When You’re the Calm in Everyone Else’s Storm (and It’s Too Much)

There comes a point when being the calm in the room starts to feel like a weight.

A quiet, exhausting kind of heaviness.

Because sometimes, we’re not calm. We’re holding it together. We’re absorbing energy, navigating chaos, keeping the peace, and stuffing down our own emotions just to make it through another hour.

I know what that feels like. I’ve lived there.

The Invisible Labor of Staying Regulated

Teachers, parents, caregivers—we carry so much that no one sees.

We are the tone-setters. The emotional anchors. The ones breathing through meltdowns, de-escalating power struggles, and absorbing frustration that was never ours to begin with.

And while we’re proud to be the calm, sometimes we’re also:

• The tired

• The dysregulated on the inside

• The emotionally spent

It takes energy to co-regulate. It takes so much more to do it over and over without refilling.

A Personal Moment I Still Remember

There was a day I stood in the middle of my classroom after a particularly hard morning. One student had screamed at me. Another had run out. A third was curled in the calm corner sobbing. A parent had just yelled at me in front of my paraprofessionals and students. My principal had just emailed me, reprimanding me for things some of my para's had done. My personal life was just as stressful; I had recently left an abusive marriage and was now raising my child who was medically dependent and neurodivergent as a single Momma.

And I just stood there, trying not to cry.

Not because I was mad. But because I was done.

It took everything, every fiber of my being, to not walk out the door and not look back.

Everyone needed me to be okay. But I wasn’t.

That’s the part no one prepares you for. When your nervous system is already tapped out, but the needs keep coming. When you’re the container for everyone else’s storm, and you’re starting to leak.

What I’ve Learned (the Hard Way)

Being the calm doesn’t mean you’re never allowed to fall apart. It means you have to build systems of care for yourself, too. 10 years ago I was not doing that, actually I was doing the EXACT opposite of that. I was isolating in my depression and self medicating with alcohol just to numb it all out. But, thankfully these days are different.

Here’s what that looks like for me now:

• Naming when I’m at capacity (even just to myself)

• Letting go of the pressure to fix every emotion

• Asking for support before I’m in crisis

• Having a reset plan for me, not just the kids. Sometimes this is going for a walk during lunch, sometimes it's finding a friend to laugh with when I don't think I can.

A Gentle Invitation

If you’ve been the calm for everyone lately, I want to ask:

Who is your calm?

Where do you go to regulate, release, and feel safe again?

You deserve a soft place to land, too.

Let this be a reminder that you don’t have to carry it all alone. You can rest. You can refill. You can step out of the storm—even for a moment.

You are not failing because you feel overwhelmed. You are not broken because your patience runs thin. You are not weak for needing rest.

You’re human. And even the strongest anchors need grounding.

Take a breath. Then take one for you.

We’ll keep showing up—but not at the cost of ourselves.

You are allowed to be held, too.