I've been doing a lot of thinking lately.
Too much,
Really.
The kind of thinking that drains more than it energizes.
On my mind is an increasingly long to-do list.
People to check in on.
Social media algorithms to keep up with.
Projects to promote.
Finances to track.
Cooking,
Always at the bottom of my priorities.
The thoughts that these mundane and light problems elicit are pretty ruthless.
And resting more or slowing down doesn't really help.
The truth is I still need to change.
Something significant.
It feels like it never ends.
My body and mind need constant changes in how I work,
Practice,
And live.
Just to regulate.
Just to function in this busy,
Overwhelming world.
I have no idea how I managed to teach around 20 power vinyasa yoga classes a week for over 10 years.
And also no idea how any manager let me do that.
You might remember that back in October 2024,
I announced that I'd be pulling back and making changes to take care of myself.
And again in February 2026.
And now in May 2026.
Here I am again.
Change is slow.
But my thoughts about it are not yet.
Still,
The wisdom of age envelops this phase with fierce tenderness.
It's said that wisdom is not something we have to strive to acquire.
Rather,
It arises naturally as we slow down and notice what is already there.
I turned 44 in April.
And I'm really feeling the power of this decade.
I'm at a stage in my discernment and boundaries era,
Where I cannot unsee how intensely I offer myself to everything.
Part of this stage is that I'm analyzing and questioning everything.
My inner voice is urging me to continue reprioritizing and working in more sustainable ways.
I'm sensing that if something doesn't give,
My body or my sanity will drastically take once again.
However,
Just because I'm switching gears and how I show up doesn't make it easy.
Respecting my wise inner crone isn't all linen,
Expensive tea,
And silent knowing.
Following my instinct intensifies the thoughts that want me to stay the same,
And that prefer the easy and familiar way of operating.
Don't get me wrong,
I know how cushy my situation is.
I understand how it looks from the outside.
I work for myself.
I create my own hours.
I have my health.
I was born into privilege.
And still,
There's this undercurrent.
I am always on,
Always creating,
Always thinking.
On a retreat last month to Galliano Island in British Columbia,
I gave myself an hour to lie in bed and practice yoga nidra before the guests were due to arrive.
It was a blissfully sunny spring day on a remote gulf island,
Goats bleeding outside my window,
A couple of bees buzzing outside,
The sounds of the city's cars and planes far away.
I pulled the blinds,
Fluffed a couple pillows,
Lay on the warm bed with an eye cover.
And what stood out most in that quiet moment?
My body was vibrating,
Pulsating from the inside out.
I hadn't stopped in a long time.
And my nervous system was telling the truth louder than my thoughts ever could.
I needed even more quiet than I thought.
I needed less thinking about it.
Less planning for it.
Less visioning of my big career shift.
Just pausing.
It sounds so easy.
I tell people about it all the time.
I lead month long seminars on pausing and reconnecting with self.
I might even be considered an expert in the field of shifting mental chatter and directing the body towards a peaceful reset.
But when I try to do it,
The uprising of things I should be doing instead causes me to squirm.
For the past month,
I can hardly make it to minute five of my 11 minute daily Wim Hof breathwork ritual.
The ways in which I'm growing my business and undoing old patterns of shame,
While trying to rest more,
Is manifesting some tiring yet unsurprising responses.
When I pause,
What I notice most isn't peace.
When I'm resting or reprioritizing,
Practicing trust or giving to myself,
What I sense most is fear.
Fear shows up for me in many forms.
The fear of slowing down.
The fear of being forgotten.
The fear of losing momentum,
Money,
Meaning.
The fear of letting go of familiar parts of myself,
The boss,
The one who pivots,
The one who just keeps going.
Rather than feel these fears,
Along with a myriad of others that snuck in after my father died suddenly,
My thoughts go into hyper planning,
Doing,
Social media-ing.
And I'm coming to see,
Maybe this isn't just six months of burnout.
This might be 20 years of it.
I've rarely taken a week off without working.
My identity as a doer,
A giver,
A creator has overridden everything.
Fear still screams when I try to slow down.
But I'm no longer covering my ears.
I'm staying right here in it.
44 years old and wide open to it.
Fear isn't something to avoid or fix.
It's something to sit beside,
To ask questions of,
To learn from.
If you've been in a season like this too,
Burned out,
Brave and quietly battling the fear of stopping,
You're not alone.
And you don't need to have it all figured out before resting.
I can't resolve all that my body's been doing and pushing through for the last 20 years.
But this kind of awareness is a stepping stone.
Fear does protect me from getting hurt or being rejected,
Making mistakes,
Taking risks.
And it also keeps me from experiencing the learnings through all of these things.
I need risks,
Mistakes,
And to be alone.
These are rich times for growth.
I need fear to take a backseat more often,
And to risk looking perfectly imperfect.
This is my authentic expression of wisdom.
I am not my thoughts.
I am not my fears.
I'm figuring out who I am without the noise.
This is how I rest.
This is how I rebuild.
I'll keep practicing.
The pause,
The slowdown,
The boundaries,
I've damn well earned.
Even if it's messy.
Even if it's loud.
Even if fear fights me every step of the way.
