When Your Hats Start Wearing You

I collect hats.

Literally — over 42 of them.

And metaphorically — careers, roles, duties — stacked so high I sometimes forget who’s under them.

Changing hats at the ring of a bell or the ping of an email.
Who am I at this moment?
Mom?
MayMay, the grandmother?
Private Investigator?
Spiritual Coach and Mentor?
Intuitive Entertainer?
Author?

People sometimes say to me:
“I don’t know how you do it all.”

And sometimes — if I’m honest — neither do I.

The truth is: I don’t really “do it all.”
I just keep wearing the hats and praying they don’t topple.

I work as a private investigator, chasing truths for people who’ve lost their footing.

I entertain at parties with intuitive readings, turning strangers into friends with a deck of cards and a gift of sight.

I nurture my son. My grandchildren.
They are my heart walking around outside my body.

I answer mentoring and advocacy calls, for free, because I believe in being there when others can’t find a map.

I juggle my mother’s needs — three or four doctors’ appointments a week, conversations with nurses, pharmacies, and sometimes the ghosts of her own mind.

I’ve been tangled up in the repairs to two homes — though, thank God, I was finally able to hand most of it over to my husband — and a car, all thanks to a hailstorm. Navigating the bureaucratic maze of insurance claims and contractors who arrive late, leave early, and leave you guessing can be confusing and, at times, completely overwhelming when it comes to figuring out the best decisions to make.

And I carve out whatever scraps of time I can to sit across from my husband — a man with his own punishing work schedule — so we can remember who we are to each other.

And that’s just the first layer.
Beneath it all, I’m also trying to sustain my businesses and keep writing — because writing is the way I make sense of this storm inside me.

Some days I feel like a circus performer balancing hats, plates, and flaming batons on a tightrope while the crowd cheers:
“She makes it look so easy!”

But easy is a lie we tell ourselves.

It’s not easy. It’s exhausting.
It’s wonderful and meaningful, yes — but it’s heavy.
And sometimes the weight makes you forget who you are beneath all the hats.

How I Know I’m Out of Balance

I know I’m out of balance when I forget who I love — when I catch myself becoming antisocial and sarcastic with the very people who mean the most.

I know I’m out of balance when I want to stay in my room all day with the curtains drawn, not talking to anyone for any reason.

I know I’m out of balance when I catch myself daydreaming — even planning — a home away from home.
Some quiet cottage or apartment where no one knows me, where no one needs anything from me.

And really — what grown woman secretly plans her own getaway from her own home?

Apparently, one who’s been wearing too many hats for too long.

Why Do We Do This?

Because saying no feels selfish.
Because we’re capable, and so people keep asking.
Because each hat represents someone we love, something we value, some vow we made to be “the dependable one.”

But here’s the hard question I keep asking myself — and maybe you need to hear it too:
At what point do all these hats become a disguise?
A clever way of avoiding our own desires, our own rest, our own grief?

If I keep wearing all these hats, will anyone ever see my bare head?
And worse — will I?

How I’m Trying to Rebalance

I don’t have all the answers, but here’s what I’ve started doing:

📝 I made an inventory of my hats and asked myself which ones I wear out of love … and which out of fear or guilt.

📞 I’ve started telling people (kindly but clearly) what I can and cannot do right now.

📆 I block time to write — not because it’s productive, but because it keeps me sane.

🏡 I’m learning to outsource what I can — hiring help for the house, letting the children and grandchildren take turns with Mom, even saying no to some free mentoring calls so I can show up fully when I do say yes.

🤲 I’m learning to treat myself like someone worth caring for — not just another item on my list.

Because if I collapse under the weight of these hats, what good are they to anyone?

A Reminder for You — And For Me

If you’re reading this and recognizing yourself in these words — juggling too much, breathing too shallow, resenting the very things you love — please take a moment to breathe.

Take one hat off. Even for a little while.

Hang it on the hook and see what it feels like to walk around bare-headed.

You may find that the world doesn’t fall apart.
And you may find that the you beneath all the hats is someone worth meeting again.