even when another family member is taking charge for a few hours or I’m not home.

Then somewhere underneath all of that are the tabs that were already there before I became a mom. It’s work, my marriage, friends, bills, groceries, exercise, skincare, our dogs, the texts I haven’t answered, the ideas I’m having, and just keeping myself organized.

I felt pretty prepared for the ways motherhood makes life busier, especially after thinking so much about pregnancy, birth, and newborn care. But I had a lot of adjustment around the mental load that can sometimes feel invisible until it doesn’t. I’ll lead from my own experience with this, but also open the conversation about what it’s like to hold so much that doesn’t always get recognition (even from ourselves).

I thought capacity meant having enough time as a mom

So, what are we even talking about when we say capacity? It’s the time, energy, and emotional availability you have to give to just about anything in life. Talking about your capacity means looking at yourself as a human who does have limits on how much of yourself you can offer to the various areas of your life.

Before becoming a mom, I thought about capacity mostly through my calendar. That meant my thoughts pretty much centered around:

• Do I technically have an hour for this?
• Can I make dinner plans Friday if we already have something Saturday?

If there was white space on my calendar, I usually saw availability. Honestly, even if there wasn’t space, I would take on a lot more because life sometimes feels like there’s no other option. I’m realizing now that having time and having capacity are wildly different things.

There can be an open hour on my schedule while my brain feels like it has six overlapping thoughts competing for attention at once. I can have someone watching the baby, a quiet room, a laptop open in front of me and nowhere else I physically need to be, while another part of my mind is still running calculations and battling fatigue from broken sleep. It’s a kind of cognitive overload that doesn’t always match what the calendar says I should technically have room for.

Realizing I just can’t carry as much right now as a mother

What I found was that I was holding this expectation that somehow I would be able to keep up with life, health, work, and mindfulness in the way I had before my baby arrived. Well let me just say, that realization that my capacity was way different became impossible to ignore last month.

I’d even talked about capacity before with mom clients and understood logically that emotional demands matter. Experiencing it as a mother, with the cognitive effort of caring for a child layered on top of everything else, felt completely different.

Baby math might actually be its own form of emotional labor

Before baby: “Want to grab coffee around 10?” “Sure!”

After baby: Okay, if coffee is at 10 and it takes twenty minutes to get there, but he usually naps around 9:15, do I leave early and let him sleep in the car? But then what if he only sleeps for fifteen minutes? Maybe I should feed him before we leave, although technically he won’t be hungry yet. Should I bring a bottle anyway? If I bring one, do I need to pump? And what time will we need to leave coffee to avoid completely blowing up the next nap?

Suddenly the coffee isn’t just coffee. And to be very clear, I still want to get the coffee.

This isn’t me saying motherhood has ruined spontaneity or that everything feels like a chore now. I love bringing my son places. I love seeing him experience the world and I live for the feeling of going somewhere together and realizing this is our little family now.

So much of the invisible work happens before anything actually happens

This is the part that surprised me most. A lot of people (including myself before baby) saw the more physical labor and tasks of motherhood. You feed the baby, change him, pack the diaper bag, do the laundry, make the bottles, buy supplies, and so on.

But there is so much invisible work that happens before any of those things. You have to notice diapers are running low, figure out if it’s worth getting more of the same size or sizing up, and log the mental task to order them (because yes, we do this now with everything).

The same goes for these bigger milestones like starting solids. Our pediatrician gave us the go ahead that we’ll start in one month from now, yet of course I’m over here researching the best puree blends, spoon materials, high chair positions, and trying to think through what a day of breastfeeding and food experimentation actually looks like.

I’m always thinking about the next phase before we’re even fully settled into this one, because so much of being a first time mom means a new developmental stage is always ahead of you. It’s a lot of unknown, and even with all the excitement there’s naturally some wishing that things would just slow down a bit so I can catch my breath.

Sometimes I can be sitting completely still while my brain feels like it is working overtime. Nobody looking at me would know that anything is happening, but they may notice I’m more quiet, on my phone more looking things up or logging thoughts I don’t want to forget, and generally not present in the moments I really want to be.

