Last month’s storm has come and gone, but I’m only now starting to feel just how much it took out of me.
When the weather first hit, it was clear things were going to be messy. What I didn’t fully realize at the time was the scale of it all. I found out today that the storm affected 11 different warehouses across the country at the company I work for. That meant a constant stream of moving parts behind the scenes — rerouting, rescheduling, problem-solving on the fly — all while waiting for roads to reopen and conditions to be safe enough to move again.
Once the roads did open, the real scramble began. Deliveries had to happen when and where they could, which meant over a week of off-schedule, special deliveries layered on top of already full workloads. Long days blurred into longer nights, and the extra hours quietly stacked up. You push through because the job needs to get done, the stores are waiting, and people are counting on you — but eventually, your body and mind start sending reminders that they’ve been running on empty.
I’m feeling that now.
The stress didn’t just stay at work, either. It followed me home, into my sleep, into the quiet moments where you expect to finally relax but can’t quite shut your brain off. I’m proud of the work we did and the way the team showed up under pressure, but it’s okay to admit that it came at a cost.
That’s why I’m really holding onto this coming weekend.
A friend and I are heading to San Antonio for the TMEA convention, and I’m hoping it does what it usually does — gives my brain a reset. TMEA is always a bright spot: great music, inspiring performances, and the chance to reconnect with community band friends I only get to see once a year. There’s something grounding about being around people who share your passion and remind you why you love what you do outside of the day-to-day grind.
I don’t expect all the stress to magically disappear, but I’m hopeful that a few days surrounded by music, laughter, and familiar faces will help me breathe again. Sometimes recovery doesn’t mean stopping completely — it just means stepping into a space that reminds you who you are beyond the chaos.
Here’s to rest, reconnection, and letting the storm finally pass.
