The Rhythms of Rising and Recovering

It’s October—that in-between space where the back-to-school chaos has (mostly) settled, but the holiday whirlwind is waiting right around the corner. For many of us, it’s a time when we finally exhale after getting our kids dialed in: therapies scheduled, IEPs in motion, calendars color-coded and full to the brim.

Usually, this is when I find my rhythm again. When I can breathe a little deeper, catch a bit of flow.

But this year? On top of everything else, I launched a book.
One of the happiest, most meaningful moments of my life… but also one that came with new deadlines, new commitments, and the constant hum of what’s next.

And life, as it does, didn’t pause to make room for it.

My son’s triennial IEP meeting landed right in the middle of my book launch. Piles of paperwork, phone calls, and emails, all at the exact moment I was trying to celebrate something beautiful.

Add in four program renewals (each requiring letters, photos, and justifications), a gnat invasion in my kitchen, a teenager preparing for his driving test, and the heartache of losing a beloved elderly family member— and there hasn’t been much space for recovery.

I think I’m keeping the balls in the air. I think I’m coping.
But my body knows better.

Everything is tight—my shoulders, my jaw, my hips.
All telling me the same thing: you can’t sustain the constant push.

What Does Rest and Recovery Look Like For Parents Like Us?

Lately, I’ve been asking myself what recovery even looks like in the rare-disease world.

Is it only reserved for elite athletes? Or can it exist for parents who live in a constant state of caregiving and chaos?
If we can’t take weeks or months off from the emotional and logistical weight of this life, can we still find smaller ways to release the pressure, even for a moment?

Because our bodies know.

They are brilliant protectors, wired to help us survive. When life feels like too much, our nervous systems kick into high gear — heart racing, breathing shallow, muscles braced for battle.

But we’re not meant to live there.

Those quiet pauses, the deep breaths, the still moments, they send messages to our bodies:
You can stand down now.
You’re safe.
You can rest.

Those moments of recovery allow us to rise again because we can’t rise well if we never rest.

The Rhythm of Life

Everything in nature has a rhythm.
The tides rise and fall.
The moon waxes and wanes.
Even our hearts beat in rhythm — inhale, exhale.

And yet, when life gets chaotic, rhythm is the first thing we abandon.

We push through exhaustion, silence the signals, and promise ourselves we’ll rest after.
After the appointment. After the crisis. After the report.

But what if rest isn’t something that comes after?
What if it’s something we build into our rhythm?

There’s a concept in music I love: the rest note.
Without rest, music would be nothing but noise.
It’s the pause between the notes that gives the melody its meaning.

And maybe that’s true for us, too.
The pauses—the moments we breathe, step back, and recalibrate—are what give our lives texture and shape.

Our strength is in the push and the pause.

So, if your life right now feels like one long run-on sentence without punctuation… maybe it’s time to find your rest note.

Our strength, our rising, and our recovering—they all need rhythm.

The Seasons of Motherhood

Motherhood has its seasons—especially rare motherhood.

There are seasons of planting, when we’re pouring out everything we have into therapies, appointments, and sleepless nights.
There are seasons of pruning, when we have to let go of things (even good things) because we simply can’t do it all.
There are seasons of blooming, when progress or joy peeks through the clouds.
And there are seasons of rest, when everything slows and growth happens quietly beneath the surface.

We can’t bloom year-round. Nature doesn’t, and neither can we.

Maybe this is your replenishing season, the one that doesn’t look restful, but is rebuilding you from the inside out.

Reframing Recovery

Too often, we wait for permission to rest.
We tell ourselves, once things settle down. But they rarely do.

So maybe recovery doesn’t have to wait for perfect timing.
Maybe it’s something we weave into the cracks of our real lives.

It’s not all-or-nothing.
It’s not “vacation or bust.”

It’s a rhythm of small, sacred pauses that restore us:

• A one-song recovery — sitting in your car after drop-off, letting one full song play before rushing inside.
• A digital sabbath — one hour with your phone on silent, reclaiming your attention from the noise.
• A five-minute permission slip — to cry, stretch, pray, or simply breathe without apology.
• A reconnection ritual — stepping outside to feel the air, notice the sky, remember the world beyond the next task.

These micro-recoveries count.
They change our chemistry, calm our hearts, and whisper to our nervous systems:
You’re safe. You can rest now.

The Practice, Not the Perfection

Let’s be honest, none of us are masters of this yet.

And that’s okay.

But we can start with awareness. By noticing the tension in our shoulders and asking, “What do I need right now?”

It’s a practice — a rhythm we learn through repetition.
Every time we pause, every time we breathe, we’re rebuilding resilience.

We may forget. We may fall out of sync.
But every time we return to awareness, we strengthen our rhythm.

A Sisterhood of Shared Rhythm

If you’re reading this and struggling to find your rhythm, maybe you’re just in a harder part of the song.

Somewhere out there, another rare mama is feeling the same way, maybe sitting in a hospital room, maybe driving to therapy, maybe washing dishes late at night. She’s tired too.

Even if we’ve never met, we’re connected in this shared melody—this rhythm of rising, resting, and rising again.

You are part of a sisterhood that understands.
You are not alone in this.

Closing Reflections

We can’t always control what life throws our way.
The calm seasons never last as long as we hope, and the storms never seem to wait their turn.

So maybe the goal isn’t to find perfect balance —but to make space for breathing room in the imbalance.

To build recovery into the cracks of our real lives.
To protect what’s sacred.
To listen when our bodies whisper, enough.

You don’t have to earn your rest.
You don’t have to justify your pause.

You deserve a rhythm that restores you, not one that depletes you.
You deserve to breathe through this season, not battle your way through it.
You deserve to rise again— restored, not exhausted.

So this week, find one small rhythm of recovery like a walk, a laugh, a quiet prayer.
Even five minutes can reset your rhythm.

Let’s recover before we rise again.

In it together,

To listen to this blog as a podcast episode, check out Rare Mamas Rising Episode 53