I was.

Recently, we found a picture one of my girls snapped back in 2011 during my first “full year” of homeschool planning. I remember that day clearly. I remember the couch. The stacks of books. The planner. The look on my face.

I was, indeed, freaked out.

I knew no one who homeschooled. We really couldn’t afford for me not to work. We lived in a small town where the school was the community. Choosing something different felt like stepping outside the circle. I had always learned things easily, but I had zero experience teaching anyone anything. I was terrified I would fail my children, disappoint my husband, and make a decision that would ripple through all of our lives.

Here’s what I did have:

Just enough ignorance and stubbornness to try.
A clear directive from God that this was what He had been preparing me for since I was pregnant with my oldest and first read about educating the whole child through A Charlotte Mason Companion.
Just enough tenacity to pour everything I had into it, with a desire to honor the One who called me to it with a spirit of excellence… alongside my very real spirit of fear.

And so I did it.

And it was hard.

It still is.

We are beginning our fifteenth full year of homeschooling, and I still get overwhelmed. I still get scared. I still have days when I feel sick of the weight of it. Every single year, as I map out the plan in my head, I start wondering how it will possibly come together in real life.

How will we ever get to all of this?
Why did I plan so much?
How will I have the energy to teach with excellence, love my husband well, care for my home, feed my family nutritiously, send out work emails, manage inventory, record podcasts and videos, and stay connected to friends and family?
Why am I doing this to myself?

Every year, before we even begin, I feel the temptation to shut down mentally. The responsibilities loom so large that I begin to feel crushed under them. And then I remember something steady and grounding: I am not God.

These are people and tasks He has assigned to me. The weight only grows unbearable when I attempt to carry what was never designed for my shoulders. These assignments were given for my contribution and my attention, not for my control.

God gave me these children to love, parent, educate, and disciple. He gave me this husband to support, encourage, love, and respect. He gave me this business to steward and build. He gave me this body to accomplish His purposes while I am here.

That is a full life.

In moments of weariness, comparison creeps in. I glance at families who outsource the education portion and assume they must have more margin. It can appear lighter from the outside.

Yet God calling me to work in a particular role does not remove His sovereignty over the results. Outcomes remain in His hands, even when my mind tries to convince me that everything depends on my flawless execution.

When I start tallying all that I “have to do,” fear and anxiety begin whispering that everything rests on me. That whisper leads to silent ownership of outcomes. Yet I am not omniscient. I am not omnipresent. I am not all-powerful. Outcomes belong to the One who is.

We are sowers and stewards. He provides the ground, the sun, the rain, and the seed. Our role is to sow. And there is a lot to sow. There is weeding to do. There are conversations to have. There are meals to cook and lessons to teach and attitudes to shepherd. When I peer too far into the future and start calculating outcomes, everything begins to feel overwhelming.

Elisabeth Elliot’s words have anchored me for years:
Today is mine. Tomorrow is none of my business. If I peer anxiously into the fog of the future, I will strain my spiritual eyes so that I will not see clearly what is required of me now.

If I could sit beside that younger version of myself—two little girls, planner open, heart pounding—I would tell her this:

Your job is today.

God entrusted these tasks to you, and He remains sovereign over how they unfold. He did not assign you this work because everything hinges on your perfection. He invited you into this work for your sanctification and for His glory. This journey is shaping your heart as much as it is shaping your children’s education.

You will mess up.
You will not get to everything.
There will be gaps.
There will be days that feel heavy.

Those days often coincide with moments when control feels urgent. The One who spoke galaxies into existence remains present in your kitchen, in your living room, in the quiet after bedtime. Your children belong to Him. You belong to Him.

As I write this, I can feel the emotion rising again. I wish I could reach back fifteen years and sit across from that younger version of myself and make her listen carefully.

Yes, there are hard days ahead. There will be tears over reading and math. There will be tears over handwriting and presentations. There will be sick days and unexpected loss and unplanned babies and moves and conflict. Easy was never promised.
There will also be grace woven into the ordinary. There will be closeness, laughter, shared memories, inside jokes, and growth that unfolds slowly and quietly. The hard moments will exist within a larger story of faithfulness and joy.

If you are beginning a new homeschool year—whether it is your first or your fourteenth—and your stomach feels tight with uncertainty, I understand. I have stood there. I have felt unqualified. I have wrestled with finances, relationships, health concerns, and the sense that my children’s futures were balanced precariously on my shoulders.

This is your assignment. It is meaningful and holy work.

It is not your identity.

The results do not hinge on you getting everything exactly right. You are not required to make every day magical or memorable. You are required to be faithful with today.

Home education is not a vending machine, and your children are not products to be manufactured. There will be lessons that do not stick. There will be trips they forget. There will be moments when you speak more sharply than you intended. There will be gaps in knowledge.

There will also be seeds sown deeply—faith, joy, connection, responsibility, kindness, resilience. There will be hundreds of neutral, steady days that quietly build character. Education unfolds through atmosphere, through daily rhythms, and through shared life.

Their education is their life. And their life is shaped by the atmosphere of your home.

Outcomes belong to God. Atmosphere and obedience belong to you. The daily work is your commission.

If you have overwhelmed yourself with too many plans this year, if your shelves are full and your heart feels like it is already drowning, begin gently. Our free Scaffolding Workbook was created to help you step into the year as an onramp rather than a plunge. It walks you through simplifying wisely and building slowly. It offers permission to start small and tools to start thoughtfully.

You are not alone in feeling overwhelmed.
You are not carrying this alone.
Today is yours. Tomorrow rests safely in His hands.