That cognitive burden can sit on your shoulders even when nobody can see the work happening.

I kept assuming I should still be able to hold everything I held before becoming a parent

This was probably the harder realization. From the outside, I can still do most of the things I did before becoming a mom. I went back to work naively thinking, “wow maybe I made this out to be much harder than it actually is for me” because I was adjusting well.

I kept working out and making the time for myself even if it meant waking up even earlier. I continued to make plans with friends and family to show myself I could be in the mix. I thought about my goals each month in the same way I did before I had a baby, and never actually took any time to adjust the standard to where I’m at.

I felt like I could always squeeze another thing into my week, (and I’m someone who is very good at squeezing). Give me too many competing priorities and I will find a way to color-code them into submission. Give me a complicated schedule and I will make a system. Tell me something seems like too much and unfortunately there is a stubborn little part of me that goes, Interesting. Watch this.

That part of me definitely did not disappear when I became a mother. I actually think it ramped up and took on the increase in tabs open at all times as a challenge I could somehow conquer. For months, I kept treating that like a time-management problem, and never considered I don’t have to operate like this anymore.

I tried to organize my way out of being overwhelmed

My first instinct was exactly what you would expect from someone who loves a planner and her notes app. Enter all my ideas to optimize things and finally feel better (because that always works for me, right?)

• Maybe I need a better routine.
• Maybe I need to batch my work differently.
• Maybe I need stronger boundaries around my hours.
• Maybe I need to wake up earlier.
• Maybe childcare needs to shift.
• Maybe I need to stop checking my phone.
• Maybe I just need to focus better.

I had to admit that I was trying to solve a capacity problem with productivity. Sometimes making the plan for how I’ll make sense of what’s feeling so messy and overwhelming made me feel better in itself, but that pressure mounted and I would get so hard on myself when I’d end a week back in the same position of, “how can I make this easier next week?”

There is no perfectly optimized schedule that changes the fact that my life requires more of my brain, body, and emotional focus now. My life is fuller in all the best ways. I have a baby I love more than I knew it was possible to love, and being his mom requires time, thought, physical care, attention, planning, flexibility and a willingness to drop whatever I thought the day was going to look like because he has other plans.

Frankly, he is not especially interested in my Google Calendar and can absolutely feel the difference when I’m holding him while mentally calculating when I’m going to be able to eat next. That’s not the mom I want to be, and while I don’t hold myself to impossible standards of presence as someone who has to add work into the balance, I know that organization and time management isn’t aligning to what matters most to me right now.

Then my mental load started showing up in my work

This is where things got uncomfortable and also became a signal that I’m grateful shifted my outlook. I recently had to make a major career decision that simplified my work in a way I didn’t necessarily expect to need this soon.

I could technically keep everything going, and that was the problem. Because “I can technically do this” is a dangerous sentence for me that’s gotten me into corners many times where I give a lot of myself only to feel resentment that I don’t have a moment to breathe.

The better question became: What does it cost me to keep doing all of them at the same time? That answer was harder to ignore.

Decision fatigue can drain the cognitive resources many moms are already using

Some days there wasn’t one huge thing making me feel overwhelmed. It was fifty tiny decisions that felt like they had to be made right then and there.

• What should I prioritize first when my mom gets here to watch him?
• Do I answer the email or finish the project?
• Do I work through lunch because I’m in the zone?
• What do I want for lunch?
• Should I pump now or wait?
• Do I have dinner prepped?
• What would I have to move around to get in a walk?
• Do we need groceries?
• Is the baby tired or bored?
• Should we go somewhere or stay home?
• Do I take on that opportunity?
• Can I move that meeting?
• Is this worth my time?

That decision fatigue started affecting the way I felt about things I genuinely cared about. I could sit down to work excited about what I was doing and still feel strangely scattered. I could be spending time with my baby while thinking about what I needed to finish later. I could finally get the quiet I had wanted all day and then use it running through a mental checklist instead of resting.

It felt like I was using up cognitive resources on dozens of tiny decisions before I even reached the things that actually needed my full attention.

