I’m Tired of Being Strong

I’m tired.

Not the kind of tired that a good night’s sleep will fix. Not the kind of tired that comes from having a busy week or too many things on the calendar.

I’m talking about a kind of tired that I can’t even explain anymore. Hell, I can’t even make sense of it in my own head.

I’m tired of worrying. I’m tired of trying to get ahead. I’m tired of feeling like every time we finally start making progress, something happens that knocks us right back down. I’m tired of trying to figure out how to make everything work.

And I’m really, really tired of being told how strong I am.

I know I’m strong. I know I can handle difficult things.

I’ve been handling difficult things for most of my life. I don’t need another reminder that I’ll get through whatever life throws at me.

I already know I’ll get through it. I always do.

But when do I get to stop getting through things and actually enjoy living?

I’m Tired of Starting Over

For the better part of two years, it feels like my family has been trying to get our heads above water.

Every time we think we’re finally making progress, something happens.

A job change. A reduction in income. An unexpected medical situation. Time off work without pay. Another bill we weren’t expecting. Another setback we have to figure out how to recover from.

Earlier this year, my son went into the hospital for what was supposed to be a two-day stay.

Eighteen days later, he finally came home. Then there was another week of recovery before he could return to school.

Later, my knee decided it was going to make life miserable until I finally had surgery. Two more weeks without working. And because I was employed through a staffing agency, there was no paid time off to fall back on for either situation. No paycheck for the days I couldn’t work.

Even holidays were frustrating. I wasn’t allowed to work, but I wasn’t getting paid for them either.

Meanwhile, the bills didn’t stop coming. The mortgage didn’t care that my son had been hospitalized. The car payments didn’t care that I needed surgery. The grocery store didn’t care that I missed two weeks of income.

Life just kept moving. And somehow, we were supposed to keep up.

We’d get a little closer to catching up, and then something else would happen.

Over and over and over again.

I’m not asking for a life where nothing ever goes wrong. I know that’s unrealistic.

I just want a life where every unexpected problem doesn’t feel like it could cost us everything.

The Decisions I Can’t Stop Replaying

Here’s the part that’s especially difficult for me to admit.

I blame myself. Not for my son’s hospitalization. Not for needing knee surgery.

But for the financial position our family was already in when those things happened.

In the fall of 2024, I left a job where I was making $66,000 a year.

I had my reasons. I was becoming resentful of the very people I was supposed to be helping. I was burned out. It was affecting my work, and I knew something needed to change.

So I made a decision. A decision my husband understood and supported. A decision he still tells me he doesn’t blame me for.

But that decision started a series of job changes and pay cuts that have affected our family ever since.

I’m finally somewhere I’m happy again. I love what I’m doing now. I love the investigative side of accounting. I love figuring out what went wrong and how to fix it.

But I make less money than I used to.

And because my hours vary depending on appointments and everything else happening in our lives, some weeks that difference is substantial.

I think about what an extra $200 or $300 a week would mean to our family.

That’s groceries. That’s money toward a past-due bill. That’s breathing room.

And when things get tight, my brain starts doing what it does best.

Replaying everything.

What if I hadn’t left? What if I’d stayed just a little longer? What if I’d made a different decision? Would we still be struggling like this?

I know I can’t answer those questions. I know I made the decision with the information I had at the time. I know I couldn’t have predicted everything that would happen afterward. And I know my husband doesn’t blame me.

But knowing something in my heart and convincing my brain to believe it are two entirely different things.

Welcome to another episode of Danece’s Heart and Brain Are Fighting.

And lately? 

My brain has been winning.

The Accountant Who’s Afraid People Will Find Out

There’s another part of this that I haven’t really wanted to talk about publicly.

I’m embarrassed. 

I’m an accountant. I spend my days working with financial records, reconciling accounts, investigating discrepancies, and helping businesses understand what their numbers are telling them.

And then I go home and look at our own finances.

I know what’s wrong. I know what needs to happen. I know which bills need to be paid and how far behind we are.

What I don’t always have is the money to fix it.

And I’m terrified of people finding out. Because what are they going to think?

She’s an accountant, but she can’t even manage her own household finances?

How am I supposed to build a business helping other people with their financial records when my own family is struggling?

I know that’s not a fair comparison.

Knowing how to manage money doesn’t magically create income that isn’t there.

You can’t budget your way out of every financial hardship when there simply isn’t enough coming in.

I understand that. Professionally, I understand it perfectly. Personally? That’s a different story.

Because when it’s your own family, the numbers aren’t just numbers.

