Learning to slow down, soften, and breathe again.... 

In movies, there’s a moment. It’s THE moment. It’s the musical crescendo, it’s the coming together of all the threads, it’s the moment where the main character has a metaphorical lightbulb come to life over their head. It’s cinematic, and it’s often so very dramatic.  

I didn’t have that moment. I didn’t have that one cinematic, dramatic moment where everything came crashing down, or where my life changed in a split second before my very eyes. It was... quieter than that. Smaller than that. It was so subtle that without knowing what I was looking at, I didn’t even see it changing.  

I saw the way I could sleep for nine hours at night and still wake up exhausted, feeling hollowed out and empty.  

I saw the way I worried about mundane , often inconsequential things – parking situations, hypothetical situations that may or may not ever occur, changes in plans, any kind of uncertainty. And I saw the way my worries exhausted my loved ones.  

But the most striking of all was when I finally heard my nervous system's quiet whisper of a plea for help. “I can’t keep living like this.”  

I finally listened.   

And that was the beginning of everything I’m writing now.  

The Slow Unraveling

I have been in education for over two decades. I’ve spent my entire life being the dependable one, the capable one, the one who makes the right decisions at the right times to move in her career. I have learned to normalize an unhealthy level of pressure.  

But it’s not just me. I’m thinking it’s all of education. It’s all of the dependable ones, the capable ones, the ones who are expected to make the right decisions at just the right times. We are all bearing an unhealthy amount of pressure on our shoulders.  

It’s not an intentional pressure from outside. We are not bearing it dramatically (well, let’s be fair, some of us might be bearing it a bit more dramatically than others). And it’s not a sudden thing. It’s gradual.  

A little more on your plate, because it’s obvious you can handle it.  

A little more emotional load because you’re always so strong.  

A little more urgency to get something done, and you oblige because you’re the people pleaser.  

A little more expectation – because you always get the job done.  

A little more being “on” because people question when you show normal human emotions like fatigue, sadness, or anxiety. It’s the mask that you learn to wear because you are taught that people want to see the perfection.  

And suddenly, you realize that you are not living your life.  

You are surviving it.  

It’s a quiet burnout that whispers in your deepest desires, that lingers in the corners of your dreams, and then begins to invade your daily life. It doesn’t turn your life to gray – no, because that would be noticeable.  

Instead, it’s a shade that slips over your eyes and dims the colors in your world just a tiny bit, mutes the joys that you feel just the smallest amount. It’s a burnout that hides itself under the belief that you are “just doing a damn good job.”  

And my body knew the truth of my burnout long before my brain ever did.  

I Finally Said the Words

I never planned to say it out loud. I had dreamed about it – who hasn’t? But I never planned on it being a reality.  

Until that day. The day that I cried at work because I felt like I was working so hard... and then new deadlines were put in place.  

More meetings were scheduled.  

More expectations on extra duties because while there weren’t the personnel to complete these tasks, they still had to be done.  

More items on a to-do list were put onto my plate, with less time to complete them.  

Weekends lost to work.  

I went home that day and straight to my husband. And this sweet man wrapped his arms around me, his deep voice a literal balm that swept over my raw nerve endings when he asked, “What do you need right now?” And while I had no plans of saying it, the quiet, shaky words became a tidal wave that I could not have stopped if I’d tried.  

“I think I need... Some time. I need a year off, to breathe.”  

I don’t know what I expected. I was braced for the worst. But you know what happened?  

Nothing.  

He didn’t get angry at me.  There was no sign from the universe that I was making a colossal mistake. Life didn’t screech to a halt. There was no thunderous silence.  

But you know what did happen?  

I exhaled. For what felt like the first real time in a very long time.  

My chest loosened slightly, that tight grip of anxiety releasing. My shoulders dropped. Those tight bands across my upper back slackened. And there was a glimmer. In the corners of my vision, like that twinkle of Christmas lights nestled on the branches of a tree, I could see a hint of something that I didn’t even know I needed to see.  

Hope.  

 
And once I saw that, once I knew it existed, that whisper from my nervous system was no longer something that I could ignore.  

What Happened After That? 

It took some time to realize that my desire for a year off of work could become a reality. My husband works so hard at his job, and I refused to make his life even harder by adding on a layer of financial responsibility that was irresponsible.  We talked for a long time about my options, about our finances, about the three boys we are raising, and the impacts that time off could potentially have on them.  

And after countless conversations, after most of my cuticles showed physical signs of my indecision and worry, after spreadsheets indicated that this was, indeed, a real possibility, my husband looked at me and said, “Let’s do it. We will make it work.” And then he said four words that will forever be ingrained in my heart.  

“I’ve got you, babe.”  

I don’t know what I expected at that point. Fear, maybe? Guilt? Second guessing? But I was surprised.  

Don’t get me wrong. Those feelings showed up, and I will be exploring them in detail on this blog. But mostly?  

Once the decision was made, even though it was still a silent decision – still unknown to the world – I saw some physical indicators that it was a good one. I saw some undeniable evidence of my whole body beginning to exhale.  

Even though I hadn’t told a soul yet—not my administrators, not my friends, not the world—my body reacted instantly. It was like my entire being exhaled in slow motion. 

But I still saw relief immediately.  

My stress reactions at work softened. Events that would have sent me into a tizzy now caused me to scowl, but they didn’t reduce me to tears anymore. They caused my officemate (and work best friend) to whisper to me that my face has subtitles, so I needed to fix it... but they didn’t make me question my worth quite as much. It became easier to remind myself that I was only human, and that I could only do so much.  

