A Day in the Life of a Highly Sensitive Mother
Two things can be true at once. Motherhood is incredibly joyful, and also wildly overstimulating.
Every morning, I wake up to a bang — literally.
My son jumps into my room, full of energy, full of joy.
No gentle sunrise, no quiet start. Just instant chaos.
And yet… the smile on his face makes it worth it.
Within minutes, I’m pulled straight into play.
Jumping. Running. Trying to get breakfast in him (which rarely goes well).
And in the back of my mind: all the things I have to do for my day job —
a high-stress, multi-market advertising role where I manage regions, clients, and teams.
The pressure is real.
The guilt is louder.
I do school drop-off, then shift gears instantly.
Back-to-back calls. Presentations. Strategy decks.
Trying to stay sharp — while also trying to remember if I packed the right snacks in his bag.
Then: school pick-up. Nap time (which never goes to plan).
Managing tantrums and timelines at the same time.
And just as I’m closing my laptop,
I switch straight into full-on mom mode again.
My son is incredibly attached to me.
Even though we have a full-time nanny and my husband is deeply involved —
he wants me.
Which means he’s glued to me.
Physically. Emotionally. Constantly.
He jumps on me.
Pulls my hair.
Touches my face.
Demands I draw endless trucks on his writing pad.
Slaps me one moment, kisses me the next.
And I give him everything I have left.
We dance.
We eat together (one bite for him, one bite for me).
And the day rolls into bedtime — which, let’s be honest, is another marathon.
In between, I find tiny pockets of quiet.
Maybe 15 minutes when my husband takes over.
Or the half-hour when my nanny takes him for a tuk-tuk ride in our Bangkok condo complex.
In that time, I don’t meditate.
I don’t clean.
I don’t stretch.
I just… sit.
Stare into space.
And breathe.
And after bedtime — when the house is finally quiet —
I sit with myself again.
Sometimes I write.
Sometimes I scroll.
Sometimes I just think about everything I should be doing.
But mostly, I talk to my guilt.
To my anxiety.
And remind myself gently:
It’s okay. That time will come. You’re doing enough.
And then I sleep.
And it starts all over again.
This isn’t a productivity post.
There’s no secret routine.
No big takeaways.
Just this: if you’re a highly sensitive mother who feels everything,
and is trying to show up for everyone while trying not to disappear in the process —
I see you.
You’re not dramatic.
You’re not falling behind.
You’re just wired to feel.
And it’s okay here.
— Arushi