My to-do list had started to mean more than reading a story to my three-year-old or playing Rose Parade with my five-year-old (yes, she constructed mini floats). The shame was overwhelming. I was screwing this up.

“I don’t know how you do it as a single parent, working full time and writing. You do it all!” I hear this a lot, and I used to think it was a compliment. Don’t get me wrong—I know it’s intended as a compliment. But I don’t do it all. I’m missing out on a lot. I’m missing life.