When Life Feels Like Treading Water: How Routine Helped Me Find Balance Again
There’s a strange moment that happens when a big chapter of your life ends.
One day, your schedule is packed, your time is spoken for, and you know exactly where you’re supposed to be at 8:00 a.m. The next day, the structure is gone—and you’re left staring at a blank calendar, wondering who you are without all that noise.
That’s what happened to me when I left teaching.
On paper, it looked like freedom. No more bells. No more grading at midnight. No more squeezing my own life into the leftover corners of the day.
But without that built‑in structure, I didn’t feel free.
I felt like I was treading water.
The Season With No Routine
When I stepped away from teaching, I thought I was stepping into this dreamy, open space where creativity would just flow. I imagined long, peaceful mornings in the studio, afternoons spent sketching or sculpting, and evenings where I could finally breathe.
Instead, the days blurred together.
There was no bell to tell me when to start. No lesson plan to guide what came next. No principal or parent waiting on an email.
At first, I told myself I was “taking a break.” Resting. Recovering. But underneath that, something else was happening: without any routine, I lost my anchor.
I stayed up too late and woke up without intention.
I bounced between tasks—half-starting a piece of jewelry here, scrolling social media there, wandering around the house in the name of “thinking.”
I had all this time, and yet I felt like I was constantly behind.
It was like being dropped into the deep end of a pool with no edge in sight. I wasn’t drowning, exactly, but I wasn’t moving forward either. I was just… treading water.
And treading water is exhausting.
Why Routine Isn’t the Enemy of Freedom
For a long time, I equated routine with restriction.
Teaching had trained me to live by the clock: periods, meetings, deadlines, bells. So when I left, I wanted the opposite. I wanted flow. I wanted spontaneity. I wanted to do what I felt like, when I felt like it.
But here’s what I learned in that messy in‑between season:
Routine isn’t the enemy of freedom.
Routine is what protects your freedom.
Without any kind of structure, my days were constantly hijacked by distraction, anxiety, and decision fatigue. I spent more time deciding what to do than actually doing it. And the more unstructured time I had, the more guilty I felt for “wasting” it.
Balance doesn’t just appear.
It’s built—one small, intentional habit at a time.
The First Tiny Routine That Changed Everything
I didn’t fix my life with a color‑coded planner and a 5 a.m. wake‑up call.
It started with one tiny decision: a simple morning routine.
Nothing fancy. No 27‑step ritual. Just:
Wake up at the same time every day
Drink water
Sit in silence for a few minutes
Write down three things I wanted to do for myself and for my work
That was it.
But that tiny routine did something important: it gave my day a beginning.
It reminded me that I wasn’t just floating through time—I was choosing how to move through it.
From there, I added more gentle structure:
Studio hours: certain blocks of time where I was “at work,” even if that work was in my own space.
Creative time vs. admin time: separating making from managing, so I wasn’t trying to do everything at once.
Closing ritual: a simple way to end the day—tidying my workspace, writing down what I finished, and choosing one priority for tomorrow.
Slowly, the feeling of treading water started to shift. I wasn’t just staying afloat anymore. I was actually swimming in a direction that mattered to me.
What Balance Really Looks Like (Spoiler: It’s Not Perfect)
We talk about “work–life balance” like it’s a static, perfect state you can finally reach and then hold forever.
That’s not how it works.
Balance is more like a constant, gentle adjustment. Some days are heavier on work. Some days are heavier on rest. Some days you’re in deep focus. Other days, your brain feels like it’s made of fog.
The point isn’t to create a rigid routine that never bends.
The point is to create enough structure that you don’t lose yourself in the chaos.
For me, balance looks like:
Non‑negotiable anchors: a few daily habits that ground me—like movement, hydration, and a quiet moment before I dive into the day.
Protected creative time: space where I’m not multitasking, not answering messages, and not trying to “be productive” in ten directions at once.
Compassionate flexibility: allowing myself to adjust when life happens without labeling it as failure.
Routine gives me rails to run on.
Compassion gives me permission to step off those rails when I need to.
I need both.
If You Feel Like You’re Treading Water Right Now
If you’re in a season where your days feel unstructured, scattered, or heavy—whether you’ve left a career, started a business, or just feel out of sync—know this: nothing is wrong with you.
You’re not lazy.
You’re not broken.
You’re just navigating life without the external structure you used to have.
Here are a few gentle places to start:
Choose one anchor for your morning.
Not ten. One. Maybe it’s making your bed, stepping outside for two minutes of fresh air, or writing down your top three priorities. Let that be the moment you tell your nervous system, “We’re beginning now.”Give your work a container.
Even if you work for yourself, pick a start and end time for your “workday,” or at least for your focused blocks. When you’re “on,” be on. When you’re “off,” let yourself truly be off.Create a simple closing ritual.
End your day on purpose. Put tools away. Close your laptop. Write down what you accomplished and one small thing you’ll do tomorrow. This helps your brain release the day instead of carrying it all night.Let your routine be imperfect.
You will miss days. You will forget things. You will have weeks that feel messy. That doesn’t mean your routine isn’t working—it means you’re human. Start again, gently, without the self‑punishment.
Routine as a Form of Self‑Respect
Looking back, that season after I left teaching taught me something I couldn’t have learned any other way:
I don’t need someone else’s schedule to feel grounded.
I can build my own.
Routine, for me now, isn’t about control. It’s about care.
It’s how I show up for my art, my business, my body, and my mind. It’s how I make sure that the things that matter most don’t get lost in the noise of everything else.
If you’re tired of treading water, you don’t need a total life overhaul.
You just need one small, repeatable action that says:
“I matter. My time matters. My energy matters.”
From there, balance becomes less of a distant goal and more of a daily practice—one you can shape, soften, and grow into, at your own pace.