All this, because I was depressed. I had gone from living my dream life in Paris, back to American suburbia. I had swapped my character-filled 100-year-old apartment for a gray, builder-box home. I felt like my career was stalling, and I was losing the passion to care. I found myself surrounded by Mormons just as I was at the pinnacle of loving my faith. And to top it all off, I had the soaring hope of a positive pregnancy test after 4 years of trying for another baby, only to see it fade away slowly over 4th of July weekend, like a firework that dazzles you one moment, only to be gone the next.

It was about this time, while I lay in hiding from the world in a secret cave of my own tears, that I reconnected with my therapist of a few years prior. I had tried a few others that were on my insurance, but quickly discarded them and decided my mental health was worth paying out-of-pocket. When I told her all that was going on with me, she quickly deduced that I needed an easy win. Her first homework assignment ensured that is exactly what I got.

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5 Senses of Joy

Rather than tackle any of the active problems in my life (which would only serve to give them even more attention and energy), she proposed pushing out the bad by focusing on the good. And we were to start - not with tasks or activities - but with the five senses.

The first thing she asked me to do was make a list of things that brought me joy for each sense. What smells did I love? What sensations gave me peace? What did I delight to see?

I found the lists surprisingly easy to make, taking each sense in turn and listing out what I loved. Even in the depths of my despair, it felt like an accessible way to reconnect with the joy of life. From there, all I had to do was notice them.

Pay attention when I heard the wind chimes in the backyard. Close my eyes and breathe in deeply when my husband made his coffee. Wrap myself up in the fuzziest blanket in the house when I wanted to cocoon someplace soft.

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As the fog of the depression lifted - from this exercise and many others - my reliance on my five senses to enjoy the world did not waver. I found myself pausing more and more frequently, taking a second to watch the sunlight light up the flowers on my fireplace as it danced across the room, or focusing on the warmth of the teacup in my hand.

Taking notice of these little sensory details all around us did more than give me back my joy: I found that my nervous system felt more regulated as well. When my kids would yell at me, I’d ground into my feet and feel the squishy pad of the carpet below me. When I got overstimulated, I’d close my eyes and name 3 things I could hear.

I found that the more I actively used my five senses, the more I was able to enjoy all the tiny delights of the world around me. It would be easy to assume that paying attention to all the little details could overwhelm you, but I found the opposite to be true. These free, accessible enjoyments are all around us, just waiting for us to take notice.

So, without further ado, here are some of the items that made my 5 Senses Joy List: 50 of them to be exact, or 10 for each sense. I encourage you to make your own lost, and see how these small things can radically improve your day.

Hearing

• Wind whipping through tree branches

• Bird song tinkling through the air

• Listening to my husband play piano

• The silence of nature

• The crack of ice when warm liquid touches it

• Moving water tumbling over rocks

• My favorite songs in the car

• The giggle of my children

• Reading out loud to them

• The deep rumble of my husband’s voice when I press my ear to his chest

Smell

• Fresh-baked bread

• Fresh mint or tomatoes from my garden

• My favorite hand soap - Mrs. Meyer’s compassion flower

• My perfume from the Champs Élysées

• My husband’s cologne lingering the bathroom after he leaves for work

• The smell of rain after a long dry spell

• Campfire smoke and the suggestion of s’mores

• Lavender that reminds me of the fields of Provence

• The spa-like scent of the diffuser in my bedroom

• Fresh cut wood

See

• The pinks and oranges of a sunrise or sunset

• A crinkly smile on my son’s face

• My husband’s squinty eyes first thing in the morning

• My dog’s exuberant greeting as I walk in the door

• Beautiful architecture that makes me stop and take notice

• Chaotic gardens alive with color

• Pretty, old, patina’ed items

• Reflections on water

• Fresh, red nail polish

• Plump, ripe cherries

Taste

• Excellent, velvety Swiss chocolate

• The floral notes of a lavender lemonade

• Citrus fruits that make my lips pucker

• A perfect chai tea latte

• Warm sourdough bread with flaky sea salt

• The floral notes of a hibiscus tea

• Fresh berries from the farmer’s market

• Hot, buttery popcorn

• Tangy Greek yogurt, bursting with berries, fresh honey, and the crunch of granola

• Mushrooms cooked on our smoker grill

Touch

• Cool, moving air

• Icy water enveloping my body on a hot day

• Doing my skincare slowly

• The satisfying weight of my son sitting in my lap

• Burying my hands in the fluffy hair behind my dog’s ears

• The safety of my husband’s arms

• A warm mug in my hands

• Stepping into a warm shower

• A worn book in my hand, the pages smoothed from love

• Bare feet on sun-warmed grass

If you enjoyed this article, be sure to subscribe so you don’t miss my book review this Sunday on a book that helped me take my 5 Senses exploration even further!

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I have been in recovery for three years now.

Gosh - it just feels so good to say that.

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My Type A knows no bounds. So in a culture that praises women who do it all, I chased the productivity dream harder than anyone. Nothing scratched the itch like crossing items off my to-do list. To the extent that sometimes I would add an item after I had completed it, just so I could hear the satisfying scratch of the checkmark next to as many items as possible in a day.

I would stack my sense of accomplishment on how many checkmarks I could earn, pushing myself to do as much as humanly possible in a 24-hour window. Then, the list would simply roll over to the next day. And then the next. And the next.

It was a never-ending, mind-numbing loop of productivity. And I was riding high.

Then, I became a mother.

I remember sitting in my New York apartment with my newborn son. The dishes were done. The floors were mopped. I was on maternity leave. Now, the only thing to do was sit and stare at a sleeping baby.

And while of course, a large part of this was magical… another part of it made my skin itch. My fingers drum on my knee. My foot bounce rhythmically on the floor.

I was in the newborn bubble, and yet I ached to be back in my routine of accomplishment. I had lived for those gold stars for so long that I didn’t know who I was without them.

Sitting with myself was incredibly uncomfortable. The silence seemed to stretch on, and the longer it did, the more constricted my throat felt to say anything. There was no plan for my day, no rhythm when your world is revolving around someone who is just spending their first days on earth. The hours were busy, but they never felt full. Worst of all, you’d do a task and then need to redo it an hour later. Change a diaper, wash out the bottles, pump or apply nipple cream. Rinse & repeat.

After running 100 miles per hour for years, motherhood was asking me to sit still.

I didn’t know how.

Breaking my addiction to productivity, like initiating any change in life, did not happen in one fell swoop.

It happened slowly. I spent many years sitting in the uncomfortable silence of motherhood, my world shrunk from international business trips and D.C. board rooms to a quiet suburban street, my only companion an absolutely adorable little boy who - for all his wonderful qualities - wasn’t the most thought-provoking conversation partner.

With time, I figured out how to do more again. Being the mother of young children means you find yourself exhausted and unbusy all at the same time. There’s always something more to do, and yet none of it stays done for very long. Still, it leaves you with the distinct feeling that there is no space for more - more time with friends, more hobbies, more downtime. My heart and life were full, but my brain was empty. My sense of accomplishment was a dormant phantom, a vestige of a former life.

But even as I learned to do more again, I found myself struggling for balance. I tried to slow down with my son, then I’d rush all my other life goals and responsibilities, shoehorning them into snatched pockets of time. I went from chasing my dreams and running full tilt to quiet minutes in my rocker, looking down into the face of my growing baby as he slept in my arms. I was bound to the tension of these moments, the speeding up and slowing down swinging the pendulum of my life wildly from one hour to the next.

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I was tired. The kind of tired that comes from an overstuffed life, the weariness of trying to do it all and failing miserably across the board. But I didn’t know another way; all around me, other women were saying the same things I was feeling: motherhood was exhausting.

There was no alternative.

And then, I moved to France. And I woke up from the autopilot in which I was living my life, splitting my world wide open. After years of becoming a master at simply coping, finding myself quickly back in constant motion as my first son had learned to walk, then run, and was soon joined by another rambunctious little boy, I finally saw a different way.

Culturally, France has a very different relationship with mothers than America does. Crèches, state-sponsored day cares, provide low-cost childcare for mothers to return to work quickly and easily after giving birth. Primary school is mandatory in the calendar year your child turns three, which means both my children were quickly occupied during the weekdays, learning, playing, and growing alongside their peers. Stay-at-home moms, while certainly not unheard of, are rarer as well. This is not because they aren’t valued; it’s because the woman as a person is valued beyond her role as a mother. The whole structure of society supports women pursuing their dreams - not through the lip service we have here in the US, but through policy and laws that help make the path easier.

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I found myself in Paris, with both my kids in school years before I expected. And yet, surrounded by the romantic Haussmannian buildings and shady umbrellas of green, tree-lined streets, I suddenly felt the force of my ambition leave me. It was like being immersed in an early spring day, each hour calling for you to simply enjoy the sunshine after a long, cold winter.

All around me, I saw people living for the joie de vivre - the joy of life. Long afternoons spent en terrasse, sipping coffee and people watching. Beautiful florists on every corner, inviting you to stop and smell the roses. Colorful marches, with imperfect fruits lined up in neat rows, the vendors asking if you want to eat the melon today, or tomorrow, as if planning any further than that was beyond imagination.

As August rolled around, my American mind boggled as the entire country ground to a halt. Shutters closed against the blazing summer sun, with signs reading “Fermé pour août” hung in every other shop window. It was like a month-long siesta, the entire country agreeing that it was simply too hot to go on as if life was normal. The days begged for the refreshment of the Mediterranean Sea, the sparkling turquoise blue replacing the gray city sidewalks.

The gluttonous enjoyment of life made me laugh out loud from the shock. The very audacity of the French to simply exist for weeks on end, no pressure to move goals forward, no drive to produce to prove their worth. It’s like they had all picked up on a note about life I had missed in my American passport: life is not about what you generate out of grit; life is about reveling in the moments that make you feel alive.

My entire relationship with productivity changed. I stopped forcing myself to get more done in a day and started figuring out what mattered most. I learned that the Latin root of the word “priority” is “priori,” translating to one. Meaning that by even talking about priorities, making it plural, we have bastardized the word. I focused on preserving my peace, moving with my flow so I could go further with ease, resting often, and collecting tiny delights to stay playful along the way.

And it was the most productive I had been in years, the most fulfilling part of my career to date. I wrote my first book, and several children’s books. I honed my coaching philosophy, giving name to the intentional life I was building as I stopped living in autopilot. And I had so much fun - Taylor Swift concerts with friends, starting my own book club, staying in a converted windmill for a girls weekend.

I was living and creating and resting and loving without a hint of stress or tension or pressure. I hadn’t even realized this was possible in my old life, where I had just accepted the status quo, agreed with everyone that motherhood had to be exhausting and crippling and take something from you.

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In the three years since my intentional life and shift out of autopilot began, I have had moments where I wobbled. Where I found myself working too hard for something, striving too much, and pushing against my restraints. This return to pursuing productivity has been met every time by a return of my own discontent, frustration, and exhaustion with life.

Remembering to shift back into a space of contentment, of allowing life and love and intention to flow from a place of enjoyment instead of endless ambition, is my lifeline. It has become my north star, the test every decision must pass before I commit to it. The result is a life that I am not just surviving or getting through these seasons of being a young mom: it’s living my life as a whole person every day. It’s messy and slow and joyful and the pure magic of living engaged and present. And I’m so, so grateful that I learned it before I’m 80 years old, with a paltry list of accomplishments that add up to an unfulfilling life.

I’m grateful that instead, I’ve learned to enjoy life and not just perform it.

Spending two years in Paris - immersed in the culture and the architecture and the food - changed me irrevocably. Trying to return to the same place as a different person has proved impossible, and initially sent me into the tailspin of a major depressive episode.

As time has gone on (and with a lot of therapy), I figured out how to be happy in America again. My soul still yearns for a slower rhythm, I am still endlessly charmed by individualism and imperfection, and I miss walking through a market surrounded by the sights and smells of amazingly fresh food and florals. But my reality is generally a quicker pace, the sterilized sameness of chain restaurants, and being stuck in my car as I chauffeur my kids from place to place. I had to learn to grow where I was planted, as they say.

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Still, there are a few French lessons that I’ve been able to distill down and continue to embrace here. They may not work in the exact same way, but adapting them has brought me closer to the life I crave.

The Bread of Life

France deeply ingrained in me the god-given right we all have to eat delicious bread each and every day. I quickly got into the habit of popping into my local boulangerie, picking up an incredible, crusty baguette for €1, and ripping off le quignon (the crunchy tip) for a little snack on the way home.

Fresh bread of insane quality and flavor is literally on every street corner.

When I moved back, I found the supermarket options suddenly grossly lacking in the quality to which I had grown accustomed. Old favorites were flavorless or just tasted off. But our family could no longer live without daily tartines - an open-faced sandwich that serves as a breakfast favorite, slathering a single piece of bread with butter and jam.

There was only one solution: learn to make bread. I had been using the Miracle No-Knead bread recipe from Pinch of Yum for years, but had completely abandoned it once I had a seemingly endless supply of fantastic French bread. I still highly recommend it for beginners or if you just want something simple. But I decided bread was worth investing the time and effort into, and learned how to make sourdough.

Now, I make 1-2 double batches each week, which we all gobble up with heaps of honey, confiture, or Nutella. My favorite treat? A savory take: a toasted slice with butter, sprinkled with flaky sea salt. Try it and thank me later.

