8. Why I Cried Over a Sandwich

It was just a sandwich.
Nothing fancy—just two slices of bread, a smear of peanut butter, and a sad banana I found at the back of the fruit bowl. But I’d been looking forward to it all morning. It was going to be my little break, my one uninterrupted moment of peace.

But of course, it didn’t go that way.

The baby started crying just as I sat down. The toddler spilled her juice all over the floor. The dog threw up on the rug (seriously, why?). And in the chaos of it all, I dropped the sandwich. Peanut butter side down, naturally. Right onto the floor.

And I just stood there and cried.

Not a graceful, misty-eyed movie cry. No. This was a full-on, snotty, heaving, hands-on-the-counter kind of meltdown.

Because it wasn’t really about the sandwich, was it?

It was about being touched-out and sleep-deprived. About doing a hundred invisible things every day and still feeling like I was falling short. It was about pouring every ounce of energy into these little people and realizing I hadn’t eaten or peed or sat down in hours.

That sandwich was just the final straw.

But here’s what I’ve learned in the time since: crying over a sandwich doesn’t make you weak. It doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means you’re carrying so much—the physical work, the emotional load, the mental gymnastics of keeping it all together. And sometimes, it all needs to leak out.

So if you’ve ever cried over a sandwich—or a spilled coffee or a forgotten load of laundry—you’re not alone. We’re not losing it. We’re just human. Tender, stretched-thin, deeply loving humans trying our best.

And maybe next time, I’ll eat my sandwich standing over the sink. But I’ll eat it with grace. And maybe a side of dark chocolate.

Because honestly? We deserve that.