Last month, I was in one of those chapters.
The kind where everything feels heavy and never-ending. Work was busy, with my boss on leave and me applying for a director position. PTO was intense, with the end of year wrap-up. The house needed attention. Summer camps needed planning. And somehow, I was supposed to be fitting in self-care, too? Spoiler alert: I wasn’t.
Instead, I’d been putting my head down, doing the best I could, and trying to keep everyone else afloat.
But burnout crept in. And it was about that time that someone said something that brought a little light through all the noise:
“You can’t be everything to everyone—and you don’t have to try.”
It stopped me in my tracks. Because that’s exactly what I’d been doing. I love helping people. I love supporting the people I care about. But sometimes “people” becomes everyone, and I lose myself in the process.
That moment reminded me of a photo I took one night—light filtering through the trees at sunset. And it clicked.
I’d been acting like every single tree is mine to touch.
Every task. Every responsibility. Every goal. Every need.
I thought I had to touch everything to get to the light.
But I didn’t, and I don’t.
I only need to touch the ones that matter. The ones that lead me toward peace, purpose, and joy. The ones that align with my values.
That’s the real path.
At the time, it felt like I just needed to push through. Now I can see it more clearly — it was a form of capacity compression, where everything was being held in my head without a system to support it.
When things get tough, I ground myself back in the reason this blog exists in the first place. The Fulfilled Hustle isn’t about pushing through or doing more. It’s about finding fulfillment in the middle of the hustle. It’s about slowing down. Re-centering. Saying no. Letting go of perfection. And remembering that your energy is best spent with the people and priorities that truly matter.
This is your reminder (and mine):
Take a deep breath. Look up. See the light through the trees. The path is still there. Even if you’re only touching a few trees along the way.
R