Sit & Savor

The French do not eat on the go. Fast food is rare and looked down on for being of poor quality, and families generally prefer to pack a picnic or delay eating until they can get home and eat a proper meal.

And by “a proper meal,” I mean that the focus is just as much on what is consumed as it is on how it is consumed. Tablecloths and cloth napkins are a regular occurrence in French homes, making every meal feel more like an occasion. And when it is time to eat, everyone comes to the table, sits down… and stays there until the meal is over. At a dinner party, this can mean hours. For a casual dinner, it means chatting around the table as further courses are brought out - often cheese, and then a simple dessert of yogurts or chocolates.

The point is: you sit. You do not stand while you eat. You do not walk. You do not move.

I have adopted this idea of sitting through a meal, and created a schedule that allows me this “indulgence,” as it is viewed in a society that consistently values productivity over rest. While I occasionally sprinkle in the use of cloth napkins or cover my walnut dining table, I have mostly just gotten so much better at stopping to savor the food that is nourishing my body. It has given me a sense of gratitude for my food that years of prayers before a meal somehow never achieved.

The Sounds of France

One of the things I miss most about Paris is the sound of the city around me. Police sirens whizzing by, fading into the distance. The distinct little “ding, ding” of the tram at the end of my street. The little noises of gates and doors opening and closing, music drifting in your window from your neighbor’s. I have a vivid memory of eating a pain au chocolat in a square on a cloudy, fall morning as a man played “La Vie en Rose” on an accordion. Such a cliché, and yet such a special moment.

By comparison, my little suburban street is dead. I added a wind chime to my backyard to experience some noise beyond the construction and wind, but other than that, there is not so much as a chirping bird to serenade me through my open windows.

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So, I’ve learned to add the sound back in. I may not have the sound of the Paris streets, but I can put on French jazz any time I step into my kitchen. I cook, and bake, and wipe counters with a random assortment of French-inspired songs helping to set the mood.

It may not seem like much, but try channeling French vibes while doing the dishes and tell me if things don’t instantly feel more romantic.

The Ritual of the Windows

Another thing I desperately miss about my Paris apartment is the ritual that marked the beginning and end of every day: closing and opening my shutters. You close them before sleep to block out the light, a very nifty and effective blackout shade. Then, you open them again in the morning to welcome in the day, often leaving the windows open for some fresh air to waft through the apartment. The summer comes with one more round of opening and shutting: due to the lack of air conditioning, it is necessary to close your shutters again as the sun rises in the sky, then open them once more as it sets to help cool off the apartment further.

These little rituals marked my day, creating a rhythm and consciousness around my environment and my family’s comfort. It clearly marked when it was time to sleep, time to relax, time to greet the day with fresh energy.

When we moved back to America, we thought we would try to do without the air conditioning as much as possible. A noble goal, but ultimately impossible given we live in a desert in houses that were not designed to insulate from the sun. We still do try to use it lightly, allowing our house to be cooler in the winter and warmer in the summer. If I ever feel the need for a cardigan inside in June, I know we’ve gone too far.

And still, I find myself minding the windows throughout the day. I open the windows in the living room as we eat breakfast, letting the back door swing wide as I go check on my garden. I fling the curtains away from the window and push up the shades in the morning, flooding my bedroom with bright, morning sunlight. Then I close them again each night, cocooning us in against the dark silhouettes of the mountains in the distance.

This small ritual ties me deeper into the rhythm of life. It is so easy to detach from this pattern, aided by electric lights and our climate-controlled interiors. But I love marking the passage of time, giving myself over to small moments that mark the hours, days, and weeks.

A Little Lavender

This final ritual is one I have started here - it was not a part of my French life at all. At least… not in this form. And that is the ritual of spraying my pillow with lavender each night before I go to sleep.

While I didn’t pick up this particular habit in France, my love for lavender scent definitely originated there. From the fields of Provence to the little sachets of lavender you can take home for souvenirs, this scent is as indelible to France as a buttery croissant.

The smell brings me back to sunny days on vacation in Southern France, the floral smell grounding me in dry, dusty earth off the Mediterranean Sea. If that doesn’t calm the nervous system for a good night’s sleep, I’m not sure what would.

I wait for my husband to answer the phone, but it rolls to voicemail. As I hang up, I look out the window at the rainy sky over mountainous Midway, Utah. I’m about to walk into the room for our first session of my first-ever Writer’s Retreat, and I’m having a bit of a freakout moment.

Who am I to be standing in that room?

I’ve done a lot of things in my professional life and worn a lot of different hats. But this is the very first time I have ever felt imposter syndrome. Perhaps because this is the only time I’ve cared so much.

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Despite deciding to become an author around the time I was 8 years old, I have spent the last 30 years mainly pursuing other goals: motherhood, money, and a career in marketing before becoming a life coach for the last decade.

But signing up for this Writer’s Retreat was like hanging a big, neon sign that said “I’m here. And I’m doing it.”

Yikes.

What’s funny is that at this time last year, I never would have imagined finding myself in this room. That’s because at this time last year, I was still chasing coaching, yet finding it increasingly disheartening.

We had recently relocated from Paris, France, back to the US. While my business was thrumming along and growing nicely in France, it had ground to a halt now that I was stateside. And it was not the only thing. Everywhere I looked, I saw the absence of Parisian charm, missed the movement of the city, and felt the loss of the life I had loved in France. My soul was shriveling up inside me.

I spent the entirety of last summer depressed. Lost. I had realized that packing up my bags and dreams in Paris and trying to unpack them just the same here in America was not going to work, but I still needed to decide what I was going to do instead. And so I started with my guiding values and made the decision to follow my joy.

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Anything that made me smile made the cut. But anything that was draining, anything that felt forced - it had to go. I quit accepting new coaching clients. Stopped creating courses I’d spent months preparing. Dropped Instagram, and instantly felt a rush of relief.

I spent a lot of time resting. Thinking. Reading. Mornings puttering around in the garden. Afternoons water coloring with my boys. Trips to the paint store, scheming up new home projects. And hours and hours, pages and pages, scribbling in my journal.

And as I journaled, I realized something: I had spent years chasing success, pursuing productivity, checking items off the to-do list. And in the midst of hunting down these accomplishments, I had lost the joy of living. La joie de vivre.

If you saw my post earlier this week, then you know I love a mantra. And for the last year, my mantra has been “only add the good.” This was my quick, one-sentence reminder that as I worked to rebuild a life for myself in America - a life, not just a routine - I was only going to add back in what actually felt good. What made me happy. What gave me energy and made me feel alive.

Writing was just one of those things.

So as I prepared to walk into a room full of writers, claiming the title for myself as well, I was nervous. But also, excited. Also, aligned.

I found this writer’s retreat weekend to be one of the most affirming opportunities of my life. I was where I wanted to be! Doing what I wanted to do! Showing up for myself exactly as I had hoped I would!

What a contrast to the woman I was a year ago, spending afternoons on my bedroom floor, taking sad naps with my dog.

And while - yes, I eventually want writing to lead to future career opportunities, as for right now: it’s just a passion. It’s the thing that sets my soul on fire, and if one day it can also pay my bills without killing my joy, then fantastic. But if all it ever gives me is satisfaction, and community, and a place to work out my thoughts, that will be enough.

I was watching Hank Green’s most recent YouTube video, which centered on the idea that “Effort is never wasted.” And while I applied the message to my own writing, the truth is: it applies to all pursuits. But perhaps the creative ones most of all.

At times, we may question why we write, or draw, or paint, or dance, or create. But that effort is never wasted. It is simply part of what keeps us alive in our own lives: constructing beauty out of thin air in an attempt to make sense of our human experience. Take away our creativity, and we are left with just the motions of a life, not the meaning of it.

I’m not trying to tell other moms - the busiest people on planet earth - to put one more thing on their To Do List and insist that you start living a more creative life. But I do encourage you to think of the good you could add in your life that would help set your soul on fire. To accomplish this, I propose removing the things that are keeping you from giving yourself to your hobbies, your curiosity, and your passions.

Doom scrolling. Netflix. The laundry. Managing the family calendar. Not all of these distractions are “bad” - but they may be keeping you from something even better. It’s worth asking what you can reasonably drop, delegate, or simply delay to allow more space for you to live again.

Putting housework ahead of soul work is never going to leave you feeling fulfilled. Rushing through every day’s schedule doesn’t give you space to breathe, think, and create. Continuing to say “I’m too busy,” or “maybe one day” only means you are postponing the joy of pursuing your passions.

And, yes - chasing your dreams and living a more creative life may mean that someday, you find yourself in a room full of women who are far more accomplished and further along than you are and that will scare the pants off of you. But I hope you’ll have the grace to stay grounded in who you are, where you are, and what you have to offer.

Because the world needs more women sharing the beauty of their souls - in whatever creative form that is. We need more women who recognize that their efforts alone are an accomplishment - worthwhile and needed. And we need more women who value their passions at least as much as they do their productivity.

I did not come up with it; it is the genius of my therapist that brought this mantra into my life. But I quickly have adopted it and find myself closing my eyes and breathing in deeply through my nose as I think, “Give it less. Give it less. Give it less.”

When I want to yell at my kids over the 158th mess of the day. When my kids are yelling at me, using me as their emotional punching bag. When my boys are fighting, using each other as actual punching bags.

This is when I try my hardest to give it less. Because giving it more rarely has the desired result. Usually, giving it more leaves me more frustrated, more stressed out, and more emotionally spent: the problem has won and toppled us all.

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But by giving it less, I can avoid the emotional enmeshment that comes with family life. I don’t have to descend into the depths of despair with my 7-year-old when his brother throws a pom pom at him (a real fight I had to break up today). I don’t have to defend myself against the unfounded accusations of my 5-year-old when I won’t give him another fruit snack. I don’t have to engage with my own stress over a messy room or a bedtime that is slipping irretrievably later.

I can just give it less. Remind them that “we respect each other’s bodies.” That “no means no.” That “you make a mess, you clean it up.”

All of these are parenting mantras that I love and use almost daily. And since I’ve implemented these mantras about 5 years ago, I’ve been able to put the most stressful parts of parenting on autopilot and avoid the emotional roller coaster of the everyday.

A lot of moms carry the burden of being the emotional lightning rod of their families. Any time anyone has a feeling, Mom hears about it and finds herself saddled with co-regulating through the emotional wave.

My own mother always said that a mother is only as happy as her least happy child. Growing up with this example means I entered motherhood expecting to perpetuate this cycle of mirroring the emotions of my own children. But as my first son’s lungs developed and he raged against the world with the force of a fully illogical toddler, I knew I couldn’t keep pace.

I simply valued my own peace too much to get into the muck as often as he wanted to. And while we’ve worked on it over the years, the emotional volatility of my kids is still not something I want to mirror back to them. Show compassion to and understanding for - yes. Ride the wave of the high’s and low’s of every family member all day long - no.

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As I considered how to preserve my own peace in this chaotic environment, I thought of the various tools people use for peace in their lives. Meditation seemed too far out of reach as a toddler mom (10 minutes with my eyes closed- no way), and deep breathing only got me so far. But the idea of mantras stuck with me.

“What if…” I thought one day, “Instead of having the same fight every day, I just had a calm response ready for my kids?”

A mantra for the moments that usually leave me dysregulated. A specific phrase that invites us all back to peace.

I am usually the last person to advocate for autopilot in your life. In fact, I am kind of the mascot for the other team: intentional living. But putting your parenting problems on autopilot is not about avoidance; it’s what I call proactive problem solving.

The idea is pretty simple: you can probably predict most of the sticking points in your day. We tend to run through the same patterns over and over, running into the same friction again and again.

Maybe your son won’t ever put on shoes when it’s time to leave the house. Maybe, no matter how many times you say no, your kids ask for a snack every five minutes. Maybe bedtime is always a struggle, with the kids getting out of bed and turning literal cartwheels around their room. Maybe all of these are the real-life examples I think of when I consider the moments that make my pulse quicken and can quickly turn into me yelling at my kids if I’m not careful.

So you take a look at the problems that keep circling your day, the moments in your rhythm that create tension, and instead of ignoring them for the 100th time or resigning yourself to the seemingly inevitable fight that will occur, you solve them. Proactively. Out of the heat of the moment and away from the issue, you decide: how would my best self show up?

Plan your response. And I don’t just mean decide what you wish you would do. Create a memorable mantra to rest on the tip of your tongue, ready for the moment when you need it. Use this mantra again and again with your kids, allowing it to reinforce the values and boundaries that matter to you. The problematic cycles may continue - kids, like any of us, are not perfect and still need to learn. But by giving it less, your emotional entanglements can end. You can parent as your best, calmest self… even if you don’t feel calm in the moment.

I’ll give you an example: my kids touch everything. Everything. Nothing is off limits. I hated rushing over every time, telling them “No, no Honey - you can’t touch that. Put it back now, please.” The argument that would surely follow with repeated questions of “Why? Why? Why?” Having to explain what the item that piqued their curiosity is, and then why we don’t play with it. It’s a small disruption, but it’s enough to interrupt a conversation or cause me to lose my focus.

So, I created a mantra.

Now, when I see them playing with something they shouldn’t, I just say, “That’s a tool, not a toy.” We’ve established that toys can be touched and played with while tools are off-limits. They know when they hear this phrase that it is time to immediately put the item in question down. If they have more questions about the tool, I can answer them once they’ve put it away. Saying this over and over again for years allows us to all get on the same page without a multi-paragraph lecture each time.