I don’t want chronic stress or burnout to become my normal

This was probably the sentence I needed to hear myself say and likely waited too long to share. I can become very efficient when I’m under pressure. I can find the shortcuts, improve the workflow, and make the list.

But I started wondering what would happen if I became incredibly good at maintaining a life that was simply asking too much of me. What was that going to look like when my baby is three? What does it looks like with multiple children if we’re so blessed? Is it getting me to a place where I’m enjoying this time in my life, or surviving it?

I don’t want every feed with my baby to happen while I’m mentally drafting an email. I don’t want to spend the hour before bedtime impatient because I’m already thinking about everything I need to finish afterward. I don’t want my husband to continuously get whatever version of me is left after I’ve given my full attention to twelve other things. I don’t want to finally get into bed and realize that I successfully completed everything on my list but barely remember how I felt during the day.

And I definitely don’t want burnout or chronic stress to become the thing that finally gives me permission to simplify. That was the part I had to face.

Protecting my capacity is something no one else can completely do for me

I would love for there to be some external authority who could review my life and announce: Jess, congratulations. You have officially reached maximum capacity. Please remove three obligations immediately and enjoy this legally required afternoon off.

I would listen! Unfortunately, nobody is coming.

My husband can support me, our family can help, I can see moms doing it all on social media and convince myself I’m just fine. At the same time, no one is living inside my mind and body, and able to really understand my capacity and what I need to make a meaningful difference.

Nobody else can feel exactly when I’ve crossed the line from full to too full. I am the only person who can protect that before I hit the point of complete emotional exhaustion. That means I have to disappoint the part of myself that sees doing more as evidence that I’m doing well, and give the softer parts of me room to breathe.

What therapy helped me see about choosing motherhood in balance

After building up the strength internally to voice where I was at to someone I really admire, I felt so grounded in my decisions. That person was a fellow mom, who understood exactly what its like to be in that place where you’ve navigated each month of your baby’s life differently, and have no real way to know what’s coming ahead. Or how the small things that can add stress suddenly feel like they can pile too high and feel too heavy when so much else is existing in your mind. And most importantly, how important it is to notice the sacrifices I was making to the way I wanted to show up as a mom by trying to just push through.

The biggest moment of coming home to myself in this was realizing that acknowledging I was at my capacity and rearranging things where I could wasn’t a weakness. It’s actually the most meaningful act of self care for myself that I will never regret as I look back on these first years of my baby’s life. This took a lot of therapy and a tough look in the mirror to get to, but I share because I know its not a given that new moms give themselves space to be in transition. Professional support has been one of the resources that helped me recognize that carrying less doesn’t mean caring less.

Simplifying doesn’t always feel like relief right away

It’s not about eliminating all obligations from your life and having a clean slate. The truth is, as a mom you’re going to have tabs open at most times. I’m learning that it’s how you work with them and create even small amounts of balance over time that can feel more grounding than trying to plan them away.

With any choice that requires a lot of vulnerability, simplifying my career brought up a lot. It was the fear that I was walking away too soon, the questions about whether I could make it work if I tried harder, and the comparison to other working moms who seem capable of carrying twelve things without breaking a sweat.

There was also sadness around stepping away from something I had invested time and energy into. Then all the sudden I got that wave of relief that I could finally feel intentional, and of course the guilt about feeling relieved by doing less, a very efficient emotional cycle.

I wanted enough of myself left to actually experience the things I was supposedly working so hard to build. That felt different.

The mental load isn’t always about resentment or your partner

When people talk about mental load, the conversation often turns toward partners, household labor and who carries what. All of that matters, but I don’t want to reduce my experience to resentment or tallying up physical tasks, because that hasn’t been the heart of it for me.

My husband can take something off my plate and I can still feel mentally full. He can handle bedtime and I can still be thinking about tomorrow. Someone can help with the baby while my brain moves straight into work, groceries or everything else waiting for me.

Support is my lifeline, but I’ve also had to understand that some of my mental load comes from the way I hold responsibility. I can’t help the pull to anticipate, plan ahead, want to know what’s coming, and be prepared because its how I show care and feel like I’m giving it my all. But maybe I’m seeing that giving it my all isn’t actually giving my most thoughtful attempt at it all.