They’re the house you don’t want to lose. The vehicles you need to get to work. The groceries you have to buy. The sports your children want to participate in. The opportunities you want to give them.

They’re the things that keep you awake at night. And sometimes I feel like I’m failing at the very thing I’m supposed to be good at.

Another Business. Another Chance to Fail.

Over the years, I’ve started more businesses than I care to admit.

Scentsy. Advocare. On Target Bookkeeping Solutions. On Target Tax Services. Sugar Shack Bake Shop. LegacyMakerCo.

Every single one started with some combination of excitement, encouragement, and hope.

Somebody told me I had a great idea. Somebody told me my baked goods were good enough to sell. Somebody told me my crafts were fantastic.

And I believed them.

I invested money. I invested time. I invested myself.

And then the customers didn’t come.

People who encouraged me to start a business didn’t necessarily become the people who supported it.

Sometimes that hurt more than the money I lost.

Especially when it was someone close to me.

Every adventure ended up costing more than it earned.

Every time, I had to accept that something I’d been excited about wasn’t working.

And every time, I had to figure out what came next.

Now I’m building Anchor Accounting Solutions.

And I’m excited. Really excited.

I’m creating something based on work I genuinely enjoy and knowledge I’ve spent years developing. I’m doing everything I can to keep the costs low. I’m building forms and calculators myself. I’m using tools I already have. I’m trying to learn from everything that didn’t work before.

But there’s still that voice in the back of my head.

What if this one fails, too? What if all these hours are for nothing? What if you’re getting your hopes up again?

Some days, I can ignore it.

Other days, like today, I can barely bring myself to open the projects I’m supposed to be working on.

And then I feel guilty about that, too.

Because how is Anchor supposed to succeed if I’m not working on it?

But how am I supposed to keep working on it when I’m mentally exhausted from everything else?

It’s a vicious cycle.

And apparently, my brain doesn’t believe in taking a damn day off.

Trying to Believe in Something Again

As if building one business weren’t enough, my husband and I are preparing to launch another.

Tipp’s Top Dogs.

A hot dog business.

Because apparently we looked at our lives and decided two businesses simultaneously sounded like a reasonable idea.

What could possibly go wrong? 😂

But this one is different. This is something my husband wants.

He’s spent years supporting my ideas, my adventures, and all the things I’ve wanted to try.

Now he has something he’s excited about. He wants to sell hot dogs to the community he’s grown to love.

Nothing complicated. Nothing extravagant.

Just a business he can enjoy.

And I want that for him so badly.

I want him to succeed. I want to be the one cheering him on and helping him build something he’s proud of.

We’re even planning to use money from selling his car to help purchase and prepare the trailer.

And while I’m excited about what that could mean for our future, I’m also struggling with the circumstances that brought us to that decision.

Because part of me sees another sacrifice.

Another thing we’re giving up in hopes of creating something better.

And I am so tired of sacrificing things today for a future that never seems to arrive.

I want both businesses to succeed.

Of course I do.

But I also know there’s no guarantee.

And after everything we’ve been through financially, putting our hope into two new ventures feels both exciting and terrifying.

What if this is finally what helps us get ahead? What if it isn’t?

I wish I could just be excited without that second question following me everywhere.

I’m Grateful. I’m Angry. I’m Exhausted.

Here’s where my faith comes into all of this.

Because I do believe God has a plan. I believe in His timing.

And I can look back at the last two years and see how certain decisions led me to places I never expected.

If I hadn’t left Bookkeepers.com, would I have pursued my MBA in Project Management? Would I have ended up working at ZED? Would I have discovered how much I love forensic accounting? Would I be considering another degree and pursuing my CPA? Would Anchor Accounting Solutions even exist?

I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not.

But I can see how the path I’ve taken has shaped the person I’m becoming. And I’m grateful for that. I really am.

But can I be grateful and still be angry about how difficult the journey has been? Can I appreciate where God has brought me while wondering why getting here had to hurt so much? Can I trust His timing and still wish He’d hurry the hell up?

Because that’s where I am.

I’ve heard people say God gives His toughest battles to His strongest soldiers.

Well, if that’s the case, I’d like to respectfully request a transfer to a less demanding assignment.

Seriously. Haven’t I been through enough?

I wrote an entire series about the things I’ve experienced from my teenage years into adulthood.

The struggles. The heartbreak. The mistakes. The things I’ve survived.

And now here I am, writing another series about the things I’m struggling through in real time.

At what point do I get to stop collecting stories about surviving difficult things? When do I get to start collecting stories about simply enjoying my life?