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Utilizing parenting mantras has completely changed the way I show up as a mom. I used to feel so much pressure in those critical course correction moments, wanting to show up and discipline and teach my kids while I myself was feeling dysregulated and stressed out. It was guaranteed to fail every time.
By giving less engagement in tense moments, I’m better able to save my energy for the moments that help connect us instead. By anticipating those moments in advance, I allow my best self to lead even when I’m not feeling my best.

And in a family where “all we can do is try our best, and that will look different every day,” I’ll take that result as an easy win.

Now, it’s your turn to put your parenting problems on autopilot. In my “Preserve your Peace” guide, I share a lot more of the mantras my family has been using and testing for years, and explain the exact reasoning behind why the phrasing works. Then, I share the formula that will allow you to create your own custom mantras to fit your family’s needs.

You know best the moments of tension that test you the most; you’ve probably had one in mind just reading this article. A better solution is just one click away.

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At first, I thought I had it under wraps. But somehow that last week of school still came in like a hurricane and ruffled everyone’s feathers a bit. I welcomed my kids to summer by shooting silly string at them (don’t worry - I gave them their own cans to retaliate on me and my husband!), and we’ve been enjoying a slower pace ever since.

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I even snuck away the final weekend of May to a writing retreat and officially started working on the memoir I’ve always dreamed of writing - eeek!

MAY RECAP

What I’m Reading

I fell into a bit of a reading rut in May - would love some recommendations! I also feel like I’m pulling away from my long-favorite audiobooks and returning to the joy of holding a paperback in my hand. Audiobooks began as a necessity of early motherhood, when you’re not guaranteed even a moment to sit down and read.

But as my kids have gotten a little older, I’m finding that I can get through entire chapters without having to break up a squabble or get someone a snack. It’s an amazing feeling. Here’s a look at everything I read this month, plus more information on my top recommendations below.

Opt-Out Family ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

This book created a deep shift in me. It named things I had been leaving nebulous, and provided a lot of actionable and easy-to-implement tips for giving your kids a childhood free of technology.

You can read my full review of this book in my latest post: I Think Modern Motherhood is Making Women Miserable.

This Time Tomorrow ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

A sci-fi rec is rare for me, and if you are deep in that genre this will barely scratch the itch. But I am happy to play in the shallows and found this book to be gripping and intriguing in a way many books miss.

Strangers ⭐⭐⭐⭐

The attention to detail was great: the sandwich! The mattress! But I think the hype about this book is centered more on the fact that it’s an explosive true story of an elite, a world we so rarely get to glimpse. That being said - I devoured it. I also would not read it again, but am glad I did the first time.

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French Word of the Month

Mon chou chou

Literally: my cabbage. But it’s such a sweet little term of endearment, and you can use it just once “mon chou,” “chou chou,” or “mon petit chou.”

The amount of times my boys have been called “chou” by their adoring grandmother, aunts, and uncles is heartwarming and makes it one of my favorite French words as well.

Current Obsession

Harry Potter. I know, I know. I’m not 14 anymore. But I let my 7-year-old read up through the third one with me, and he is begging for the 4th. I decided to re-read it (even though I remembered two deaths that bookend the story), and quickly doubled down on my decision for him to wait. He has never read a book where someone dies. For him, every story has a happy ending. The good guy always wins. I’m not ready for his innocence to end just yet.

My innocence, however, is long gone. And The Goblet of Fire has got me in a chokehold - it’s such a good story with so many complex ideas woven through it!

If you’ve re-read Harry as an adult, I’d love your thoughts on what changed for you. Or - advice on introducing the books to your kid. Suggested age? Guidelines? I love to learn from other moms!

Looking Ahead to June

Here’s what you should expect this month on The Jackfruit Life.

• My go-to mantras to put the stressful moments of parenting on autopilot - because not everything deserves your attention

• A recap of the writing retreat I attended, and possibly a sneak peek of the memoir if I’m feeling ready!

• French-inspired habits that improve my everyday American life.

• A list of hygge-inspired summer activities to reconnect every mom with their joy

Until next time - A bientôt mon ami!

We were 20 minutes late. And we went to the wrong building.

I blame technology.

When else have we ever had so many demands on our attention? My mom didn’t have to check 10 apps to figure out what field my soccer game was on, and she certainly didn’t have to read through parent chats to make sure she didn’t miss anything. My school wasn’t sending her a minimum of three emails every week - sometimes more! - to peruse. She wasn’t lost in Instagram or Facebook, checking in on and comparing herself to “friends” she hasn’t spoken to in 10-15 years.

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And yet our world is fraught with these apps that are designed to “help” us, while instead they hold us hostage. Email was meant to be a faster form of communication, but most people’s unread email count climbs steadily higher every day, meaning in reality, we are simply missing the message and feeling the stress of the unknown. And when people left our lives, we used to let them go. We didn’t hold onto these relics of the past and use them as a measuring stick of our own success in life.

Technology, The Solution touted by the experts in Silicon Valley, is the promise of the future.

But is it a future we actually want?

I just finished reading “The Opt-Out Family” by Erin Loechner and wow wow wow. The premise of the book is a study on “how to give your kids what technology can’t.” I found it to be one of those books that is best as a slow read, allowing each chapter to sit and percolate before moving on to the next.

And as I slowly flipped through these pages over the last month, I found the lessons creeping into my everyday life.

While Loechner makes a compelling and well-researched case on the pitfalls of technology as we use it, I needed little convincing. I’ve been inching toward a slower life, going more offline and only popping up here on Substack as a place to publish my writing and connect with others who seem to want to take a bit more time to understand and enjoy the world.

So while I was an easy convert, I was also nicely surprised by the reminders Loechner provides for how to slow down with your kids. What are the moments you’re potentially missing? How can taking your kids offline not only protect them but also preserve the 90s childhood vibes that are quickly becoming a top search on Pinterest?

We are craving a return to our childhoods because we remember a time before the noise - before long, meandering phone calls disappeared into text messages. When Friday night was a visit to Blockbuster and a box of Red Vines, not TikTok dances with a side of soul-crushing comparison. When you’d wear the bikini to go swimming at your best friend’s house at 12 years old without a single thought as to whether you had Gracie Abrams’s abs or Sydney Sweeney’s everything.

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We’re not dreaming; it was a simpler time. Afternoons spent in the grass, looking up through the tree branches and daydreaming about the places you would one day go. Now, with phones in hand, a quick search provides all the vacay inspo you could ever hope for, far more vivid and detailed than your daydream could produce.

But what happens if we raise a generation that stops daydreaming? What happens when we lose our wonder? The instant gratification of our smartphones means we barely have to question something before we have the answer in the palm of our hand. Curiosity satiated. One of the universe’s great mysteries - solved in an instant.

This month, I found myself reaching for my phone less. My son asked me how far a mile was, and I said I don’t know. He asked again a week later, and I still didn’t know. I decided instead that we should walk a mile together. We may not know exactly how far it is, but now we know how far it feels. Which is actually more useful?

When my kids asked questions I couldn’t answer, I didn’t let Google or Siri find the answer for us. I simply asked, “What do you think?” and waited to see what they said. Kids want to make sense of the world; isn’t it a treasure to watch them in that process rather than cut it short?

If the conversation lit up their eyes and kept them talking, I added the topic to a running list of books to look up at the library. So much of my childhood understanding of the world - not just its parts, but the dynamics of humanity and the complexities of love - I learned while reading. That is a legacy I deeply desire to pass on to my children. But how are we going to get there if we always choose the shortcut?

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A few weeks ago, we visited a friend’s house. Casually walking in through the front door and kicking off our shoes, we walked in to find both of her kids on their iPads. The younger one got off for about 20 minutes; the older one stayed on the entire time we were at their house. By the time we left, both kids were lying glassy-eyed on the couch, tablets flung aside as if they lacked the energy to even move their finger across the screen. Meanwhile, my kids had been running outside, bouncing on trampolines, and climbing playsets. Their cheeks were rosy, and their eyes were bright.

As we clambered into the car, I thanked them for playing so well, and my older said with sadness, “Yes, but they wouldn’t play with us.” I used it as a chance to continue a conversation about why we don’t give our kids technology: because it is a huge responsibility, and they are not ready for it. “Look what happened to them when they sit and use their iPad. You guys were playing and happy. Did they look happy?”

With a solemn shake of his head, my 7-year-old said, “Yeah, I really don’t want an iPad anymore.”

He can see at 7 what I am learning at 36: technology is not always what it’s promised to be.

Opting out is not just about technology, though that is a key component. It’s also about limiting what you let into your lives. How empty can you make your schedule in a world that seems to measure your value in your busyness? How much space can you create for yourself to sit and watch an anthill? Paint a flower? Make banana muffins on a Tuesday afternoon?

Loechner gravitates to the idea that “anxiety is the fear you cannot handle the world.” And with global anxiety on the rise, maybe the easy access to cherry-picked information is doing more harm than good when forming our worldview. Limiting what you are exposed to and choosing instead to boldly live the life you crave is another way to opt out of the minutiae of the modern world.

We allow technology to rule our lives because we’ve been taught that it is a shortcut to everything we want - money, power, success. I’m not so sure it is anymore. And - furthermore - I’m pretty sure I don’t want those things.

I don’t want a life that runs me ragged while promising me future riches. I don’t want to line the pockets of multi-millionaires while giving away the personal data of my loved ones. I don’t want my kids to remember a mom always with a phone in my hand, distracted and pushing them back because I have something else to do, like order that tea strainer on Amazon or check my emails for the 3,583rd time today (coincidentally, that’s about how many unread emails I have).

I want to opt out of a world that puts these demands on me. I want to reclaim my time, my attention, and my kid’s futures. I want a life of connection, and so that’s what I build. Through late-night chats with friends, looser schedules that follow our rhythm, dinner parties where the kids run wild and the adults laugh deeply. Summer days that disappear into a blur of sunscreen and park dates and picnics, popsicle juice dripping sweetly down the side of your wrist before you catch it with your tongue. The sound of wind whipping through the tree branches, enjoyed as I flip the page in yet another book that helps me better understand the beautiful humans all around me.

For all of that, I will gladly surrender my smartphone. I am happy to be less available to the world, and to use my free will to opt out of its demands. Especially if that makes me more available to be with the people and do the things that I love.

I have begrudgingly known this about myself for years, and yet I can still surprise myself with just how big a planner I am. When I recently went through my Notes app to cull the random half-thoughts and forgotten grocery lists, I was also surprised to find pages upon pages upon pages of business plans, courses, offerings, articles, schedules… so many hopes and dreams that made it out of my brain and onto the page, only to die there, lonely and abandoned in their half-finished state.

I skimmed many of these, dumping the golden nuggets into a single Google doc before unceremoniously deleting over 150 notes from my phone, my life, and my brain. It was the equivalent of closing all the tabs in my brain, and I sighed heavily with relief.

But besides the exhale of letting go, my biggest takeaway was this: I love to make a plan. My brain adores dreaming, then figuring out how I can make it happen. And then… I don’t actually have to follow through to scratch the itch.

I think a lot of women feel similarly - searching for some semblance of control and order, ready with a Plan B in their back pocket… while simultaneously wanting to go with the flow and let it be easy.

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For some of us, the Type A wins out and we make plan after plan after plan. And maybe for a lucky few, that planning is paired with self-discipline, and they actually achieve what they set out to do. For me, I’ve learned I actually prefer to choose peace over my plan. Maybe 8 times out of 10.

It used to bother me that I was a stronger planner than a doer. I’d hold myself to unnecessary standards - finishing every book I started, sticking to my schedule at the expense of my enjoyment. Then I realized that not finishing isn’t failure; it’s not because I lack a certain skill set or enough determination. I can finish plenty of things when it matters to me. The planning is simply my attempt to synthesize my goals, process the moving pieces around me, bring order to my world. But they have to work for me off the page and in the real world, as well. Whether or not these plans actually happen is immaterial to their purpose. By simply having a plan, I’ve created my little haven of control. It’s the equivalent of a security blanket; it’s there if I need it.

I don’t actually need to execute my plans to feel fulfilled in creating them.

A Type A Summer Mom

We are currently heading into our first week of a 13-week summer. As a mom who had her first real summer experiences in France, where summer is a cool, and in my opinion, perfect length of 7 weeks, my brain has been threatening to explode all spring as we’ve neared Memorial Day. Especially since:

• Last summer was a disaster, due to a combination of mom being in the thick of depression, and my kids experiencing their first endless, American-style summer, and

• This summer, we have 0 trips planned, having gone to France over spring break and booked a cruise for the fall.

Thirteen long, directionless weeks stretch ahead of us. And as much as I am looking forward to the quality time now that the cloud of depression has lifted… I am also nervous about how my very structured child will react to months of unstructured days.

And so, like any good planner, I turned to an Excel spreadsheet. And I gave it all the answers. Color-coded, bien sûr.

I assigned each weekday a theme: like life skills day, cooking day, craft day, etc. Next, I added every single camp, class, and activity for all of us for the entire summer. Based on that flow, I created a daily rhythm of activities to help hold us steady. Think less rigid schedules, and more like the bumpers on a bowling alley lane. More on this later.

