Three years ago I was sitting on the cold bathroom floor in my two bedroom apartment sobbing. I was a waitress at the time working opposite shifts with my fiancé so we could care for out infant daughter. Watching her during the day and waiting tables in the evening. So burnt out from working, spread so thin with responsibilities I was left feeling broken. The only place I felt safe was that bathroom floor curled up. Alone.
How could I maintain this life? Its not possible - something has to give. I just couldn’t keep working myself to death, it wasn’t heathy for me, my daughter, or my relationship.
Continue reading