Chapter 1: Embracing Technology for Wellness

I recently acquired an Apple Watch — not the most extravagant model, but the SE version that was on sale. I find it delightful! The vibrant graphics and gentle reminders encourage me to acknowledge my worth, my hard work, and my potential for greatness, making it as easy to check the time as it is to feel uplifted. It has transformed my outlook on life. Previously, I often felt down, but I've stumbled upon a valuable insight that I want to share with you.

I’ve paired my Apple Watch with an app called Pillow, another remarkable tool that assists me in monitoring my sleep patterns. As I age, I find myself waking up more frequently at night. This can be unsettling, especially with all the alarming research about the adverse health effects of poor sleep in older adults. Pillow now connects to my Apple Watch and informs me about my sleep quality. To my surprise, I maintain a solid B average, with my sleep quality hovering around 84 percent. I had anticipated worse results, but I still strive for improvement. My goal is to achieve A-level sleep.

When I check my sleep statistics each morning, Pillow prompts me to log my overall mood using one of four options: Good, OK, Bad, or I don’t know. There are corresponding emojis to help express my feelings. On days when I score a B, I typically select the “OK” emoji, and I opt for “Bad” on days when my score dips below 80 percent. This often reflects my true emotions. However, I’ve noticed that my B rating can weigh on me and influence my mood. When I pause to reflect, I often find myself landing on “I don’t know.” I’m caught in a spectrum of feelings, appreciating the calm of a rainy day while feeling down about my dog’s ear infection. I look forward to my child’s soccer game but feel frustrated over a conversation with my spouse. I’m annoyed by the dirty laundry scattered around and anxious about the weeds overtaking my flower beds. I question my identity and find myself worried about the concept of love and the reality of mortality.

I once heard that cancer can surface seven years after a traumatic event. While I don’t believe that without scientific evidence, it did give me a way to gauge my emotional state back then. The idea of a seven-year timeline helped me assess whether my sadness and anxiety from challenging years amounted to trauma. I had a specific event in mind, and I began to feel for lumps and fevers.

Eight years ago, I welcomed my fourth child. He is a radiant little boy with a charming freckled nose, an enchanting personality, and an endlessly cheerful disposition. My husband and I cherish that birth with all our hearts. However, his unexpected arrival in an already crowded life — for a woman who thought she could handle more and a man who believed he couldn't — made everything feel quite overwhelming.

Picture this: Two heavy bags of birdseed, three unwieldy boxes of groceries from Costco, a giant bottle of laundry detergent, a large pack of diapers, paper towels, a toddler, and a newborn were all waiting in an idling minivan at the top of our long driveway during a particularly harsh winter, seven years ago. After a storm had passed, my husband had left on a four-day business trip to Haiti, where he would be doing meaningful work — a trip I couldn’t resent. The pines lining our driveway had shed their icy, sticky branches, creating a treacherous obstacle.

I felt paralyzed. The chickens were out of food and needed to be fed. The groceries needed to make their way into the kitchen. The baby in the car seat would soon cry for my attention. My toddler, full of energy and ideas, posed a potential danger to his sibling or could accidentally set the unmonitored car rolling down the steep driveway. Leaving the baby in the car alone, so close to the road, felt wrong as I juggled the tasks of carrying items to their respective places while keeping an eye on my toddler.

So, I decided to tackle everything at once. I hoisted a bag of chicken feed onto my shoulder, balanced the car seat on my other arm, and encouraged my toddler to grab a box of milk, praising him, “You’re so strong, buddy!” I carefully navigated the icy path, urging my toddler to do the same. We made our way to the coop, where I filled the feeder as both children began to cry, overwhelmed by the cold and the sticky pine sap clinging to my toddler. I took the baby and the milk inside, leaving them by the front door. I bundled my toddler up and made several trips back to the car, promising him hot chocolate topped with marshmallows, whipped cream, and sprinkles.

You might have expected me to conclude with a story of trauma or loss. Yet, life continued on. It wasn’t a significant event in the grand scheme of things, but something within me felt slightly fractured. With four children, my life has been filled with countless moments like this one, and perhaps this particular experience nudged me over an emotional edge. It’s a paradox of feeling impossibly overwhelmed yet capable of overcoming these challenges, leaving room for self-pity and then frustration for feeling that way.

Every mother I know (and likely many fathers too) has experienced this kind of despair. It’s a privileged yet isolating sorrow that can’t be wished away, knowing these moments are often the best of our lives while feeling utterly unmanageable. It’s these contradictions that create small traumas repeatedly, leading to insecurities that manifest as an annoying tendency to cling to unfounded doom predictions.

Nonetheless, one would expect that such stress could lead to health issues over time. A friend of mine who conducts cancer research at the National Institute of Health once told me that we all harbor problematic cells — fleeting cancers that come and go. Most of them aren’t concerning unless they linger. Illnesses ebb and flow, as do people in our lives. Reflecting on our bodies and their peculiarities can be disheartening. This whole existence is fleeting and largely beyond our control.

However, last Saturday, I awoke to a score of 91 percent. It felt significant to declare myself “Good,” especially amidst the chaos and uncertainty of life. I enjoyed a lovely day, holding onto that “Good” feeling close to my wrist and heart. The following day, I woke to a score of 72 — too many kids in bed on a warm night. I hesitated between “OK” and “Good,” finally selecting “Good.”

Chapter 2: Finding Balance Amidst Chaos

The first video, "Happy Happy Totally Tuesday!!," offers insights on embracing joy amidst life's challenges. This lighthearted exploration reminds us to find happiness in the little things.

The second video, "Happy Totally Tuesday!," encourages viewers to celebrate each day and find moments of joy, even when life feels overwhelming.