How to stop overcommitting starts with one realization: the people you love deserve your time—but the woman holding the calendar does too.

How to Stop Overcommitting: My Calendar Is Full of Everyone but Me

There was a season of my life when I genuinely believed I could fit one more thing into my calendar.

One more committee meeting? Sure. Could I bake cookies? Absolutely. Help decorate for the fundraiser? I’d be happy to. Organize volunteers? Of course. At the time, all those little yeses didn’t feel like sacrifices. They felt like opportunities.

And truthfully, I loved them.

I loved being involved in my children’s schools. I loved watching their faces light up when I walked into a classroom for a party or field trip. I loved the friendships that grew around folding tables while a group of mothers stuffed envelopes, wrapped raffle baskets, or tried to turn a school cafeteria into something vaguely festive.

I loved helping at church. I loved fundraisers. I loved being part of something bigger than myself. If somebody needed a dessert, a volunteer, a phone call made, a basket assembled, or another pair of hands, mine were usually already in the air.

What I didn’t understand then was that calendars rarely become overwhelming all at once.

They fill up one cheerful yes at a time.

Somewhere Along the Way, I Became a Professional Volunteer

Our house was wonderfully chaotic in those years. My oldest was beginning high school while my youngest was still in preschool, and everybody in between seemed to be going in a different direction.

One child needed a ride to soccer. Another had a science project due. Somebody had forgotten a permission slip. Someone else couldn’t find a sneaker that had apparently disappeared into another dimension.

I’m convinced there is a secret location in every family home where single socks, permission slips, library books, and left sneakers gather for meetings.

I never found it.

Somehow, while raising eight children, I also became what can only be described as a professional volunteer. I started as a Room Mother because it sounded fun. Then came the PTO, book fairs, magazine sales, candle fundraisers, teacher-appreciation lunches, holiday shops, and just about anything involving folding tables and a sign-up sheet.

Apparently, I Had Scheduled All of This Myself

I remember one Saturday morning sitting down with my planner and a cup of chai, expecting to organize my day.

Instead, I started laughing.

Nine o’clock: parish meeting. Eleven o’clock: soccer game. One o’clock: pick up cupcakes. Three o’clock: school fundraiser. Five-thirty: BRING APPETIZER. Seven o’clock: another meeting.

Somewhere between all of that, I was also supposed to grocery shop, wash uniforms, answer emails, make dinner, and remember which child needed poster board by Monday morning.

I stared at the planner for a full minute and then looked around the kitchen to see if another adult happened to live there who might be handling some of this.

There wasn’t.

Apparently, I had confidently assigned the entire day to myself.

And here’s the thing I’ve come to understand about that woman: nobody was forcing her to do all of it. People weren’t taking advantage of her. They were simply asking for help.

I was the one answering.

And Then There Was the Cream Cheese

One afternoon from those years sums it up perfectly.

I stopped at the grocery store because my list insisted I needed cream cheese. Why I needed cream cheese was anybody’s guess, but it was written in my own handwriting, so apparently at some earlier point I had considered it essential.

As I reached into the dairy case, my phone rang.

“Hi, Cheryl! Just wanted to make sure you’re bringing dessert tonight.”

Dessert.

Ohhhhhhh.

The dessert.

The dessert I had lovingly baked that morning and proudly left sitting on my kitchen counter.

I thanked her, hung up, abandoned the cream cheese, drove home for the dessert, and then returned to the grocery store because I still needed the cream cheese for whatever mysterious role it was playing in my life.

And here’s the funniest part: none of this seemed particularly unusual.

This was simply how I lived.

Looking back, I’m amazed I remembered my own name.

I Don’t Regret Those Years

It would be easy to look back now and decide I said yes too often.

Maybe sometimes I did.

But I don’t regret those years.

Some of my dearest friendships grew out of those classrooms, committees, fundraisers, and church halls. I laughed with wonderful women while decorating bulletin boards, wrapping raffle baskets, setting up chairs, pouring drinks, selling tickets, and figuring out how we were possibly going to pull off whatever we’d volunteered to do.

We watched one another’s children grow up. We shared recipes and carpools, worries and celebrations. We showed up for each other when life got hard.

Those years gave me far more than a crowded calendar.

They gave me community.

That’s why I’ve never been particularly interested in becoming a woman who automatically says no. Generosity is part of who I am. Showing up matters to me. Helping people makes my life richer.

But I’ve learned something that the woman racing home for the forgotten dessert didn’t understand yet.

A meaningful yes still costs something.

It costs time. It costs energy. It costs attention. And no matter how generous we are, those things aren’t unlimited.

Then I Saw What Was Missing

For years, almost every square on my calendar belonged to somebody I loved.

My children. Their schools. Church. Family. Friends. Work. Community. Everybody had a place.

Everybody except me.

Not because I thought I didn’t matter. It honestly never occurred to me that I should reserve space for myself too.

If there was an empty afternoon, I saw an opening. Surely something useful could go there. A meeting. An errand. A project. Someone who needed help.

An empty square looked unfinished.

Now I see it differently.

Sometimes an empty square is exactly what belongs there.

The Woman Holding the Calendar

My calendar still gets busy. I still volunteer. I still love helping. Put a good cause in front of me, and there remains an excellent chance I’ll start thinking about raffle baskets before you’ve finished the sentence.

I’m still me.

The difference is that now I occasionally look at an empty afternoon and don’t immediately try to fill it. Maybe I take a walk near the water. Maybe I read a book. Maybe I sit with a mug of chai and absolutely no plan whatsoever.

And I’ve learned to ask myself a different question when another invitation or request arrives.

Not, “Can I fit this in?”

Good heavens. Of course I can. Women can fit approximately seventeen hours of obligations into a twelve-hour day when sufficiently motivated.

The better question is:

“Do I have room for this?”

Room to do it well. Room to enjoy it. Room to keep the other promises I’ve already made. And yes, room to leave something for myself.

That’s what learning how to stop overcommitting has come to mean for me. It isn’t becoming less generous. It isn’t guarding every minute or refusing to show up for people.

I sometimes think about the younger version of me sitting at the kitchen table with her planner and chai, wondering how on earth she was going to fit everything into one Saturday.

It’s remembering that I am one of the people I’m responsible for showing up for.

I wouldn’t tell her to quit the committees or stop volunteering. I wouldn’t take away the classroom parties, the church fundraisers, the friendships, or even all those ridiculous trips back home for things she’d forgotten.

Those years mattered.

I’d simply pull up a chair beside her, point to one of those rare empty squares, and tell her something I wish she’d known sooner:

You don’t have to put anything there.

The blank space isn’t waiting to be filled.

It’s yours.

And after all these years, I’ve finally learned that the woman holding the calendar deserves a place on it too.

🐞 Stay Awhile…

If you’ve spent years making room for everybody else, I’d especially love to save a little room for you here.

Become a Cottage Friend and I’ll send new stories, Cottage news, and a little something from the porch your way now and then.

If your busy life could use a field trip to everyone’s favorite home store, you might want to read…
→ Homegoods is Playing Games With Me

If you’re trying to appreciate the season you’re living instead of racing toward the next one…
→ How to Find Contentment in Life — Enjoy the Noise

🍃 Come Find Your Spot

If you’ve spent years making room for everybody else, I’d especially love to save a little room for you here.

Become a Cottage Friend, and I’ll send you my free Welcome to the Cottage letter series—five little notes filled with humor, hope, and gentle reminders that you’re not walking through life alone.

Think of it as one appointment on your calendar that asks absolutely nothing from you.

Just come as you are.

🍃 Come Find Your Spot

The porch light will always be on. 🐞