My nervous system had spent years, possibly decades – probably the majority of my life – standing in a fighter’s stance. Legs are wide to absorb impact without moving, fists clenched tight and up to protect the face. My nervous system was prepared for battle, every single day... but I could feel it begin to unclench its fists. The grip was still there, eyes still darting from side to side, looking for something to come swinging. But the hands were not held in a death grip for the moment, and the jaw was a little less gritted.  

My inner fighter was realizing that there could exist a world where she was not inundated with threats, and she was realizing that hope of such a world was not weakness. No, quite the contrary – it was a strength that was so soft that it could have been missed, if I hadn’t heard that whisper.  

Education Doesn't Reward Rest -- and That's Part of the Problem

Any educator will tell you that this work is a calling.  It’s not just a job. It’s a career where our students often come home with us, occupying our thoughts long after we “clock out.” So many times, I’ve heard the phrase that “if you love what you do, you never have to work a day in your life.’ But that’s not the truth – or at least, not the whole truth.  

Education is so much more than people think it is.  

It’s teaching. 
Coaching. 
Supporting families. 
Managing behaviors. 
Coordinating interventions. 
Guiding teams. 
And all of it toward prescribed finish lines that don’t always fit the child in front of you. 

Teachers and support staff within a school give and give and give. They pour and pour and pour from their cups.... and the system is surprised (I would even say shocked!) when the cups are suddenly empty.  

 
The parent emails at all hours, wanting this or that.  

The emotional labor of trying to give different students exactly what they need when they need it.  

The caretaking of those students who don’t have anyone else in their lives to care for them. 

 The expectations from a district that has long forgotten what life is like in the classrooms.  

 The pressure from those within an ivory tower to do more and more and more – with less and less and less.  

The constant vigilance. If this student gets mad at me, am I within view of the cameras? If this student wants to be referred to as “he,” do I respect the child’s wishes or do I worry more about the parents? If a child says they are being bullied but it never happens within my line of sight, what do I do and how do I help them? Am I making the right decisions for this child?  

It took me years to realize that the price for “being dedicated” and “good at my job” was a prolonged length of time surviving in fight or flight.  

And it took me even longer to realize that I didn’t want to live that life anymore.  

I didn’t want to wake up at 4:30 to work out because I knew that at the end of a school day, odds were low I’d have the energy to meet my own exercise needs. I didn’t want to  immediately brace myself for whatever fresh hell the school day might bring me. I didn’t want to come home so exhausted at the end of the day that I crawl into bed at 8:30pm. I didn’t want to be expected to give everything I have to a job, so much so that I had nothing left to give my own family at the end of the day.  

I gotta tell you, raising three teenage boys on limited patience? It’s not easy. And it’s not fair for my kids to have to be so on-guard because my patience was long gone. It’s not fair for my stresses and anxieties to begin manifesting themselves within my children’s lives.  

I felt like I was constantly sprinting through each day, living for the next weekend or the next break.  

The next time I could catch my breath.   

So I’m stepping out of the race. I’m coming down off the treadmill.  

I’ve chosen my new path – as uncertain as it seems at this point. I’m rebelling, but I’m doing it softly. Gently.  

But don’t be fooled. Soft and gentle doesn’t mean I don’t have determination. This IS happening.  

I am unhustling my life.  

So Why Am I Sharing This Journey?

Because I know I’m not the only one.  

I know I CAN’T be the only one. The “hustle culture” in America is so pronounced and so ingrained in our lives that it seems almost taboo to not want to be a part of it anymore. But I know I’m not the unicorn that is looking for a way – not out of the system, but a way back into who I am as a person.  

I know there are women out there who are mothers, educators, business leaders, wives, caretakers, healers who have been so strong for so long that they have forgotten that being soft is even an option.  

I’m sharing this journey because I know what it’s like to be running on empty but still force myself to be high-functioning all day every day.  

I know what it’s like to feel proud of myself for receiving praise for coping mechanisms that are actually just symptoms of deeper problems.  

I know what it feels like to feel your body begging you to stop and to rest ... and then to doubt yourself, your abilities, and your power because of that.  

This blog – An Unhustled Life – is my love letter to a version of me that stayed strong for too long in a system that didn’t -- couldn’t -- support me. It is the dream I have for myself...  A life where I can actually look forward to living every single day, not just looking forward to the next break. What will that look like?  

I have no idea.  

And if you’ve stumbled across this blog, and if you felt your chest tighten a little bit as you read? If you found yourself nodding along to what I’ve said? If you felt, even a little bit, like maybe I voiced some thougts you yourself have had?  

I need you to know that you are not alone.  

 
And you are not broken.  

You might just be done hustling, too.  

An Unhustled Life: An Invitation

You don't need to have it all figured out. I definitely don't.

I’ll go ahead and admit it. I’m not perfect. Far from it. I’m not going to be the influencer who tells you that drinking green juice in the mornings and hours of workouts will help you fit back into your pre-kid jeans.  I don't do crash diets and I'm not the person who will be seen in a picture, holding my shirt up to show off my washboard abs (Trust me, you do NOT want that). 

I’m someone who could lose twenty pounds  and who would love to. I’m someone who struggles with choosing lean protein and vegetables over pizza and wine more often than I should. I’m someone who thinks that food is the appropriate first choice in stress response.  

But is that really me? Or is that the me that is so mired in decades of built-up stress and anxiety that I no longer recognize myself in the mirror?