Coffee. That’s all I wanted. Well, coffee and some relief.

It had been a busy couple of weeks: Halloween, my son’s birthday, a half marathon, and a Friendsgiving held at my house. To top everything off, I had been sick the prior week with a head cold that showed no sign of clearing up anytime soon and Husband had left for a business trip on Sunday.

It was now Wednesday. The demanding schedule of making lunches, dropping kids at school, going to work, picking kids up, making dinner and putting kids to bed was taking its toll.

I had been allowing myself a simple treat each morning, a grande hot coffee from Starbucks before heading off to work. As such, my pre-loaded cash account, conveniently tracked on an app on my phone, was below the needed $2.41.

I parked across the street (I try to avoid the cluster that is the Starbucks parking lot at all costs) and headed over, attempting to reload my account on the way. I stopped short on the sidewalk when I received notification that the app was experiencing a system error. I stood there, furiously punching away at my phone with my finger. System error be damned, I was going to add money to my card and acquire that cup of coffee.

The spinning circle signifying that my phone was “thinking” drew dark clouds in my already stuffy head. A storm was brewing, and it was not going to end well. My options were to go back to my car and either grab my purse and repeat the trip with a good old-fashioned credit card, or bag the effort altogether.

Little did I know, as I climbed into the driver’s seat, that there was a third option. Call Husband and break down in tears.

I had reached my tipping point.

Over the phone, I tried to articulate the severity of what just occurred, cursing phones, apps, Starbucks, everything.

“I just want a f*cking cup of coffee!”

More than that though, I needed to cry. I needed to yell. I needed to let someone know I was having a tough week.

It’s easy to bottle up stress, especially when you’re trying to hold everything together and keep things in perspective. I knew I was going to get through the week. I knew my cold would eventually disappear and Husband would reappear. My life was still good. My house hadn’t been torn up by a hurricane. I hadn’t been groped by a politician or Hollywood VIP. I could afford to spend $2.41 on a cup of coffee even if it wasn’t in the cards that day.

But, I was also rightfully tired and aching for a small indulgence.

After my outburst, I felt better. I was still annoyed my morning would be caffeine-free and I was losing my voice for the fourth day in a row, but I was okay. The breakdown was my low point and now I had no other direction to go in but up.