This morning, I woke up with a headache so intense it felt like my skull was too small.

My throat was on fire. Every cough came with a sharp reminder: headache… throat… cough… repeat. In French, we call it ‘la grippe’, in other words, the flu. A word that sounds almost ordinary.

But this morning, it didn’t feel ordinary. It felt like being locked out of my own body. And what hurt me the most wasn’t only the physical pain. It was the moment I realized I couldn’t do the basics like preparing for work the way I usually do, and even properly monitor my boy getting ready for school.

I watched the morning happen without me. And I felt sad. Not dramatic-sad. Just… that quiet sadness that comes when you want to be strong and useful, but your body says: not today.

So I did the practical thing. I texted my 9-to-5 job and told them I couldn’t work today because of my condition. A simple, necessary message. Still, after pressing “send,” I felt something deeper rise up. I suddenly felt how fragile a day can become when everything depends on you being “on”. And then the thought that always sneaks in when I’m tired: “What if I get sick like this and I’m the only one responsible?” It wasn’t a logical question. It was an emotional one. It wasn’t really about sickness. It was about fear :
– Fear that the business I’m growing is too big for my human limits.
– Fear that one bad day could become “proof” that I can’t be the parent I want to be.
– Fear that my body’s “no” means life is saying “no” to my plans, my responsibilities, and the pace I’m trying to keep.

But here’s the truth I’m learning : a hard day is not a verdict. It’s information. It shows you what breaks when you’re not at 100%. It shows you where you’re carrying too much alone, what needs support, system, structure, softness, backup.

This morning didn’t prove I’m incapable. It proved I’m human. And maybe that’s the most important part of the story, because so many of us live with an invisible rule: “If I can’t do everything, I’m failing.” Especially when we’re the type of person who likes to hold things together, who plans, who takes responsibility seriously, who believes love looks like effort. But effort without support turns into fragility.

So instead of turning this morning into self-judgment, I want to reframe it into two gentle questions:

1) What do I need on my worst days?
Not my best days, not my productive days, my worst days. Because it’s easy to build a life that works when you’re well.

2) What needs to keep running even when I can’t?
This one applies to life, to parenting, to work, to business. Because when you’re sick, the world doesn’t pause. Messages still arrive, deadlines still exist, people still need answers.

And that’s when you realize the difference between “being responsible” and “being overloaded.” Responsible is: I show up when I can. Overloaded is: everything depends on my energy. This is why I’m starting to believe something deeply: I need systems for the days when I’m off.

Not huge systems. Not complicated systems.
Just quiet support that keeps the essentials moving.

The kind of support that looks like a simple morning checklist, a backup plan for the basics, and, on the business side, small automations that reduce pressure like an auto-reply that sets expectations, a booking link instead of back-and-forth, a website that answers common questions without you needing to be present.

Today, I’m still sick. My throat still hurts. The headache still flares when I cough. But I’m holding one idea close: my life—and my business—don’t require perfection. They require support. So when I’m well again, I’ll build it. Not all at once, just one gentle layer at a time.

If you’ve ever had a day like this, maybe your next step isn’t try harder, maybe it’s having a system.