I also don’t think every conversation about mental load has to assume one person is the default parent or that something is wrong in the partnership. Sometimes the burden I’m feeling comes from how much ownership I automatically take on before anyone has even asked me to.

Support, resources, delegation, and actually letting go

This one is still very much a work in progress. Asking for help is absolutely an outlet to clear some mental clutter, but I can ask someone to do something and then continue mentally managing it.

I noticed how I’d take the win of handing something off my plate, but then still be caught up on thoughts like:

• Did they remember?
• Should I follow up?
• Do they know where that is?
• Should I just do it myself because it will take thirty seconds?

Delegation doesn’t do much for my mental load if I’m still holding responsibility for every detail in the background. I’ve even had to notice where maternal gatekeeping can creep in for me—wanting help, but also wanting something done exactly the way I would do it.

That’s part of why support and resources only go so far if I’m not actually willing to release some ownership too.

Sleep deprivation makes a full parent brain feel even fuller

There is also the obvious fact that my brain is doing all of this while sleep is not exactly operating at its pre-baby peak. Even after moving out of those earliest newborn nights and the constant wake-ups that come with newborn care, interrupted sleep totally changes the way the next day feels.

Lack of sleep can make a decision feel enormous, anxiety spike, a busy day feel completely unorganized, and patience thinner. I can notice that my cognitive function simply feels different when I’ve had several nights in a row where my sleep was broken. I may have an hour to complete a simple task, but as I’m rereading the same line of an email 10 times it might mean I’m just not as sharp as I could be and that’s ok.

Pregnancy, birth, hormonal changes, breastfeeding, broken sleep, and the emotional demands of caring for a baby have also made me much more aware of my nervous system. Sometimes I can feel overstimulated before I’ve even left the nursery in the morning.

Capacity isn’t a character trait

I think somewhere along the way I connected having a high capacity with being capable. I’m not going to lie that I’ve been praised in many ways for doing more than what seems natural to hold for a human. Maybe it was when I was overworking myself in the gym while silently battling my relationship with my body, or delivering things two days before they were due and taking on more responsibility at work at the expense of running on a few hours of sleep per night.

There’s always a reality behind the capacity, and while it feels good to be noticed or to succeed, that’s never what mattered to me. I just wanted to know I could do it, keep up, belong, feel validated, and sense somehow I was doing enough.

These are things I’ve learned how to offer myself instead of waiting for these external factors to confirm for me. It’s taken a lifetime of healing, but I can finally feel more proud of myself for shutting down my laptop mid-project to spend time with my baby before he goes to sleep than if I were to push through and get the blog published on time.

My capacity on a given day says very little about my worth, ambition or competence.

Sometimes I have more. Sometimes I have less. Sometimes my baby slept terribly. Sometimes work requires more of me. Sometimes my mental health needs quieter days. Sometimes our family life is full. Sometimes I simply don’t want to fill every available inch.

That last one has probably been the hardest to admit.

My life is fuller now, and my brain is too

I think that’s where I’ve landed for now. My brain feels fuller because my life genuinely is fuller. There is more love in it, and more responsibility. I’ve never felt more called to a role than being a mom, and I still have moments of figuring it all out again and again. I’m slowly clearing the way to what it means to feel like myself after having a baby.

I imagine many mothers know some version of this feeling, even if the details and resources available to each of us look completely different.

So if your brain feels louder lately, your capacity looks different than it used to, or you’re realizing you can’t keep holding everything the same way anymore, I hope you don’t immediately make that mean something about how capable you are. There is a lot you’re carrying that no one else can see, and you’re allowed to take that seriously. You get to decide what deserves your energy in this season, what can wait, what can belong to someone else, and what simply isn’t worth the cost anymore. There is so much strength in knowing yourself well enough to say, this is what I have to give right now. You don’t have to prove how much you can carry to be a good mom, a good partner, good at your work, or fully yourself. You’re allowed to build a life where there’s actually enough of you left to enjoy it.