Intro
Hi, I’m Joanne — a registered nurse, a mom of two beautiful girls (one with autism), and the woman behind MessyRealMom.
For years, I thought I could handle it all.
Work full-time. Raise my kids. Take care of my elderly in-laws. Support my husband’s family. Be the perfect daughter, the perfect wife, the perfect mom.
I told myself it was just what moms do — what I had to do.
The Weight I Carried
I live in Vancouver, but I was raised in a traditional South Korean household. I grew up watching my mom do everything — cook, clean, host, care for everyone — while my dad worked and rested. Without even realizing it, I became her.
I took on every role without question. I helped my father-in-law with his business since everything went online — managing appointments, typing documents, even being his tech support. I was basically his personal secretary with no perks.
At home, I handled it all: work, house, kids, and family. My husband worked, but emotionally, he’d been gone for years. Since the day our first daughter was born, he never helped with diapers or feedings. I breastfed for four years in total — three years with my first, a little over one year with my second, even while pregnant. My body gave everything it had.
And still, I kept going.
The Breaking Point
Then came Father’s Day, 2022.
I woke up and couldn’t walk. I’d been struggling to breathe for days, but I brushed it off. My husband said he was too tired to take me to the hospital, so I ignored it.
The next day, I couldn’t urinate for three days. I was vomiting, dizzy, and fainting every time my foot touched the ground. My six-year-old daughter called my mom, who rushed over and drove me to the ER.
That’s when they discovered it — sepsis.
My blood pressure was 84/60. My potassium was dangerously low. I hadn’t urinated in days. They put in a central line and catheter, and finally, I was admitted to the ICU.
As a nurse, I knew how serious it was. But lying there as a patient — watching the monitors beep, hearing the machines — was terrifying. I had spent years taking care of others, and now I was the one fighting to stay alive.
I stayed in the hospital for two and a half months. My left leg had a massive infection, 19 inches long and necrotic. I went through urgent surgery, endless pain, and a lot of fear. One nurse even told me I might lose my leg. I begged for an MRI. Eventually, they found the infection and operated just in time.
Stage 12 Burnout
When I finally saw my doctor and therapist afterward, they told me something I’ll never forget:
I was in Stage 12 burnout. The most severe kind.
My body had been screaming for years, but I never listened. I brushed off exhaustion, ignored pain, skipped meals, and forgot what rest even felt like. I thought being strong meant pushing through.
But all that “strength” nearly killed me.
Realizing I Had to Change
After that, everything changed. I was on disability, recovering from surgery and vertigo, and for the first time, I had time to think.
I realized I couldn’t make my husband care. I couldn’t keep living this way. If I didn’t change, my body wouldn’t survive it.
Even now, two years later, I’m not the same. My leg still aches. I shake sometimes. At 41, I was diagnosed with glaucoma. People think I had my kids young — but I was 31 and 34. My body just aged faster from years of stress and neglect.
I used to be good at taking care of everyone — except myself. I dreamed of being cared for, but instead, I carried everyone else. My husband would tell me, “Deal with it yourself.” And for years, I did.
Until I couldn’t anymore.
The Wake-Up Call
That experience taught me something that I’ll carry for the rest of my life:
You can’t pour from an empty cup.
You can’t keep giving to everyone else and expect to survive it.
Now, I’m learning to rest. To ask for help. To say “no.” To remind myself that I matter too.
MessyRealMom was born from that realization.
It’s a space where I can be real — where I can share my stories, my struggles, and my healing without filters or shame.
If you’re reading this and you’re the one who holds everything together — the mom, the caregiver, the nurse, the wife, the daughter — please, take this as your sign:
Stop. Rest. Breathe.
Because love isn’t about doing it all.
It’s about staying alive long enough to keep loving the ones who need you most. ❤️
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