I’m not asking for perfection. I’m not asking to be wealthy. 

I’m asking for a little stability. A little peace. A little room to breathe.

And maybe a few months where nothing catches on fire. Figuratively speaking, of course.

Although at this point, I wouldn’t put anything past the remainder of 2026.

I Don’t Want Another Lesson in Strength

I saw something on Instagram recently that stopped me in my tracks.

It was about being tired of hearing that you’ll get through whatever you’re facing. Because you already know you will.

You’ve done it before. You’ll do it again.

But nobody talks enough about how exhausting it is to spend your life constantly surviving something.

And I felt every word of that.

Because I don’t need someone to tell me I’m strong. 

My mom tells me she’s amazed at how I manage everything. Other people have commented on how organized I am.

How I keep track of five schedules. How I juggle work, school, the kids, activities, and everything else.

And I appreciate those compliments.

But sometimes I want to ask: Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep doing all of this?

Because I don’t always feel strong.

Sometimes I struggle to do the simplest things around the house. Sometimes I can’t concentrate. Sometimes I just want to sit and write instead of working on another project. Sometimes I don’t want to look at the calendar. Sometimes I don’t want to make another decision. 

And sometimes I wish somebody would just ask how my day was.

Not because they need something. Not because there’s a problem to solve.

Just because they want to talk to me.

I have a husband who loves me and supports me. I know that. And I love him more than I can explain.

But sometimes even he doesn’t understand why something that seems small to him feels enormous to me.

And when I can’t explain it properly, I end up feeling even more alone.

I don’t need someone to live my life for me. I actually like my life.

I love my family. I love my work. I love the things we’re trying to build.

I just wish living the life I love didn’t feel so damn hard all the time.

I Just Want to Breathe

If I woke up tomorrow and every bill was current, our income was stable, and I knew we weren’t at risk of losing anything, I don’t think all my worries would disappear.

I wouldn’t suddenly forget the decisions I’ve made. I wouldn’t stop regretting some of the money I’ve spent. I wouldn’t magically forgive myself for every mistake I think I’ve made.

But I would feel relief. And right now, relief sounds pretty incredible.

I could look at the bank account without immediately calculating what needs to be paid next. I could think about paying down debt instead of figuring out how to catch up. I could stop worrying about whether we can afford the kids’ activities.

Maybe we could finally get Jonathan those golf lessons he’s been wanting.

I could work on Anchor because I love the idea of what it could become, without feeling like our financial future depends on whether it succeeds. I could be excited about Tipp’s Top Dogs without worrying that we’re making another expensive mistake.

And maybe that little voice in my head, the one that keeps blaming me for everything that’s happened since 2024, would finally get a little quieter.

Not disappear. Just quiet down enough that I could hear something other than regret.

Because that’s what I want.

Not a perfect life. Not a life without responsibilities. Not a life where somebody else takes care of everything.

I just want to stop feeling like we’re one unexpected expense away from another crisis. I want to stop waking up wondering what problem we’re going to have to solve today. I want to stop feeling guilty for decisions I can’t go back and change. And I want to stop treating every difficult day as another test of how much I can handle.

I’m proud of the things I’ve accomplished. I’m proud that I finished my MBA. I’m proud that I’ve found work I genuinely enjoy. 

I’m excited about the businesses we’re building.

I have a lot to be thankful for. I know that. But being thankful doesn’t mean I’m not exhausted.

And being strong doesn’t mean I don’t sometimes wish I could fall apart without worrying about what would happen next.

I don’t want another lesson in resilience. I don’t want another opportunity to prove how much I can survive. I don’t want someone to tell me that everything happens for a reason and that someday I’ll understand why.

Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t.

Right now, I just want things to get a little easier.

I want to enjoy what we’ve worked so hard to build instead of constantly worrying about how we’re going to keep it. I want to stop looking backward and blaming myself. I want to look forward without being afraid to hope.

And more than anything?

I’m tired of being strong because I’m tired of needing to be.

I don’t know when things will get easier. I don’t know whether Anchor will succeed. I don’t know what Tipp’s Top Dogs will become. I don’t know when we’ll finally feel financially stable. And I don’t know how long it’ll take before I stop blaming myself for the decisions that brought us here.

I wish I did.

But today, I don’t have some profound realization that makes all of this okay.

I’m still worried. I’m still hopeful. I’m still angry. I’m still grateful. And I’m still trying to figure out how all those feelings can exist in the same damn person at the same time.

They do, though. And right now, I’m just really tired.