What do we do when advocacy starts feeling like a full-time job?

The moment I realized advocacy wasn’t just something I did, but something I was constantly carrying, was when I stopped sleeping.

Multiple nights a week. Every week.

My stomach was a mess. My sleep habits were completely wrecked. I would wake up in the middle of the night feeling panicked, immediately diving into the internet, searching for answers, support, reassurance. Advocacy wasn’t showing up as a task anymore. It felt like survival mode.

It consumed every moment of my life. It became an all-day, every-day, all-consuming, never-ending, scary beast.

And eventually, I realized something had to change.

Advocacy isn’t just meetings and paperwork. It isn’t only emails, phone calls, and research. Advocacy also has to include self-care. It has to include stepping back, trusting what you already know, and honoring the experiences you’ve lived.

It also means talking with your child. My son is older now, which makes this easier, but even when he was younger, I checked in with him.

What’s working?What’s not working?What do you want?

The language changes depending on your child’s age, communication style, and understanding but their input still matters.

No one prepared me for how overwhelming advocacy would feel. I kept hearing, “Advocate, advocate, advocate.” And yes, advocacy is important. It truly is.

But it has to come from a place of balance.

Living in a state of constant vigilance isn’t sustainable. The difference between constant vigilance and healthy advocacy feels like peace. It feels like calm. Not knowing everything, and accepting that you never will, but trusting that you’re doing the best you can with the information you have right now.

You can advocate well without being in an endless search for answers. Because constantly fighting, constantly researching, constantly questioning everything is exhausting. It’s draining. And eventually, it becomes paralyzing.

When advocacy becomes ongoing, it quietly takes up space everywhere. It took over my time. My conversations with friends. The small free moments I had. My energy was depleted from being up all night trying to figure things out. Emotionally, I was always on high alert, constantly worried I was missing something.

After every conversation with a teacher or provider, I would spiral:Is this enough? Is this right? Are they really supporting my child?

I was hyper-focused all the time.

And then I realized something important: I can deeply love my child and still feel peace. I can still take up space. I can still have time for myself.

That realization can feel scary, especially if you’ve spent years hyper-focusing on your child’s needs. Or if you feel like you came into advocacy late and carry guilt for not knowing everything from day one. That guilt is heavy.

But it’s also human. And it’s okay.

Advocacy has forced me to learn things about myself I never expected. I learned how to find my voice. I learned how to accept things, even when they weren’t what I wanted to hear. Acceptance doesn’t always mean agreement; sometimes it simply means acknowledging reality so you can move forward.

I learned my boundaries. My limits. What I can carry and what I can’t.

Advocacy also changed how I speak up. It helped me understand what I’m okay with and what I’m not. It pushed me, as a people-pleaser, to get comfortable rocking the boat when necessary. That’s not easy. It can feel scary to question professionals or challenge systems but trusting yourself matters.

It also made me a better researcher. Not someone endlessly searching, but someone who knows how to find relevant information and apply it thoughtfully.

If I could tell my past self one thing, it would be this: you become someone who speaks up when it matters.

And speaking up doesn’t mean attacking. Advocacy should come with grace. Most people involved in your child’s life are doing the best they can with the information they have. They may have different perspectives or expectations and that doesn’t make them the enemy.

Sometimes advocacy means listening. Sometimes it means sitting back and taking in what others see in your child. Sometimes it means having hard conversations to get everyone on the same page.

And sometimes it means changing your own mind.

What helps me stay afloat now isn’t anything groundbreaking. It’s taking time for myself. Grabbing coffee with a friend. Letting myself zone out in front of Netflix without guilt. Giving myself permission to rest.

A boundary I’m learning to protect is my time. I love my children more than anything but if I’m not taking care of myself, I can’t be who they need.

I don’t do late-night deep dives anymore. If a question pops into my head at night, I write it down and revisit it the next day with a clearer mind.

Advocacy doesn’t look the same in every season. Some seasons require you to be fully at the helm. Other seasons allow you to step back and both are okay.

You don’t need all the answers. No one ever has them all. What matters is that you’re learning, adjusting, and continuing to show up for your child.

And if advocacy feels like a full-time job for you too, I want you to know this: it’s okay to take a breath.

Advocacy may feel relentless, but it was never meant to cost you your peace or your sense of self.

We’re allowed to be tired and committed at the same time.

And you are not failing because this feels hard.