Some days, I catch myself wishing I were a Rockefeller. This week? Absolutely one of those days. Because if I had Rockefeller money, I’d be sipping something chilled while a small army of professionals handled everything I’ve been doing myself.

Instead, here I am, hands dry and swollen, covered in paint splatters, muscles screaming, and a to-do list that somehow multiplies every time I blink.

The last few days have been a blur of Project: Get This House Market-Ready. I’ve been packing, sorting, donating, tossing, and silently wondering how I managed to accumulate this much stuff. Add in scrubbing windows, sanding, and painting closet doors, railings, and deck floors, you name it, I’ve probably painted it. And yet, there’s still more to do.

On the bright side, I’ve got a well-orchestrated lineup: the affordable plumber is scheduled (again), the carpet cleaner is booked, the house cleaners are locked in, and the neighbor’s boys will be here next Saturday to lay ground cover in the yard. We’re eight days out from go-time, and I feel like I’m starring in my own DIY home improvement show. Spoiler alert: there’s no camera crew, no prize money, and definitely no catering.

Naturally, in the middle of this chaos, I’m also packing for another business conference. Because what’s better than adding a little high-pressure, investor-watching, performance-driven stress to an already overloaded schedule? I’ll be gone for three of the next eight days, perfect timing, right? Nothing like leaving a half-done house to go pitch a game-changing solution to clients who must fall in love with it. Investors are holding their breath for the first PO. No pressure. Totally fine. Everything’s fine.

Oh, and let’s not forget, I have the March closing review with my boss tomorrow. Prep time options include: sometime between midnight and sunrise, or crammed into my flight today. Either way, sleep is now a luxury I read about in magazines.

Now, let’s talk strategy. On Friday, I carved out a small pocket of sanity and treated myself to a manicure and pedicure. Because if I have to look like I’ve got it all together, I might as well have polished nails to complete the illusion. While sitting in that massage chair pretending I didn’t have 47 things waiting for me, I pulled out my notebook and wrote a master list—every room, every task, all laid out.

And no, I didn’t write it just for me. That list is now sitting prominently on the kitchen counter. Why? So the Ex—bless him—can focus on what actually needs to be done, instead of drifting off to tackle some invisible passion project no one will notice during a walkthrough. I love initiative, but no one’s buying this house because the tools are perfectly organized in the garage. Let’s keep our eyes on the prize, team.

Somewhere between the paintbrushes and the financial variance puzzles, I’ve found these little moments of grace, usually in the form of my sisters and friends. My circle of ride-or-die women has been everything. They show up with laughter, support, perspective, and when needed, a little tough love. Sometimes, you just have to put down the brush, shut the laptop, and remember what really matters.

We’re all navigating something, heartbreak, healing, high-stakes work, or some beautiful, chaotic combo of all three. What gets me through? The shared strength of women who know how to rebuild, reimagine, and rise again.

If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t be here – paint-covered, sleep-deprived, but somehow still moving forward, checking boxes, chasing goals, and showing up with polished nails and a whole lot of grit.