I once read that juggling is about keeping all the balls in the air, but whoever said that clearly didn’t have kids, a dog, a tutoring job, a household to run, a book to write, and Christmas looming on the horizon like a glittering, tinsel-strewn freight train.

Balancing writing with life is less like juggling and more like trying to play chess while someone pelts you with marshmallows. There’s strategy in there somewhere, but mostly, it’s a battle to stay upright while the chaos rages on.

The Writer’s Time Conundrum

Every morning, I wake up filled with noble intentions: Today, I shall write 1000 glorious words! Create characters so compelling that readers will swoon! Unleash my inner genius! But first, the dog needs walking, the kitchen’s a tip, and my tutoring students would probably appreciate me turning up on time and prepared.

Then there’s the other stuff—the unending list of tiny tyrannies that demand attention. Does anyone else feel personally victimised by the laundry basket? Or by the fact that as soon as you’ve cleaned the kitchen, someone will appear, obliviously crunching a biscuit, leaving a trail of crumbs in their wake?

The Emotional Balancing Act

Let’s not forget the emotional labour. Writing requires a certain level of immersion, but so does being emotionally present for my family. My husband deserves more than a distracted grunt when he asks how my day went. My kids need more than the occasional “That’s nice, babes!” while I type furiously in the background.

And then there’s Christmas. It’s the season of joy and goodwill, but also endless to-do lists, carol concerts, and the annual debate over whether this is the year we finally organise the cupboard under the stairs (spoiler: we don’t).

The (Occasionally Wobbly) Tightrope

What I’ve learned is that balance is less about perfect division and more about letting go of the myth that you can do it all. Some days, I nail it. Other days, I accidentally yell at the dog for being in the way when, in truth, I’m just overwhelmed.

And that’s okay. It’s OK to drop a ball now and then. It’s OK to have a day where the words won’t come, the house is a mess, and dinner is chicken nuggets for the fourth night in a row. It’s okay to feel the weight of everything—that simmering frustration when someone asks, “Where’s my drink?” while you’re in the middle of solving approximately 17 other problems.

Being overwhelmed doesn’t mean you’re failing; it means you’re human. We don’t often talk about the way the little things pile up—the socks that didn’t make it to the laundry basket, the email you forgot to reply to, the Christmas cards you haven’t even bought yet—until they feel insurmountable. It’s not the big disasters that get to me; it’s the steady drip-drip-drip of a thousand tiny demands.

Sometimes, I wonder if it’s me, if I’m just not as capable as other people. But then I remind myself: those other people? They’re dropping balls too. You just don’t see them when they’re scrolling Instagram in their pyjamas, eating cereal for lunch, and pretending they’ve got it all together.

So, when the overwhelm hits, I take a step back (or, more realistically, I shut myself in the bathroom for five minutes and breathe). I remind myself that not every day has to be productive or perfect. Sometimes, survival is the win. A half-written chapter is still progress. Beige freezer tapas is still food. And a messy house is still a home filled with people who (usually) love you, even when you’re frazzled and snappy.

How to Keep Writing Without Losing It

Here’s the thing: writing is what keeps me grounded, even when everything else feels wobbly. It’s my therapy, my escape, and my joy (when it’s not being a stubborn, uncooperative monster). So, I find pockets of time—early mornings, Wednesdays in Caffe Nero, the sacred 15 minutes while the dog naps and the kettle boils.

And I try to be kind to myself. I remind myself that creativity isn’t about perfection; it’s about showing up, messy and imperfect, and doing the best you can.

So, if you’re also balancing a million things this season, know this: you’re not alone. We’re all out here, wobbling along together. Some days we write. Some days we don’t. Some days we conquer Christmas like the festive heroes we are. And some days, we hide in the bathroom with a cup of tea and a biscuit, just to catch our breath.