Dear Katherine,

I’m working full time, drowning in college assignments, and married (which is like another full-time job, let’s be honest). I can’t remember the last time I had a conversation with myself that wasn’t just me stress-crying in the shower. Help me figure out self-care and time management before I start scheduling my breakdowns like meetings!

—Destiny

My dearest Destiny,

You're working full-time, buried in schoolwork, and married? Darling, no wonder you’re stress-crying in the shower—you’re doing the work of three people and calling it Tuesday. You’re maxed out—and while you may be holding it together on the outside, I can tell: the inside is hanging on with caffeine, hope, and one cracked nail.

You’re not failing. You’re overextended. And survival mode isn’t a lifestyle—it’s an alarm bell.

So let’s talk strategy. Not the aspirational kind—the get-your-life-back-before-it-burns-down kind:

Kill the myth of balance. You’re not juggling. You’re trying not to drown. Interrogate your life like it’s stealing from you—because it is. What can be delegated, automated, or ruthlessly deleted? Mercy comes after boundaries.

Block time like it’s oxygen. You need one hour a day—or two 30-minute blocks—where you’re not working, caretaking, or performing. Call it “Vampire Nap (Do Not Stake)” or “Meeting with My Last Nerve.” Whatever it takes. No one’s invited.

Married doesn’t mean martyred. Your partner isn’t a houseplant—they’re part of the system. If you’re drowning and they’re just handing you a towel, it’s time for a real conversation. Divide the load. Restructure. Expect partnership, not applause. And if they don’t get it—trust me, you’ve got bullet points.

Make taking care of yourself non-negotiable. Drink water. Eat protein. Sleep. Don’t glamorize collapse. Your dangerous glow comes from rest, joy, and full meals—not from suffering silently and hoping someone notices.

Indulge in one private, just-for-you joy. Something small. Something “selfish.” Something that reminds you you’re still a person—not a productivity machine. Maybe it’s reading spicy fanfiction. Maybe it’s putting on eyeliner to take out the trash. Maybe it’s screaming in the car with the windows up. Whatever it is, make it sacred. And make it yours.

Because here’s the thing: if you don’t start choosing yourself—on purpose, out loud—you will crash. And not in a sexy, cinematic way. In a “sobbing in a Target parking lot at 11 p.m.” way. That is beneath your dramatic potential.

You don’t need more willpower. You need less pressure. More compassion. And the reminder that exhaustion is not your natural state—it’s your body’s final warning.

You don’t have to fix your whole life this week. Just pick one thing that makes tomorrow 5% easier. The way back isn’t balance—it’s boundaries, backbone, and the boldness to protect your peace. Because you don’t return to yourself by doing it all—you return by doing what matters, and letting the rest burn.

With all my wicked little heart,
Katherine