Then, I made a physical Bored Book with four different sections of activities, and tossed together a craft supply box for emergency use. Finally, I developed my “Catch Them Being Good” rewards system for my kids to rack up points to earn treats and trips to Burger King and even some toys in an attempt to cut down on their relentless habit of asking for stuff all the time.

And I did all of this because I have absolutely no chill when it comes to making a plan.

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At this point, I’ve probably lost the Plan B moms. And I get. It’s a lot. But when something comes naturally to you, it doesn’t feel like a lot. Thirteen empty weeks felt like a lot. This feels like peace. Preparedness. Rhythm.

This plan allows me to walk into each day as my calmest self. A mom ready to handle any storm her two boys may throw at her. A mom prepared for the inevitable ebbs and flows of a long summer. Not scrambling, not rushing, not getting frustrated when the kids are fighting, because how are we going to survive the next 13 weeks?!

Long before I sat down in front of Excel, I asked myself one simple question: What do I want this summer to feel like?

A Summer of Standards

When it comes to answering this question about life or summer or whatever I have going on, I always turn back to my values. Where is there an opportunity for them to lead? Where can I be living more in alignment?

Control is not one of my values. But connection is. Flexibility is. Creativity. Peace. Love. Joy.

This is how I want my summer to feel. Like endless days of fun, low stress, every day another chance to make core memories, and give my kids a childhood they will need minimal therapy from. Only half-kidding.

The Plan supports all of my desires to put these values front and center. It is full of moments of connection and creativity. Pockets of peace. Hours of joy.

If we hit a snag - a fight breaks out, or a little boy appears at my side, suddenly flopping like a jellyfish, his body limp with boredom, I have the answers in my back pocket. But I also have a lot of space for them to dig in the sandbox, do puzzles on the floor, and make towers of magnatiles.

The Plan in Practice

We are officially on Day 6 of summer, and we’ve not done a single one of the planned daily activities yet. We simply haven’t needed them. My boys spent almost the entire day yesterday building a fort through their entire bedroom, down the hall, and into their playroom. We’ve made it to the park and the pool a few times, and spent half the day Saturday fishing. We did bring out the Bored Book, but that was more out of sheer excitement for the treasures it holds than out of boredom. I just introduced them to the rewards system this morning, and they can’t wait to start earning their stickers.

So while my Type A self is prepared for anything, I haven’t needed to be. Yet.

I feel absolutely no distress over not executing The Plan so far. Because the real plan doesn’t live in that Excel doc, color-coded and labelled with an exacting schedule. The true plan lives in my values: a slow, connected, memorable summer with my boys. And that is exactly what this last week has delivered on. I can’t wait for 12 more just like it.

If I haven’t scared you off with my extreme Type A-ness so far, then you may be interested in my Summer Rhythm Guide.

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This 20+ page guide is a completely different take on setting up a summer schedule. Rather than bucket lists and strict timelines, it helps you connect with the values you want to guide your summer. Infinitely less intense than the spreadsheet you viewed above, while still serving as a perfect companion to it. It works as a standalone for moms who want to plan less, or as the jumping off point for a larger system of support like I created.

The guide walks you through the process of establishing a rhythm to help you minimize stress so you can focus on making memories.

Its flexibility means it works for Type As, but also for the more casual Type B personality as well. You can use the guide in a way that will work best for your family and your needs. If you feel summer stretching out endlessly ahead of you, now’s your moment to grab the guide and get into your rhythm.

Save my sanity this summer

And - paradoxically - the should not’s that accompany them. You should not wear a skirt that short. You should not yell at your sister. You should not question what you’re told.

With the birth of my first son, this list of should’s and should not’s grew exponentially, and suddenly felt far more high stakes. You shouldn’t give the baby a bottle. You should swaddle like this - not that. You should wait for 6 months - no, 4 months - no 6 months to give solid food. And don’t do purees, do baby-led weaning. Let them cry it out as part of sleep training. Or - wait - don’t do that, because they’ll have abandonment issues.

The list of requirements to be viewed as a “good mother” is exhaustive, overreaching, and confusing. Struggling to even find time to take a shower, new moms are bombarded by these conflicting reports and unwelcome opinions.

The microscope knew no bounds - nothing was above criticism or reproach. It wasn’t enough to simply breastfeed; I had a friend who would weigh her baby on a doctor’s scale before each feed, and then weigh her again afterward so she could determine exactly how much milk she was getting. It was the only way to determine if she was eating enough, she said smugly. I sat there dumbfounded, thinking of my son who would simply eat til he was full, his happy demeanor demonstrating to me that I had tamed the hungry beast. Was it not enough to simply rely on intuition, to trust the cues I was reading from my baby?

Monitors beep in the middle of the night, alerting us to every unusual breathing pattern, movement, or possible issue. Social media scrolling is designed to scare us into obsession, leading us to constantly search out the best information and latest research, even as we’re reminded “mother knows best,” while feeling completely lost.

As our babies begin to toddle, finally out of the danger zone of SIDS and viewing every object as a potential choking hazard, we’re met with Pinterest, reminding us that besides just keeping the kids alive it is our job to be effortlessly thin and beautiful, with a barefoot toe-headed babe on your hip and a loaf of fresh sourdough in your other hand, surrounded by a bountiful garden and a spotless home straight out of a Martha Stewart magazine. Every day is an opportunity for an art project, a STEM lesson, or the latest life hack to maximize your kid’s childhood.

Even if we choose not to be a “Pinterest” mom, parenting experts are still waiting in the wings, reminding you to never tell your kid “no,” or actually - do, they need to learn resilience through the struggle. Telling you that your words are causing harm, and you must use this specific language or forever damage your child’s self-esteem. And we are to never, ever yell at our kids, never get angry, for heaven sake’s never have a genuine emotion of your own lest you scar them in some way by displaying your humanity.

And honestly… it’s exhausting.

It’s exhausting weighing every decision you make against what someone else says is best, outsourcing your autonomy and questioning your intuition. It’s exhausting making motherhood - what should be the most natural, easy, and loving relationship of your life - into a performative sport. And it’s exhausting for the goal post to always be moving, always a different method, a new idea that is better than the last and will somehow lead to the development of next generation kids that can pee, and poop, and eat with complete emotional regulation and Albert Einstein-like intelligence… if only we can agree on the best way to potty train.

Enough.

After watching my two sisters struggle with anxiety brought on by parenting, requiring medication and therapy just to put up with the phantom demands knocking down their door, I was on edge as I began my own motherhood journey. It didn’t take long for the anxiety to creep into my chest as well, its long fingers wrapping around my lungs, my breaths feeling more and more shallow.

But I didn’t want to live my life on edge, my lungs never fully expanding, my body never fully able to relax, even - or especially - in my own home. I didn’t want a nervous system stretched tight, to be constantly berating myself for falling short of an imaginary mark set far too high for us mere mortals to ever reach.

So, with time, I’ve learned to tune it out. Shut it down. The voices, both internal and external, with their never-ending demands for more. I decided long ago that the shifting expectations of society would not dictate the quality of my motherhood. And as I gave up the idea of being history’s first perfect mother, I learned how to enjoy my motherhood experience more.

Now, I acknowledge my own humanity. And theirs. And everyone in the family gets a heavy amount of grace, and forgiveness, and second chances. I may be their mom, but it’s my first time being a human, too. I’m still figuring it out, and I’m still practicing the things I want to be good at, like never using a sharp tone and also how to score my sourdough loaf so it doesn’t come out looking like a (delicious) misshapen blob.

If you’re looking for permission to let mothering be easier, here it is. My confession to you.

I yell at my kids sometimes.
Or occasionally let them have pancakes for dinner.
I see that the house needs sweeping, and I pick up a book instead.
Sometimes, I don’t roll out of bed on a Saturday morning to make them breakfast and instead send them to the kitchen alone.
I let them get bored.
I let them fight. As if I could stop it anyway.

And - most importantly - I never question if I am a good mom.

I have stopped trying to be the best at everything - mother, nurse, teacher, chef, housekeeper - and focused on giving my kids the two things I think will actually matter most to them as adults. Two things that provide a foundation from which they can stand on steady legs, and simply be good humans. Maybe not perfect, maybe not the best. But good people doing good things.

My role as a mother is simply to keep my kids safe and to make sure they’re loved.

It is not my job to make sure they learn to read. I can help, but that’s also what school is for.
It is not my job to design hours of limitless fun for them. That’s what their own creativity is for.
It is not my job to be an expert on child rearing as I rear these children. That is what the actual experts are for.

And - you know what? They don’t need me to be an expert, a polished professional who has it all figured out. They just need me, my tanned arms wrapped around their little bodies as I kiss the napes of their necks and they giggle. A compassionate face and a little snuggle when they fall down and scrape their knee. Forgiveness when they inevitably make mistakes, and a reminder that they’re not alone - I make mistakes, too.

I don’t think motherhood was ever meant to be the high-stakes pressure cooker it has become. And yet somehow, at some point, we turned it into this competitive terrain, striving to be the best, to know the most, to do it all, or risk screwing up our kids.

I am under no such illusion: I know I am screwing up my kids. I am swinging the pendulum of my own childhood back the other way, giving them what I didn’t have, which will of course, leave them wanting in a different area. But it’s the very best I can give them.

A mother who is confident and happy and trying without striving. A mother who is grounded and calm and relatively regulated. A mother who delights in their play, messes and all. A mother who admits when she’s having a hard day, who isn’t afraid to admit her faults without making them the responsibility of her children.

If you’re going to listen to just one more piece of parenting advice from a stranger on the internet in your entire lifetime, I hope it is this: Be your most real and present self with your kids. Let them see your whole self, your humanity. Stop trying so hard at anything except loving them with your entire, imperfect heart. And stop listening to anyone else who tells you you’re doing it wrong.

I write all about intentionally living your very best life, explore the highs and hilarious lows of motherhood, and share my fascination and adoration of the French culture.

Clean the kitchen. Make dinner. Take the kids to the library or school or soccer practice.

In a moment, I’m going to have to open my eyes.

See the mess that haunts the halls of every house with small children. Sticky handprints left on walls, trails of grass clippings running from the backdoor.

In a moment, I’ll be in motion again.

Up. And moving and cleaning and hugging and loving and caring. A constant whirl of meeting needs, kissing boo-boos, and managing a busy household.

In a moment, someone will call my name.

Not “Meghan,” as the world knows me. My very special name, the one I earned through 9 months of nausea and bloating and little feet kicking my bladder, my water bursting like a balloon between my legs at 4 in the morning. All of that, times two for each of the little boys that honor me when they call out “Mom.”

In a moment, this peaceful, personal resting period will end.

This delicious - as my husband calls it - “spoon nap” will be over. The briefest closing of eyes, allowing myself to drift away, so that if my hand were holding a spoon, the clatter of it falling to the floor would awaken me again. And then, I’ll return to the messes and the responsibilities and the people who need me.

It’s a full life. Busy and messy and sometimes too loud. But it’s also quiet, with my son’s head resting on my chest. Peaceful, as my boys adventure in our backyard, our dog running happy circles around them. Perfect, as the sun beams down from a cloudless sky and warms my skin.

So for this moment, I’ll stay exactly as I am. The windchimes tinkle, acting as a lullaby over the giggles of my boys, magnifying their childhood as they ramble through our garden. My eyes are heavy against a bright blue sky, and I know with every inch of my sun-baked body that I am exactly where I need to be.

Happy Mother’s Day to every version of motherhood there is.

First of all, a simple “oui” didn’t mean much in my mouth at that time. The word still tasted foreign - unnatural and forced when a simple and unassuming “yes” seemed sufficient.

Secondly, this “oui” represented something so much more significant than one average word should. Such a commonplace word, one that anyone would surely list if forced to name 5 French words on the spot, nestled securely between “bonjour” and “croissant.”

And yet…

This “oui” was the French equivalent of the English world’s “I do.”

Heavy.
Big.
Absolutely life-altering.

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When I married my French Swiss husband (that is half French and half Swiss, not just hailing from the French part of Switzerland), I had some vague, romantic idea of what it meant to marry into a new culture (let alone 2 new cultures). But because he had lived in America for 14 years already, I didn’t worry too much. Our courtship had been seamless, without even a hint of culture clash. I had not taken into account that my French Swiss husband was actually something else entirely: American… even if he did not yet have the passport to prove it. He liked ice in his soda, smiling broadly, and using a big, loud voice without reserve. Moreover, he liked the energy, action, and ambition of America.

So while I learned fairly quickly that my French Swiss husband was actually a traitor to both and was instead American, I also realized soon after our wedding that his family was decidedly not.

For years, I hesitated to say what was “French” and what was simply “Jaquier.” They were the only French family I was intimately acquainted with, so was it fair to say that all French families had long dinner parties in the back garden under the 100-year apple tree, a row of mismatched tables lined up end to end to accommodate the ever-expanding brood? Did everyone in France stay up til well past midnight on Christmas Eve, or was this simply in tune with the Jaquier family biological clock? I knew to tread lightly when making generalizations; the cultural rules the Jaquiers honored were likely quite different from the culture at large.

Still. After almost a decade in this family, and now with two years of French living under my belt, I feel a bit more confident naming some of the ways my French family differs from my American one. Since we moved back to America at the end of 2024, these are many of the things I have missed on a soul level. I have been aching for these rhythms and priorities, and upon our recent visit over the Easter holidays I am happy to report that I found myself once again immersed in my people.

