Big Girl Panties Diaries #64: Creating Margin: The Space I Didn’t Know I Desperately Needed
Once upon a burnout, I thought “margin” was just the white space on Word documents—the neat little buffer around the real content.
Turns out, I was the document. And I’d filled every inch of my life with to-dos, shoulds, and “just one more quick things” until there was no white space left—just stress smudging the edges.
I had no bandwidth. No buffer. No breath. And still, I powered through—because slowing down felt indulgent, and rest looked suspiciously like failure.
So, I did the most Type-A thing possible: I literally scheduled time to breathe.
I committed to yoga every day. Not just for fitness. Not for flexibility. But because I needed a place on the calendar that forced me to exhale. A space where someone reminded me, “Inhale… now let it go.” (And I tried. Repeatedly.)
Because left to my own devices, I forget to breathe—until my body reminds me via eye twitches, tight shoulders, and that special brand of anxiety that wakes you up at 2 a.m. wondering if you sent that email.
There were days I felt chained to my desk—even on the weekends. The harder I tried to keep up, the worse it got. I was sprinting on a hamster wheel labeled “productive,” confusing motion for progress and exhaustion for achievement. (Been there? You might want to drop the potato too.)
Somewhere along the way, I’d internalized the belief that if I wasn’t maxed out, I wasn’t doing enough. That voice? The one whispering “you should be able to handle this”? That’s “Not Enough.” And she’s a liar—but very convincing.
Yoga didn’t magically fix it. But it gave me a daily dose of margin. A structured place to feel my breath, reconnect with my body, and (on good days) unclench my jaw. It became a physical reminder that rest isn't indulgent—it's intelligent. And that sometimes, the most productive thing you can do… is nothing at all.
Because let me tell you: life does not create margin for you. You have to fight for it.
Keeping up with the medical paperwork for my daughter’s illness is insane. Welcome to the wild world of six portals that don’t talk to each other—each requiring a different login, a different format, and a different part of my soul. And that’s before you start chasing down test results, insurance approvals, or the one nurse who actually knows what’s going on.
There’s no extra time built in for that. There’s no checkbox labeled “emotional toll.” It’s just another invisible weight we carry—quietly, constantly—on top of everything else.
And then there are the school meetings. The paperwork. The emails trying to explain that when Hailey is home sick, she’s not just “home.” She’s in physical pain. She’s in bed. She’s not scrolling TikTok while dodging math homework—she’s curled up with a heating pad, trying to make it through the day.
And yet somehow, I’m expected to advocate, educate, and accommodate a system that isn’t designed for nuance. That doesn’t understand what chronic illness looks like behind closed doors. That assumes if you’re not present, you should still be producing.
And honestly? I’ve internalized some of that too. Which is exactly why I had to start building margin. On purpose. Every day. Because even freedom takes practice—especially when you’ve spent years living in survival mode.
So What Is Margin, Really?
It’s not just free time. It’s free space—mental, emotional, physical. It’s the pause between inhale and exhale. It’s the reason music has rests between notes. It’s what gives sentences their power. (Imagine this post without punctuation—exactly.)
Margin isn’t laziness. It’s leadership. It’s clarity. It’s capacity. It’s the secret ingredient behind showing up with intention instead of just surviving on adrenaline and caffeine.
Your energy says a lot—even when you’re not speaking. And when your margins are gone, everyone can feel it… especially you.
I used to think I needed to be more efficient. But what I really needed… was room.
Big Girl Panties Diaries Rule: Leave White Space—In Your Schedule, In Your Relationships, In Your Soul
It’s not the packed pages that tell the best stories. It’s the space around them that makes them readable.
So go ahead. Block the time. Take the pause. Say no. Create the breathing room you didn’t think you deserved. Because you do.
You’re not a machine. You’re a whole human. And humans need space to breathe.