By Ashley Rath

For the past two weeks, we’ve had some unexpected house guests. The furry kind.

It started with scratching in the walls at night. The kind of sound that jolts you awake at 2:17 a.m. and instantly puts you on edge. I don’t typically get too skittish about mice. Farm life has a way of desensitizing you to certain critters. But that doesn’t mean I want them living in my walls.

We set out plastic snap traps with peanut butter, and within 24 hours, we caught one. Victory. Or so I thought. There was clearly another one—smarter, sneakier, and apparently less interested in my trap placement strategy. We moved traps to different locations. Nothing. Then, finally, this weekend, we caught it.

I went downstairs to the old basement to grab the trap and toss it outside, assuming it was dead. I picked it up confidently… and it moved.

I dropped it immediately.

I am not exaggerating when I say it scared the daylights out of me. I jumped back with a mini scream, dropped it again, and stood there staring at it, realizing this was no longer a simple “grab and toss” situation.

Of course, Tyler was out west snowmobiling. Normally, this would have been his department. And there I was, in the basement, negotiating with a mouse that apparently still had some life left in it.

I could have handled it. Eventually. But at that moment, I didn’t want to. And I didn’t have to. My father-in-law was coming over anyway to check the cows since we’re in calving season and Tyler was gone. So I left the trap where it was—out of sight—and waited for backup.

And here’s the lesson that struck me afterward:

Just because you can handle something doesn’t mean you always have to.

We live in a culture that glorifies independence and self-sufficiency. We pride ourselves on “I’ve got this” energy. And most of the time, that’s a great trait. But there’s also wisdom in recognizing when you don’t need to muscle through something alone.

There’s a difference between capability and capacity.

I was capable of dealing with that mouse. But in that moment, my capacity—emotionally and mentally—was tapped. And instead of forcing myself into unnecessary stress, I chose to accept help that was already on its way.

That mouse in the basement became a small reminder that strength isn’t always about doing everything yourself. Sometimes it’s about knowing when to wait for support and ask for help. Knowing when to conserve your energy for the things that matter more.

We all have “mice in the basement”—little stressors scratching at the walls of our lives. Some we tackle head-on. Others we can delegate or accept help with.

And that’s not weakness. That’s wisdom.