The lessons I have learned through observing my in-laws like an anthropologist have changed my life - how I live my everyday, how I move and function in my own home, even what I’m willing to sacrifice. I hope they’ll likewise inspire you.

Lesson No. One From Marrying French

Slow Down You Crazy Child

I have always loved the song “Vienna” by Billy Joel. In fact, I wrote a random Substack article about it almost a year ago.

But the fact is, slowing down for the French is less something done as a remedy for stress, or viewed as a self-indulgent treat - it is simply a way of life. There is no hurry; nowhere else to be. When you truly adopt the French pace, you can stretch almost any activity into hours of languid enjoyment. A picnic lunch can stretch til sunset. A visit to the park could easily take the whole day. A quick stop at the store is never actually all that quick.

In fact, I would argue that the activities themselves are often undertaken as mere side quests. The main enjoyment is simply in being together, or even just in simply being.

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I slipped back into this rhythm on the very first day we landed for our trip home last month. Jet lagged and stumbling our way through the day to get our children to a normal bedtime hour, we took the bus to downtown Geneva and simply meandered. We observed the jewel blue waters of Lac Leman, or Lake Geneva, as the English-speaking world calls it. We wandered into Ladurée for un petit gouter, a little afternoon snack. My children made absolute fools of themselves in the Four Seasons next door when we went in to use the restroom (Three. I had to ask them three separate times to get off the floor. Once in the lobby and twice in the bathroom itself because boys are gross.)

Our day had no plan - no structure. We probably made it less than a mile in three hours. And it was perfect.

This mindset around time is even evident in our language differences. While the French passer le week-end, Americans spend it. While we stay home, the French rester à la maison. We may invest the time, but the French prendre le temps.

So much of our language treats time as money, and how we spend it is viewed as a measure of our productivity or value. We spend time, we save time, we waste time, or invest it. The French pass time, or maybe they take it - without fanfare. They’re not looking for it to return anything back to them. They understand that once a moment passes, it is gone for good, and yet it is entirely up to them to choose what to do with it. They don’t simply stay, they actively rest. They capitalize on their time- profiter de (to enjoy or make the most out of) - not for the sake of capitalism, but for the sake of enjoyment itself. They are masters at living and engaging with their lives, culturally offended by the idea that work and achievement should be at the center of society. And while the rest of the world regularly ridicules them for this… I kind of get it now.

As a former productivity monster and self-declared Type A (trust me, nobody is debating me on this assessment), I am also the first to attest that even the most satisfying of checkmarks feels a little hollow if all I’ve done that day is take care of things without taking care of me.

Because, when the truth is told, and in the infamous words of Billy Joel, you can get what you want or you can just get old. Life is passing by, and you have to wonder how you are spending your precious minutes. The French understand, more so than I have ever felt in my American bones, that what they really want is a simple and good life. Close family and friends. High-quality and delicious food. And to pass their days taking in the remarkable beauty this world has to offer.

It stands in stark contrast to the American mindset of more, more, more - needing to maximize every moment, rushing from task to task, checking things off the to-do list like it’s an Olympic sport. It seems we are all working for the bigger house, the promotion, the bright and shiny new object that we just have to have and could just about reach if we stand on our tiptoes.

My friends the French would rather sit in the grass and enjoy the sunshine than stretch themselves this way, holding the strain until their muscles ache. Non merci. They have learned without ever facing a burnout crisis that slowing down is at the heart of living well. At 80 years old, they’ll look back and never regret not having spent more time at the office. They’ll instead see long afternoons with loved ones, meals dragging late into the night, many grasse matinées (the French term for sleeping in).

Maybe they accomplish a little less. But maybe they live a little more.

The French have made slow living into a high art, and through my adoption into my French family, I have come to crave a rhythm that doesn’t press in on me from all sides. After years of slowly loosening my demanding grip on productivity at all costs, I now prefer my adopted culture’s invitation to simply come along. Sit on a bench for a while. People watch from under a cafe awning.

Let your body settle, move a bit more slowly, and notice the world around you. Not as an exceptional reward. Not in a desperate attempt to calm a raging nervous system. Just because as humans, we deserve to move through this world at a pace that allows us to enjoy it without agenda.

Thanks so much for reading my words! If you’ve made it this far, you probably liked what you read. And if you liked what you read, then you should probably subscribe.

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I write all about intentionally living your very best life, explore the highs and hilarious lows of motherhood, and share my fascination and adoration of the French culture.

April didn’t quite go as planned. Despite finally hitting my groove on Substack during March, my two-week trip to France at the beginning of the month knocked me well off course. Rather than returning and reclaiming my rhythm, I came back jet-lagged and immediately fell ill, exhausted from possibly having too much fun?

In any case, I’m a big believer that you can start again whenever you’d like. And so, I’m starting today.

APRIL RECAP

What I’m Reading

I may not have been on Substack much this month, but I have been able to get quite a bit of reading done. As always, here’s my note recapping each book and rating.

Though I read a few books this month that have long been on my list, I found many of them did not quite meet expectations. If you have read anything outstanding lately, please drop it in the comments! I’m always looking for recommendations.

Special shout-outs this month go to…

The Electricity of Every Living Thing by Katherine May ⭐⭐⭐⭐
I love, love, love Katherine May. Her best-known book is probably Wintering, and there is something about the way that she expresses herself that has me dying to pick up my own pen. Her writing is grounded yet poetic, autobiographical without being the least self-indulgent, and endlessly relatable.

Project Hail Mary ⭐⭐⭐⭐
An already popular book experiencing a peak in its popularity with the release of the movie, but it came into my orbit due to Book Club. I am not a sci-fi girl at all - and yet, I enjoyed this story immensely. I did the audiobook version and would highly recommend it. Iykyk

The Correspondent ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
I am on a kick of reading books where the main character is a bit more mature in age and am loving the care and examination given to this stage of life. The Correspondent was creative, captivating, and completely charming. Another Book Club pick! (Yes, I’m in two book clubs.)

What We’ve Been Up to on the Jackfruit Life

Cue the crickets…

I did get one post written - the answer to the question “what am I even trying to do here.”

It felt like about time to express some clarity on my “why.”

French Word of the Month

Flaneur - to stroll aimlessly

We spent time on our trip doing just this, and I quickly realized it is one of the things I miss most about my days in Paris. Ah - to simply wander through beautiful streets. No destination in mind. No schedule to be kept. Just yourself and the world to enjoy.

Current Obsession

Trader Joe’s Dark Chocolate with Puffed Quinoa & Dried Raspberry

Dangerous. You have been warned.

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Looking Ahead to May

In addition to the promise of May flowers, here’s what you should expect this month on The Jackfruit Life.

• Life lessons I’ve picked up after almost a decade in a French family

• Reflections on motherhood and our children growing up

• Simple suggestions for a good life

• And a list of ways I’m incorporating more French living into my everyday American life

Until next time - A bientôt mon ami!

The moment she realizes her boyfriend is the killer.

The moment she solves the problem, and you know she’ll get her happy ending.

The day she changes her life - for good.

It makes a great headline. A perfect, tiny package. And it’s very enticing to believe it could all be that simple.

After all, who wouldn’t want to change anything and everything you don’t like about yourself - your life - in a single instant?

Sign me up.

Unfortunately… life doesn’t really work like that.

Even if you have reached your breaking point, facilitating that change simply won’t happen overnight.

I know, because I’ve done it.

The turning point for me - the moment I “crossed the first threshold” as they say in fiction writing- happened more than a decade ago on a sunny January afternoon.

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At the time, I was living in Kenya and found myself on safari with my husband and mother-in-law in the Maasai Mara. The sun beat down across the sweeping grasses, and our khaki-colored safari jeep was bouncing along the rutted dirt roads of the savanna. Adele had recently released her album “25,” and as I bounced along in the backseat, I heard the song “Love in the Dark” for the very first time.

I don’t know that I have ever or could ever relate to a song more. Every line felt written from my own heart. I looked out at the rippling plains, uncharacteristically green after the rainy season, and the scene blurred as tears filled my eyes. They spilled over silently, a survival trait I had picked up over years of letting tears mutely drench my pillow.

“I want to live, and not just survive,” Adele sang, right before an entire orchestra of emotion swept through my headphones and my body.

I did want to live. I didn’t want to simply survive for another single moment.

I needed more.

But I didn’t know how to get it while strapped into the backseat of a safari jeep, living about a million miles from home, at a moment when I had disrupted the entire flow of my life only to find that all my problems had tucked themselves in as stowaways into my suitcase.

It took another 4 more months and about 10,000 miles, but I did leave. I left that man who had been dimming my light for years, that life that felt like a cage, and the dead end I was surely headed for. Just as I had witnessed the vicious circle of life on the savanna, I killed what was killing me so that I could truly live.

But - and this is a very important but - It was not one fell swoop. It was not that everything clicked into place in a single afternoon. It was messy and uncertain and came with its fair share of agonizing moments. But as I stumbled my way through the heartache and moving boxes, I knew it was right. I was 26 years old. And I had a lot of life left to live.

A Life of More

In the 10 years since I left my first marriage, I have continued to change my life. I remarried, this time to a man whose defining characteristic is his kindness, and we have two wild and crazy boys. I moved out of the country once more, this time to France, and then back again to America. I became a life coach and learned a looooooot about human psychology and what makes us tick. I became obsessed with helping women break out of their survival mode or autopilot so they can truly start living.

But beyond learning that life is not a storybook and a heroine’s journey doesn’t turn so neatly on a single moment, I also realized that most women don’t need to burn their whole lives down to effect change.

If you’re a woman who has done everything “right,” but is still battling an inner voice calling out for more, you are exactly who I write for.

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Life doesn’t have to feel just ho-hum and ordinary. If you are a woman who feels destined for great things, but can’t figure out how to reach them from where she is standing today, this is exactly what I do. I help you break down what’s not working, figure out what it is you really want and how to get it, and make natural changes that work with your strengths to get there without burnout or overwhelm.

Most women are not trapped in a toxic death spiral of a relationship. (Though if you are, please run.) Most are simply a little lost.

Life got busy, and they fell off their own to-do list. Taking care of themselves, making time for self-reflection, figuring out their own emotions, and dreams, and goals. It all just sort of slid away, crowded out by carpool schedules and work deadlines and the pile of laundry that has sat for three days, clean but unfolded, at the end of their beds.

Most women are simply too overwhelmed to right their own ship, and far too skilled at coping to even realize they are slowly taking on water. My goal is to catch you before you sink.

Habits of Joy

As a seasoned expert in change, I know it does not often require a herculean obstacle course to get what we want. It is far simpler than that, despite what you’ve been led to believe. Instead, you need to stop coping with the things that are silently draining you and start proactively solving them. Deciding what matters to you, aligning your efforts with your desired outcome, figuring out natural ways to move forward that fit into your life and rhythm… it’s the elementary answers. Consistent baby steps. That’s how you walk the path of your dreams.

There is no leapfrogging. No shortcuts or collapsing time. It’s building habits of choosing your truest joy. But that doesn’t mean it won’t happen fast. It just means you need to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Your efforts will compound, and you will get there. In the meantime, you can enjoy the journey and every single day of your life. You can be active and engaged and Captain of your own ship. You get to be alive. No longer coasting. Truly present and loving every moment of your incredible, extraordinary, ordinary life.

That’s my coaching philosophy, and it’s what I aim for with every client. This is the life we live… wouldn’t it be great to really live it? Moreover, let’s enjoy it. All of it. Not just the successes and achievements, but the progress and the backslides and the average days that make up 99% of our lives.

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Changing your life is actually very uncomplicated, and it gets to be so, so good. You can do it with ease and enjoyment.

Stop listening to all the gurus out there with their 35-point checklists. Start tuning into yourself again. As a coach, my job is to ask the right questions to turn you inward so you can hear the truth within your unique soul. Once you start listening, you’ll feel yourself calling out to you. Listen and obey, honoring that inner voice above all others.

If you’re ready to come home to yourself and start living a life of greater fulfillment with ease and intention, you’re in the right place. If something inside of you is aching for more, this is where you find it. Consider this your wake-up call.

I can’t wait to show you just how good it can get.

Thanks so much for reading my words! I feel so honored that you gave me some of your precious time. If you’ve made it this far, hopefully you like what you’ve read. And if you like what you’ve read, I hope you’ll consider subscribing.

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I write all about intentional living and share my personal experiences from my own life, as well as all the best tips I’ve picked up in my almost decade of coaching women to choose what contentment in their own life looks like.

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Now, as we enter April and continue into a gentle spring, let’s look back one more time.

MARCH RECAP

What I’m Reading

Here’s the note where I break down everything I read this month but - oops! Missed a few.

I also read:

Death on the Nile ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
I have been getting into Agatha Christie lately and cannot believe I waited so long! Even though I had seen this movie a few years ago, I (fortunately for me!) have a terrible memory for books and movies and remembered very little. I only held a vague impression of who had done it, but could not remember how exactly… plus, the setting in Egypt reminded me of my own trip to this magical land.

The Women of Rothschild ⭐️⭐️
I wanted to like this book, but found it instead to be a slog. It felt more like a recitation of facts than a celebration of the Rothschild women.

MY TOP PICK OF THE MONTH
What Does It Feel Like? By Sophie Kinsella 🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

I have been reading Sophie Kinsella books for the last 20 years, and was saddened to hear of her passing in December from terminal brain cancer.

