I have a confession to make. I’m that woman who fills her calendar until there’s no white space left, then wonders why she feels like she’s drowning.
It’s not that I don’t know better. I do. I understand that boundaries protect my peace and sanity. I’ve read the books, listened to the podcasts, nodded along to friends’ advice about “learning to say no.” Yet somehow, I keep saying yes.
Yes to the friend’s dinner invite. Yes to participate in a worthwhile collaboration. Yes to another creative project.
And before I know it, I’m rushing from one commitment to another.
Driving used to be my least favorite thing to do, but these days my car has become my sanctuary. Answering texts by voice, asking Siri to read my schedule for the day and week. Siri has become the assistant I desperately need—no judgment, just the facts. While I prefer human connection, sometimes it feels easier and more humane to bark out my questions and make lists to this machine that doesn’t care one way or the other what tone I use.
The funny part? I’ve turned this chaos into a game. A countdown, really. One more meeting, two more errands, three more phone calls until I reach the finish line—which this month happens to be a long awaited vacay with my hubby. Just a few more checkmarks on my to-do list, and then I can breathe.
But here’s what I’ve learned in my journey of perpetual busyness: the finish line keeps moving. There’s always one more thing. The vacation comes and goes, and I find myself right back in the same breathless race, promising myself that next time will be different.
What I’m slowly realizing is that the peace I’m chasing isn’t waiting for me on some distant beach. It’s in the boundaries I haven’t quite learned to draw. It’s in the gentle “no” I’m still practicing in front of my bathroom mirror.
Maybe you recognize yourself in this confession. Maybe you too have found yourself wondering how your life became so full of everything except the stillness you crave.
If so, know that you’re not alone, and that we’re both works in progress, learning as we go. The boundary-drawing muscles take time to strengthen. And it’s okay to stumble in our efforts to protect what matters most.
Without minimizing our challenges, here’s an affirmation I’d like to offer to you about progressing by 1% at a time: Each stumble is not failure—it’s progress. Every time you recognize the pattern, every time you pause before saying yes, every time you honor your limits even imperfectly, you’re growing stronger by that precious 1%. These tiny shifts, these small moments of awareness, are quietly creating the space your soul has been asking for. Trust the process. Trust yourself. The path to peace isn’t perfect—it’s beautifully, imperfectly human, just like you.
