I don’t have this figured out. Let’s just start there.

People keep telling me I need a better work-life balance. As if I’ve never heard that one before. I usually just smile, nod and mentally add it to the growing list of things I’m supposed to be doing better — right next to drinking more water and folding the laundry the same day I wash it.

The truth? Most days, I feel like I’m barely keeping up. I’m stretched thin, running between work commitments, Farm Bureau events, late-night emails, community meetings and farm life — and somewhere in the chaos, I’m also supposed to be raising good humans, maintaining a marriage and feeding a barn full of animals that don’t care whether I slept last night or not.

In agriculture, “balance” isn’t just a nice idea — it feels like an impossible one. The cows don’t wait for your schedule to clear. The tractor always breaks down when you’re already running late. Planting doesn’t pause for ball games, and hay doesn’t care if it’s Sunday. And when you’re someone who cares deeply — about the land, the people, the work and your family — it’s hard to know what to put down without feeling like you’re letting someone down.

There’s this image we’re sold — especially as women — that balance is achievable if we just try hard enough. That if we organize our calendars, make a meal plan, set better boundaries or download the right productivity app, we can find the magical formula.

But here’s what I’ve found: balance feels like a moving target. And right now, I’m still chasing it with one boot on, a to-do list in my hand and a whole lot of guilt riding shotgun.

I wish this were one of those “I’ve learned to let go” pieces. But the truth is, I haven’t — not really. I still wrestle with saying no. I still overcommit. I still wonder if I’m dropping the ball in places that matter most. I still don’t know how to rest without guilt or to practice self-care.

But I am learning a few things. Like how important it is to check in with the people closest to me — and with myself — even when things feel chaotic. I’m learning that sometimes, something’s gotta give, and it’s okay if it’s not the thing I thought it would be. I’m learning that asking for help isn’t a weakness — it’s survival. Especially when your life involves juggling kids, meetings and farm needs.

Maybe balance isn’t the goal, after all. Maybe it’s just surviving some seasons and holding on tight during the messy ones. Maybe it’s about showing up, even when you’re tired, and doing your best with what you’ve got — and letting that be enough.

I don’t have a ribbon-wrapped lesson to end this with. No five-step plan or inspirational quote. Just a reminder that if you feel like you’re failing at the work-life balance game, you’re not alone. Some of us are still knee-deep in mud, feeding calves in the dark, checking voicemails at the ball field and figuring it out one chaotic day at a time.

And maybe, for now, that’s enough.

Orahood is the organization director at Ohio Farm Bureau Federation for Ashtabula, Geauga, Lake and Trumbull counties.