In her final novel, she fictionalizes her real-life experience battling cancer. If you do the audiobook, it ends with a note from the author read by the author.

Note: You will cry. Probably multiple times. It’s a quick read that will take you through the entire spectrum of human emotions and a full box of tissues.

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What We’ve Been Up To on The Jackfruit Life

When Life Looks Fine
On why we moved to Paris when everything from the outside looked golden.

This 15-minute Weekly Reset Gets Your Life Back on Track
One question can change everything.

5 Small Ways Your Routine is Ruining Your Life
Because life is for living - not just achieving.

You’re Doing Everything Right. So Why Does it Feel Off?
8 sneaky signs you are on autopilot.

What Rebellion Looks Like as a Woman in my 30s
Time to throw out the rule book.

What Life Has Been Teaching Me Lately

I have had some recent… disappointments. Mostly of the other-people-not-keeping-their-word variety. Not being able to rely on others due to the inconsistency, lack of reliable commitment, or just blatant inconsideration has been creating an incredible amount of stress for me.

It’s not been an entirely welcome theme.

But in almost a decade of life coaching, pattern spotting and intentional living have become my mainstays.

So, first you see the pattern. Then, you decide what to do about it.

For me, the lesson here is not: trust no one. Tempting as that reaction may be, I don’t really want to become one of those people with massive trust issues who takes on too much because they can’t rely on anyone else. Or that kind of person who shuts everyone out because the rest of the world is cruel and unreliable.

Instead, the lesson for me is to better know who I can trust. To lean more heavily on the people who are showing up for me, to draw closer to the people that I can count on.

Look closely at the people in your life. Who shows up for? Who can you trust? Who will cheerlead for you til their voice gives out? Make a note of these people, or - even better - tell them how much they mean to you! Thank them for the help and stability they give your life. It may seem a little sappy, but I for one think the best things in life are a little sappy and saccharine with sincerity.

LOOKING AHEAD TO APRIL

The biggest thing happening in my world this month is an entire country.

Namely: FRANCE

After 18 months of being trapped stateside (only half kidding), we are finally returning to the place that feels like home. Two whole weeks of friends and family and chocolate Easter eggs and buttery croissants and slow picnics and jumping in rain puddles with my two little boys in their iconic Petit Bateau blue raincoats.

I am practically levitating with excitement.

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NEW SERIES: EXPERIMENTS IN LIVING WELL

I’m so excited to launch a new series this month: Experiments in Living Well.

In this series, I’m moving beyond the theory of how to live your life well and am actually doing the thing. I’ll be going through all the usual (and sometimes unusual) tips and advice out there on how to improve your life: from systems to better organize your life, tools for mental health, to wellness practices, and beyond.

Upcoming experiments may cover meditation practices, morning pages and other journaling rituals, hacking my night routine for better sleep, romanticizing my life, routine tweaks to optimize happiness (and not productivity), and so many more ideas that this list could get exceptionally long and mildly boring. You can also expect a fair bit of French lifestyle flair to sneak its way in there.

This is series is about documenting the becoming of who I want to be - the experiences I crave, the dreams I wish to fulfill, the life I want to create.

The point is two-fold: one, I get to have some fun. Two, hopefully you do, too.

Hope you have a great month!

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In fact, she doesn’t subscribe to any rules at all, as far as I can tell.

Effortlessly chic, endlessly fun, and with a serious case of FOMO, Colette strolls through life at a leisurely pace, stopping to smell each and every rose.

She is an icon - an idol - and she shines brighter than the noon sun.

She is my 74-year-old mother-in-law, or belle-mère in French (literally translating to beautiful mother).

But I like to refer to her as my disco queen.

The title is well-deserved. A few years ago, at her daughter’s wedding in Provence, Colette was hoisted into the air on the shoulders of her daughter’s friends and was paraded, laughing, around the dance floor. Even though she had battled breast cancer earlier that year, Colette stayed up dancing til 4 in the morning, the gentle scent of lavender wafting over the party doing nothing to calm the celebration.

Meanwhile, I - a woman in my 30s - had vacated the wedding around midnight, the chirping cicadas acting as a lullaby. I claimed the children needed their beds, when in reality I was just as ready for sleep as they were.

Colette is absolutely one-of-a-kind.

And when we first met, I had no idea what to make of her.

I had never met a woman so self-assured and confident - so sure of the adoration others would surely laud on her. She met the world with a wide, open smile, and it has always seemed to smile back. This was pretty much the opposite of the women I’d seen growing up, who self-deprecated and apologized and tried to remain as small and unobtrusive as possible. Women who had been taught it was their role to serve and obey, to stay home and keep their mouth closed into a tight lipped simper.

I would say that Colette marches to the beat of her own drum, but only if that drum is actually a whole marching band and she’s twirling the baton out front, leading the parade.

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Frankly - it took me a few years to fully absorb the brightness of her light. To make sense of the wonderful person in front of me, who boldly flew in the face of everything I had been led to believe a good woman and a good mother should be.

Now, she’s one of my favorite people on earth.

Colette has never lived by the shoulds, doesn’t stop at “no,” and has had an absolutely amazing life. While she has had her fair share - maybe more than her fair share - of challenges, nothing keeps her down for long. There is simply too much to do, too much world to see, to let problems get in her way. She dances and laughs, is always on the lookout for her next adventure, loves to be surrounded by her friends and family, and is willing to try almost anything if it sounds fun.

Her full embodiment of an alternative to the woman I was raised to be certainly made me pause and take notice. As a lover of human nature, I didn’t feel threatened or offended - mainly curious about this new version of womanhood in front of me.

Much of what I had always expected of myself I had picked up in the unwritten rule book that had been modeled all around me. Observing Colette over the years, I had to ask myself… Did France have a different book? Or was Colette just so fully herself that she decided to throw hers out?

After almost a decade with this incandescent, entirely self-possessed woman in my life, I am proud to say that I’ve learned a thing or two from her. Not to simply emulate her way of life instead of the small, boxed-in woman I seemed destined to become - but to pick my own way of being, free from anyone’s expectations.

Which is really good, because I simply do not have the stamina for 4 am dancing, and I’ve also never been too good at keeping my mouth shut.

As I’ve delved deeper into intentional living, allowing it to become my guidepost in recent years, I’ve learned to throw out the rule book I was raised on. When I came upon a belief - limiting or otherwise - I would pause to examine it with scientific curiosity. Where did this idea come from? Do I truly believe it? How well is it serving me?

I’m still figuring it out. I hope I always will be. To remain engaged and intentional is a lifelong pursuit, and it’s the only kind of life I want to live. But for now, I’ve landed on a few standard, societal ideals that I just no longer subscribe to.

3 Ways I’m Rebelling Against the Rules I was Raised on

Intentionality Over Productivity

Last year, my mother asked me, with full sincerity of heart: Will my family still love me if I stop doing things for them? So that’s probably enough said about the expectations I was raised with…

But even outside of my own home, society places such a high value on what we produce that the question is no longer “To be or not to be?” Now - the question of your worth is entirely based on what you can create, what you have to offer, and how much you can do.

But this leaves us constantly chasing, constantly proving - and constantly exhausted.

Now, I call myself a recovering productivity monster. I intentionally pick one main goal for each day. I focus on just a few key friendships and a couple of main hobbies. I find joy in simply sitting in my backyard, enjoying the spring sunshine as the wind chimes sing - and I find this joy completely without guilt. I am not thinking about that work email or the dishes in the sink or the other 174 items I could have put on my to-do list.

Joy is just as worthwhile a pursuit as any other goal.

I don’t want to get to the end of my life having checked everything off my to do list, only to realize I forgot to actually live. If that means my ambitions shrink a little, or my goals take a little longer to achieve - so be it. Life is the journey. I don’t want to miss it.

Instead of working tirelessly and serving others constantly, I choose what I want, knowing that my worth is inherent and that love is earned based on the person you are - not on what you can offer other people.

My life is far less transactional and far more fulfilling. Even if that means the laundry does sometimes sit around for a few days.

The Motherhood Myth

After more than 8 years working as a life coach for moms, my biggest takeaway is this: Unsubscribe fast from anyone who is constantly bemoaning how hard motherhood is.

While it initially feels great to be validated, to feel like other people can commiserate, and maybe you’re not so alone even as you sit entirely by yourself in a house run by knee-high tyrants…after a while, it just becomes a white noise anthem of “this is so hard.”

Hearing that over and over again only perpetuates the idea of motherhood being akin to martyrdom. You start leaning into the hard, accepting it as inevitable, and slog on through your fated ills. When you don’t feel like you can change it no matter what you do, you lie down and accept it.

And that would be such a waste.

Because it doesn’t have to be that hard.

Truly.

I don’t say that to downplay all that goes into managing a family and a household. I say that because I live it. I refuse to buy into and support the narrative that motherhood is hard, and limiting, and exhausting. I refuse to victimize myself, acting despondent, and bored, and overwhelmed when I know there is an alternative that is so much more fun if I only let it be.

Exhaustion is simply not sustainable, so I don’t allow that to be an option in my motherhood. I believe you get to choose your hard, and I don’t want the thing I spend so much of my energy doing to feel like a toxic work environment that I can’t actually quit. So I don’t let it be toxic.

I set up boundaries. I ask for help. I take breaks.

I live my role as mother in a way that adds to my life, bringing me daily joy. My kids are fed and relatively clean and smothered with love, and that works better - for me, and for them.

Because now they don’t get an overwhelmed, exhausted, shell of a mom. Instead, they get to see me as a person and a mother, in all my messy realness. We can meet each other in our imperfections and hug it out over chocolate chip cookies and family bike rides that mom doesn’t miss out on because she has to stay back and make dinner.

I will not martyr myself in my own home. I won’t let myself be another victim to the Myths of Modern Motherhood.

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The Best is Yet to Come

Is 36 old? Maybe.

But I recently read The Christie Affair, a fictionalized book about the mysterious 11-day disappearance of famed mystery writer Agatha Christie. At the time of her disappearance, Agatha was also 36-years-old, and I felt the themes of the novel acutely swimming around me as we circled similar phases in life.

Don’t worry - I promise I’m not about to run away to the English countryside in a fugue state. Although…

In the book, author Nina de Gramont talks about the age of 36 and how at one point for all of us it seemed so old. We may even consider ourselves old when we reach it, resigning ourselves to a geriatric existence. But - de Gramont argues - 36 is actually still young when taken from the view of someone who truly knows age and the march of time. For most of us in our 30s and 40s, our bodies are still able and strong. We have so many advantages of youth, plus the benefits of knowledge and life experience that alluded us in our 20s.

I am committed to my personal growth. Which should mean that rather than getting older and “going downhill,” my life should just keep getting better and better.

And so far, that’s largely been true. I’ve had moments of a bit of a backslide, but for the most part, it is indeed onward and upward.

I’m not fighting the clock, worried about Botox or facelifts. I enjoy a good skincare routine, but I’m frankly not vain enough to consider plastic surgery. And there’s even a part of me that feels excited about the prospect of aging. Of relinquishing the pressure to be a spring-fresh ingénue.

When I’m standing by my husband in the morning at our twin sinks, brushing my brunette hair, and I catch the sparkling glint of a silvery gray hair, I immediately part my hair to show him.

“Look,” I say, beaming up at him. “We’re growing old together.”

And I can imagine no better future than that.

BONUS REBELLION - Visibility Culture

After years of pressuring myself to post on Instagram and TikTok and YouTube - I’ve given up.

I am no longer willing to do something I hate in order to do what I love.

I simply gave up the belief that I have to be on social media to run a successful coaching business.

(And - yes - I know Substack is technically social media. But the reality is that writing pithy captions, filming b-roll, editing videos, and taking photos just felt so contrived in a way that writing never has. Writing is like breathing - it is all I can do for my fingers to keep pace with the words flowing in my brain. No other form of social media comes close to being as natural and authentic - both in medium and in audience - as I have found Substack to be for me.)

In truth, I found social media not just to be boring or hard or confusing or even dangerous - I found it to be just so incredibly performative.

I don’t want to film myself drinking my chai tea latte in my cutest outfit simply so I can post it on the internet and show other people. I want to quietly sip my chai tea latte, while reading books to my boys as the light pours in the window of our favorite cafe on a Sunday morning.

I want to live it - I don’t want to film it.

So now I don’t. I take pictures to savor memories, not to post online. I film videos so I can always remember the sound of my son’s voice at 7 years old, my 5-year-old singing a silly song he made up. I want to document my life for me. Not so strangers on the internet have some curated and perfectly staged ideal to aspire to or inspire envy.

I didn’t start living like Colette Jaquier just because it looked like she was having so much fun. Instead, I let her joy inspire me to live more like me. And while you may not get the absolute pleasure of meeting her in real-life, I hope her example may inspire you a little bit, too.

Thanks so much for taking the time to read my words! I feel so honored that you gave me some of your precious time. If you’ve made it this far, hopefully you like what you’ve read. And if you like what you’ve read, I hope you’ll consider subscribing.

I write all about intentional living and share my personal experiences from my own life, as well as all the best tips I’ve picked up in my almost decade of coaching women to choose what contentment in their own life looks like.

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You recall getting in the car, clicking your seatbelt, and then things get a bit fuzzy. It’s maybe a little disconcerting, but - hey! You didn’t get in a wreck on the way home, so it’s probably ok. No damage done.

And while I tend to agree that as long as no accidents occurred, you pretty much did an A+ job there… living your life on autopilot is a different story.

Because what you don’t want is to wake up 5 years down the line, keys in hand, with no real memory or connection to the life you’ve been living. When it comes to living a life you truly love, it takes active engagement on a daily basis, supported by intentional choices and aligned actions. And you can’t do that simply by hopping in the car and zoning out.

If you’re worried you may be on autopilot, here’s a quick little cheatsheet to check yourself.

8 Signs You’re on Autopilot (and don’t even know it)

Days Blur Together

Much like that fuzzy car ride home, are your days also blurring together? Maybe you can’t remember what you did last Tuesday… or even what you had for dinner last night? Are you so checked out that you’re just going through the motions?

Routines can lead to monotony, and when we start to let the To Do List drive us, we forget to add a little spice and variety to our lives. This is one of the easiest ways to let opportunities for joy pass us by.

Busy (But Bored)

If your 24 hours in a day constantly feel like they’re not enough then, sadly, you’re just like 95% of the women out there. The real question here is whether your days are leaving you excited or exhausted.

Having a full life and a fulfilling one are not the same thing. Being busy but not enjoying your tasks is a sure sign that you’ve slipped into the passenger seat and someone else is calling the shots on your schedule.

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Avoiding the Elephant

This can be a tough pill to swallow. But if you find you are constantly coping, limping along, putting band-aids over your problems, you’re avoiding the art of living. Unfortunately, it has become way too common to fixate on the symptoms instead of the disease.

You could take some of the energy you use to avoid the elephant in the room to figure out how to get it out instead. Resolving your challenges for good rather than allowing them to hamstring you is a great way to get yourself back in gear.

Restless & Unsure

You’re doing everything you’re supposed to… and yet. Something still feels off.

Items are getting checked off the to-do list, time is passing, but… it all just feels a bit hollow. You don’t know why you feel so restless - bored - listless.

But I do. It’s because you’re acting as if you have a life instead of directing your own. When nothing really matters, it’s easy to fall into a habit of restlessness and simply waiting around for something - anything - to happen to shake you out of it.

It’s Just a Season

C’est la vie. It’s out of your hands. This is what everyone experiences in this phase of life.

All the excuses you tell yourself so that you can stay put in your comfort zone instead of recklessly chasing your dreams.

And they all may be true. But surely you don’t want to do something just because everyone else is. Surely you’d rather carve your own path, a path that reflects your unique desires, ambitions, and dreams.

You don’t have to settle for less just because everyone else is doing it.

Stuck in Maintenance Mode

There are seasons where our hands are full to the point of overflowing, and all we can do is our best to ensure the entire house of cards doesn’t come crashing down. This leads us to maintenance mode, a very necessary resting place - for a short time.

The problem comes when maintenance mode stops being temporary, and suddenly years have gone by just trying to hold the status quo. Instead of leaving room for growth and change, you find yourself clinging to the familiar routine simply because it’s the devil you know.

But if you’re not creating the life you crave, then you’ve essentially put yourself on pause.

You’ll Start “Tomorrow”

As life goes on, it settles into a rhythm. We get a partner, a house, kids… and before long, the things we’ve acquired that were meant to enrich our lives take all of our time.

A relationship to maintain. A home that constantly needs cleaning. Kids with their adorable and never-ending requests.

So, you set your ambition wholly aside. Unrealized dreams and unmet expectations for yourself are met with the constant refrain of “one day… one day…”

But you, my dear, are not the little orphan Annie. You don’t truly hope that tomorrow is always a day away. At some point, you have to stop waiting for tomorrow.

The only way out is to decide that the day has come. Your “one day” becomes “today” and you begin to walk the path that leads to your dreams.

What do you want?

If the question “what do you want?” opens into a pause… it may be because you stopped asking yourself that question a long time again. Autopilot runs rampant while ignoring self-reflection. And ignoring self-reflection is often a direct symptom of leading a busy life based on regular routines and the feeling that you’re “just getting by.”

But I promise you: self-development does not need to be just one more item on the to do list. It can even be - dare I say - fun. Discovering who you are, how you work best, and what you want out of life should be exciting. It should be lighthearted. It should be a help, not a hindrance.

This is exactly how I designed Escape Autopilot, my free 7-day reset, to work. Just 15 minutes a day, done at your convenience, with simple exercises that open you up to you. The very best, embodied, excited, alive version of you.

If you’re debating whether it’s the right step for you - don’t overthink it. Signing up may just be your first step to getting back in the driver’s seat.

Thanks so much for taking the time to read my words! I feel so honored that you gave me some of your precious time. If you’ve made it this far, hopefully you like what you’ve read. And if you like what you’ve read, I hope you’ll consider subscribing.

I write all about intentional living and share my personal experiences from my own life, as well as all the best tips I’ve picked up in my almost decade of coaching women to choose what contentment in their own life looks like.

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Ok everyone, put your hands down.

Because the truth is: we’ve all been there. We all know the feeling of working hard - sometimes to the point of exhaustion - and not feeling that we’ve really accomplished all that much.

Of tirelessly striving, only to come up empty.

When “two steps forward - one step back” feels more like no steps forward and one thousand steps back because you can’t feel your progress toward your goals.

My 2025 was marred by this feeling: working hard and achieving seemingly nothing. And while there are many ways I could combat this limiting belief (listing all the micro-steps forward, focusing on smaller achievements, choosing to measure my goal in different metrics that reflect my effort and not just the outcome), sometimes it’s not your mindset that needs changing.

Sometimes, it’s your routine.

Because even if you actually are working toward your goals, if you also feel like you are run off your feet… you’re kind of missing the point. Life is about so much more than chasing goals, a sense of accomplishment, and a bigger paycheck.

Sometimes, you just need to remember that life is for living and not just achieving.

In my efforts to ensure that 2026 is not a repeat of the same soul-draining cycle as 2025, I took a good, hard look at where things were going wrong. Here’s what I found…

The 5 Routine-Ruiners

1. Morning Mayhem

How we start our day isn’t necessarily how we will finish it, but I have found that most of my bad days start in the morning. Sometimes things come along midday that throw a wrench in the plans, but if I start the morning by sleeping through the alarm, spilling coffee down my shirt, forgetting the lunchbox on the counter, and stubbing my toe rushing out the door - I am headed for the snowball effect.

Start the day angry, and it’s much harder to get back to calm. Start the day in peace, and you’re well-positioned to carry that feeling through with you.

This is your invitation to evaluate your morning routine: What’s working well? What needs adjusting? Where can you remove the friction?

More often than not, these are very simple things. For me, it was a matter of laying out my workout clothes the night before. Buying a bigger pan to fry up more eggs, rather than trying to cook six eggs back to back in the same small pan I’d been using when I was only cooking two eggs in a morning. We started keeping library books by the garage door so my boys can grab some to read on the drive to school. This has essentially eliminated any morning bickering, buying me an extra 10 minutes of quiet for my brain to come online.

Little switches. Huge impact. (You’ll notice that’s a theme around here.)

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2. The Groundhog Day Effect

When every day feels the same, it’s hard to see what’s changing. Monotony has an incredible mind-numbing ability, and doing the same thing over and over again will drive anyone into the ground.

Your days need to feel exciting - not so you have an easier time achieving your goals, but just because you deserve to be enjoying your everyday extraordinary life. Trying to live without excitement is a guaranteed hollow existence. I’m not saying you have to live for your joy (although I personally strive to as it aligns with my values), but I do think everyone needs a little variety and spice in their life.

So think of small, simple ways to switch it up. Try a new coffee shop. Have a picnic dinner in the park. Reach into the back of your closet and style something you haven’t worn in a while. Add some whimsy to your routine, just for the heck of it.

These small changes revitalize your energy, giving you more strength to power through that goal… or maybe just the drive you need to clean the kitchen after dinner. Either way, you’ll get the boost you are craving.

3. Trapped by the To Do List

I wrote about the question my husband and I use to guide our lives earlier this week, but it essentially comes down to one thing: is your life running you? Or - in this case - is your routine running you?

Are you so completely married to your schedule that it has stopped feeling like a tool and started feeling like an obligation? Are you trapped by the routines you once built to support you?

When we can’t do what we want because we have to stick to the schedule, it’s a sign that the schedule is broken. The systems in our lives are meant to aid us in our efforts, not be a prison sentence we are obligated to uphold.

And if you’re not convinced, remember this: flexibility is a key component of mental health. Holding too rigidly to anything makes you more likely to snap. If you think through some of your most recent triggering moments, you may be able to see this pattern already.

In any case, when it comes to routine, it’s worth asking: Is this an aid, or just another obligation?

If it’s not helping you, feel free to let it go.

4. After the Witching Hour

You finally get the kids down and then… what? Most women I know follow the same pattern: so many desires and options that they get crushed by overwhelm and end up just doomscrolling or binging Netflix.

Not exactly the productive night you had hoped for. Considering most moms try to shoehorn an entire day’s worth of tasks into those measly few hours, only to find themselves too exhausted to get up off the couch and actually do the thing, it’s worth taking a hard look at this precious chunk of time.

If you are a stay-at-home mom, your nights may be the best time for you to focus for an hour or two to work toward your goals. Or maybe you are too exhausted, and that’s a better time for you to indulge in some mindful, calming tasks. Perhaps this is the time you’re most social, and meeting up with a friend for a quick chat before bed or getting in some quality time with your partner is the best use of your energy.

Whatever is right for you, it’s important to realize that there is no right or wrong. Only you know what will work best for you.

So track your energy and your ambitions. Figure out how much time you generally have after the kids go to bed. And then, set your new routine to better fit your energy, timeframe, and needs. Don’t let another evening just disappear into the night. Use that time to be your active stress relief, fun time for your hobbies, or hardcore power hour. Whatever suits you best.

5. What about Me?

The final mistake I was making - like so many women before me - came from the very best place: my heart. Given that we had just moved at the beginning of 2025, I was spending a lot of energy last year making sure everyone else had everything they needed.

After a few months of that, everyone in my family was happily thriving… except me. I was most definitely not. Not even really hitting the bar for surviving. It was full-blown depression, and it was hitting me hard.

For too many months, I had told myself that everyone else needed me. But you know who else did? Me. I needed me. I needed my time, attention, and care. I needed to do the little things that make me happy, just as much as I was doing those things for my kids.

So I started chasing my joy. A windchime for my garden in the backyard. Baking muffins and breads. Reading in the sunshine. Doing a puzzle on a Sunday afternoon. (Yes, I have the same hobbies as a 68-year-old woman, and I will not be ashamed.)

As I’ve slowly crawled my way out of the hole, time for me has been a non-negotiable. Not something I squeeze in when I have time. Not a quick girls’ night out that I cut short to get back home again. Not an afterthought, a wish, or a “would-be-nice.”

Regular time to myself, for myself, is a cornerstone of my routine. And it should be in yours, too. Even - and especially - if you are using that time to have fun and not chase your goals. Because no matter what you accomplish, if you’re not feeling alive in your own body, you’re not going to feel the triumph of your successes either.

Thanks so much for taking the time to read my words! I feel so honored that you gave me some of your precious time. If you’ve made it this far, hopefully you like what you’ve read. And if you like what you’ve read, I hope you’ll consider subscribing.

I write all about intentional living and share my personal experiences from my own life, as well as all the best tips I’ve picked up in my almost decade of coaching women to choose what contentment in their own life looks like.

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There was only one thing standing between him and his goal: the paperwork.

Oh. My. God.

The paperwork.

He eventually could have gotten a green card through work, but they had already been working on it for 2 years and made little progress. So, he took it on himself. The mountains he had to climb were enormous, while I simply sat back and watched, smug with my American passport neatly tucked away… I don’t know, wherever he keeps the passports. (Guess I’m still a little smug and disengaged about the whole citizenship thing.)

At one point in the paperwork though, I did have to step in. As his new wife and sponsor of his visa, I had to provide my addresses for the last 10 years.. He had moved around a lot - like 8 times or so. But I had him beat - 12 addresses over the 10 years that constituted my life after high school.

And I knew I would beat him. This is the girl who attended six different elementary schools. Whose family moved within the same neighborhood 4 separate times. Who once had to file state taxes for three states in the same year.

I have always been a wanderer, and it’s no wonder I married someone else who was happy enough to pack up his life in a backpack and move on to the next adventure. And that trend has largely continued in our marriage - we were living in Utah when we got married, and within months we moved to New York City. Then back to Utah. Then Paris. And now - once again - we are back in Utah, in this circle that never ends no matter how dizzy we become.

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While some people may see this silly dance and shudder at the thought of all those moving boxes and details to sort out, we wouldn’t have it any other way. It may not seem like it, but we know exactly what we’re doing.

And that is because every major decision we have made as a couple comes down to one question. Well - a lot of self-awareness… and this one question.

Every time we are contemplating a change - a move, a new job, another child to throw in the mix - we ask ourselves: Who’s running the show?

Is life running me? Or - am I running my life?

The indisputable benefit of all these moves is that we have had no trouble sidestepping complacency. We are active, engaged, and deliberate in so many areas of our lives because we don’t have the luxury not to be. We are constantly adjusting, figuring things out, or re-acclimating to someplace new. When we take the path less traveled, we know we are running the show.

That’s not to say you have to take the path less traveled. By all means - feel free to take the paved road instead of bushwhacking through the undergrowth like we choose to do time and time again. That path calls to us as wanderers who crave change. Maybe you are someone who values stability, and your family needs consistency to thrive. In that case - enjoy the asphalt and the smooth ride, by all means!

But regardless of whichever road you choose to take - the goal is to actively be choosing it. Don’t just stay put because it’s familiar. Don’t let bad patterns continue simply because they’ve always been. Don’t let something that doesn’t fit be the shirt you wear for the rest of your life.

Choose what you want. Run your life.

The Weekly Reset

This question: is life running me? Or - am I running my life? has become the basis of our weekly check-ins. More or less regularly on Sunday nights, my husband and I will sit down and go over our week. We’ll talk highs and lows. We’ll talk schedule for the next week. We’ll take a quick look at the budget. And now that we’ve got the boring stuff out of the way, we get to go big picture.

We don’t shy away from the autopilot in our lives - we know it’s there. The conveyor belt of modern life combined with the heavy expectations - both internal and external - that we face ensures that there are areas we slip into neutral. So we don’t ask is life running me.

The question - the question that has the power to reset your whole life becomes: where is life running me?

Career? Finances? Spiritually? Relationships? Physically? The options to explore are nearly endless.

But figuring out where you are on autopilot is the groundwork to regaining control over your life - your direction - and your happiness.

Awareness is the first step to change. Choosing something else is the second.

So the next time you have the Sunday Scaries, sit down. Breathe. Remember that anxiety is simply ambition without action. And ask yourself: where is life running me right now?

Then - make a plan to change that in a way that aligns more fully with what you want from your life. These micro-pivots out of autopilot and into intentional living are how you will transform your life. Choosing instead of coasting is how you turn around one day and regard your life without regret.

And a word or two of caution from a seasoned professional of change…
Don’t try to tackle too much at once. It just won’t work. Instead, pivot. Take one baby step. Then, next week, take another. Then another. Do that until you’re 100 yards away, and the path the old you was on has disappeared into the scenery. Walk away gently, and you’ll never feel exhausted or overwhelmed while trying to change your life. Instead, you’ll have learned to change it by just one small choice at a time.

I know simply asking yourself this question may seem too easy, but let me ask you another question: why does it have to be hard? Just because somewhere along the way, someone else said so? What if instead of hard and hustle and grind, you chose slow growth? You chose consistent, deliberate action? You chose enjoying the journey, whether it be smooth as a highway or with some bumps and twists and turns?

What if you just let yourself choose - not only the life you want - but how you got there and how hard you make it? What if you just made a million little choices to be happier?

Thanks so much for taking the time to read my words! I feel so honored that you gave me some of your precious time. If you’ve made it this far, hopefully you like what you’ve read. And if you like what you’ve read, I hope you’ll consider subscribing.

I write all about intentional living and share my personal experiences from my own life, as well as all the best tips I’ve picked up in my almost decade of coaching women to choose what contentment in their own life looks like.

I would go about my days, seemingly with my eyes wide open. I’d be checking things off the to-do list, simply flitting from one task to another like a butterfly landing gently on one flower, only to leave it a second later on a whim. I casually let the days on the calendar flip by as they became weeks, months, and then years.

I let it all slip away, a mindless observer of my own life.

The craziest part is that I actually thought I was living.

I had spent so much of my life in survival mode that simply moving from disaster to dormancy felt like leading a life.

When you’ve been trying to keep your head above water for so long, and finally you miraculously find yourself lying in the bottom of a canoe, it’s natural to take a moment to catch your breath and praise your safety. But the reality is: you’re still in the middle of a river. Carrying you forward to destinations unknown.

Better grab a paddle, girl.

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I look back on that time in my life - the time where I was no longer just surviving but I was not yet thriving - and I see only glimpses of the pervasive numbness of that time. The lack of strong memories or emotions - no deep joy, and no disappointment or anger either. The loose friendships I kept - people who were convenient, but not necessarily close.

Technically, it was a very safe existence. But it wasn’t living.

In 2022, my husband and I decided we needed a change. As comfortable and easy as our life was, it was lulling us into an endless slumber. We were zombies, going through the motions. Work - home - kids. On weekends, we took care of the yard and went to church. On week nights, we had dinner at 6. It was the white-picket-fence American dream, and it was killing our souls. We knew we had bigger plans for our lives, and we knew staying put would never allow us to fulfill them.

We spent the next 6 months planning for this change: finishing our home renovation projects, decluttering the house, putting it up for sale. And as 2022 came to a close, we hopped on a plane with just 8 suitcases and a whole lotta hope.

Starting our life again in a new country with our two young kids is what most people may consider risky. For us, it was the adventure of a lifetime. That plane took us to New York City, where we rang in the New Year in our hotel room with our traditional glow stick party. Then we got in a cab, and that cab took us to the cruise terminal. We left America behind and set sail across the ocean on the Queen Mary 2.

We felt like emigrants 100 years ago, staring down the horizon of our new lives. Except, of course, my husband was actually returning to France after living in America for his entire adult life. Plus - you know - we had the benefit of FaceTime and jet engine travel. But that incredible thrill of anticipation and possibility is surely a shiver of excitement that runs through the ages.

For seven days, there was nothing around as far as the eye could see. Just endless sky to send our dreams into, a strong wind that made our breath catch in our throats, and many cups of tea and hot chocolate to warm our hands as we passed through the same ocean the Titanic sank in.

The ocean liner docked in Southampton, and we took another cab (with our two young kids, a stroller, and the 8 suitcases that constituted our worldly possessions), to an Airbnb in London. Our last few days in the English-speaking world.

Then it was another plane, on to Geneva. As our wheels touched down, I watched my 4-year-old staring out the window, preparing for his new life by reciting a smattering of random French words: “maison… bonjour…. rouge.”

In Geneva, we had a chance to catch our breath once again. We took another Airbnb for a month, spent time with my husband’s family, and then boarded the train to Paris for the final leg of our voyage: apartment hunting in the 17th arrondissement

In all, it took us about 3 months before we had a “home” again. It was a wonderfully exhilarating adventure - from the bright lights of Times Square to the endless expanse of the Atlantic Ocean, from the striking shores of Lake Geneva to the limestone-lined streets of Paris. Just the four of us, together on this grand journey.

It was only the beginning.

If the adventure itself was the wake-up call, living in Paris was like rising from your bed only to find yourself on the first day of spring: constant sunshine, excitement, and a perfumed buzz in the air promising even warmer days ahead.

(To be clear - it was not literally constant sunshine. Paris is notoriously wet and rainy, which I adore.)

Living somewhere completely new stripped me of my “busy” life and gave me a completely blank slate to work from. I could no longer hide behind the motions of the everyday; there was no rhythm, no expectations, and no routine to cling to.

I had carefully selected just a handful of items to fill my suitcases. As I was unpacking in my new-to-me apartment that was actually more than 100 years old, I realized I was doing the same careful curation with my life. What parts of me did I want to keep? What was actually working? What was really not?

As I stood on the ledge of my bay window, taking in the sweeping light of the tippy top of the Eiffel Tower, I was ready for a new life. One where I didn’t just make it through, nor one where I just coasted.

The cool night air wrapped around me, damp and heavy with the smell of cigarettes and buttery croissants, and I knew I was ready to truly live.

You don’t have to move to Paris to wake up (although I do highly recommend it - 10/10 - ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐). You just have to be brave enough to ask yourself some questions, honest enough to answer them, and committed enough to act on those answers.

This is the difference between simply having a full life and leading a fulfilling one.

If you’re ready for your wake-up call, start here. I’d be honored to walk that path with you.

They don’t hate their lives. They’re not looking for a huge shake-up or life change. They don’t come to me in desperation, begging for relief.

And those who do usually have a very different set of problems - they’re so aware of the discomfort and pain in their lives, they’re willing to do everything we talk about in session. They are my A+ students. Valedictorians of coaching.

These clients feel the tension, and they show up frustrated. Angry. But also, awake. Alive.

Like I said, these are not most of my clients.

Most of my clients are not frustrated - they’re listless. They’re in neutral. They’re performing, they’re competent. They’re fine. They just want a little help. Shift some energy, solve some simple problems. Break a bad habit or two, achieve a goal- nothing that serious.

Until we start the work.

That’s when they wake up and have a decision to make: do they venture into the land of the living… or do they stay numb and comfortable?

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I know pretty quickly which kind of client I have on my hands. Is she saying “something is wrong”? Or is she masking (even from herself) and saying “Nothing is wrong… but I don’t feel like me”? The first is the client in despair. The second is simply in default.

5 Ways Capable Women Drift into Default

1. Managed vs. Misaligned

Competent women can make almost anything “work.” But the absence of huge, glaring problems doesn’t mean that life feels satisfying. It simply means you are capable (which, c’mon, we both already knew - right, Superwoman?).

You adjust, you tweak. You over-optimize, overperform, over-schedule, over-control. You go above and beyond to maintain the flow; the status quo is the equilibrium that you worship at the altar of.

But you’re asking the wrong question to find true fulfillment. You’re fixated on “how can I do this better?”

What you should be asking is, “Do I want this?”

2. Responsibility Replaces Reflection

There’s always someone or something that needs you. If it’s not the kids, it’s the dishes in the sink. If it’s not the 241 emails in your inbox, it’s the cat that just threw up on the rug. The PTA needed volunteers, so you signed up. And you haven’t been on a date night in months, so you should try to spend a few minutes with your partner…

Capable women are called on again and again because they can be counted on. But the demands of modern life are never-ending. And with a To Do List that ends the day longer than it began it in the morning, self-reflection falls somewhere near the bottom, between “schedule a dentist appointment for yourself” and “check the air filters in the furnace.” Aka - not likely to happen any time this century - at least not until a tooth falls out of your mouth during lunch with co-workers (a shocking and true event I witnessed happen to a friend of mine), or your house gets ice cold or catches fire or whatever happens if you don’t change the filters in your furnace.

With no time to reflect, no quiet time to unwind that we don’t fill with doom scrolling or Netflix or staring thoughtlessly at a blank wall until we lose consciousness, women don’t actually realize what’s wrong inside them. Or - more often than not - that something actually is wrong inside them. That “not feeling like yourself” is not a symptom like a runny nose; it’s more akin to system failure. And the system that’s failing you is prioritizing being needed by others to the point of neglecting yourself.

3. Stability is not Alignment

You’ve got it all:
House.
Kids.
Partner.
Job.

Check. Check. Check. Check.

With loving tenderness, I have to tell you: simply checking the boxes of having a home, a family, and a career doesn’t mean that you’re happy. It means you’ve got some basic building blocks of what makes a life, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it should be your life.

Still, it feels like you’re fulfilling the brief, meeting the expectations for what makes a good life. So if something feels off, you assume it’s hormones. Stress. Exhaustion. On paper, everything else looks good.

But you are not paper-thin, my dear. You are an entire novel, multi-layered and always developing. If you’re willing to look beyond your surface needs, there is much more to a fulfilling life than checking those boxes. If you don’t believe me, just review Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, created in 1943 and still widely regarded as a vital tool in psychology.

4. Coping Becomes Key

As we’ve already discussed, you are far too responsible to blow up your life. There are too many people counting on you. There are too many things to be done. So instead of diving in and facing a problem head-on, you make minor tweaks and adjustments to make it more palatable… for now.

You feel bored and under-stimulated by the routine you’ve built. But instead of turning toward creation or finding a fulfilling hobby, you scroll on your phone in the few moments you have to yourself.

You feel frustrated and overwhelmed, so you vent. It’s a great pressure release valve, but it doesn’t address the root of the problem. It’s a band-aid, covering up the bigger problems and allowing you to avoid the conversations you should be having with the person (or people) you should be having them with.

You tweak your routines instead of redesigning them. You feel rushed and resentful. So you hope waking up 20 minutes earlier or rearranging the pantry will be the answer to all your problems, instead of questioning the problem itself.

Capable women excel at optimizing, but all they are really doing is making their misalignment more efficient.

5. It Happens Slowly

One last thing to note - you didn’t wake up one day and decide to disengage. You built habits that you thought would help you survive, and ended up caging yourself in.

You wanted to be well-liked, so you said “yes” when you meant “no” or “maybe.”

You wanted to be responsible, so you prioritized the practical over the passionate.

You postponed your dreams “for now,” with no certain return date set, even as time marches on.

If you’re lucky, you’ll wake up one day. Maybe ten years later - maybe more. But you’ll wake up and ask yourself: “When did I become a supporting actor in my own life?”

And if you’re brave, and if you’re ready, you’ll stop coping. You’ll prioritize alignment over stability, caring more about personal fulfillment than people pleasing. You’ll stop doing it all. You’ll take long walks without your airpods in, you’ll write in your journal. You’ll give yourself the gift of time and space to discover yourself again. You’ll start asking yourself the right questions.

And if you’re brave, and if you’re ready, you’ll realize how badly you want to live your life - truly live it. Not as a passenger to time, but fully and confidently in the driver’s seat. In control of your one great, big, beautiful life.

And if you’re not quite there yet, but you want to be brave, and you feel almost ready…
I’m offering a free 7-day Intentional Living Reset beginning March 23, 2026. Each day, you’ll receive an email with a 15-minute exercise to help you Escape Autopilot and reclaim your life. Just 15 minutes of daily self-reflection, followed by enough courage to implement these changes, may just be the start of your next chapter. The one you write entirely for yourself.