There's a lie that we all live by that burns my britches (or rather, my pajama bottoms, since that's what I'm wearing at the moment), and it's this:

“Good leaders (parents, entrepreneurs… put in whatever you want here) have all the answers.”

When I received this pitch, I was excited to schedule the interview. But then I read one of the guest's articles on Substack. It was the last line that got me, and which inspires this longer-than-normal newsletter. 

The article (on war, a different topic than we'd discuss on the show) was stunning in the best way. The kind that arrests you in the first sentence and holds you hostage.

I rarely experience an energy dip during the day that a brisk walk can't cure. In fact, regarding my overall energy levels, I have few complaints (especially given my advanced age!).

I see this way too often. You're self-aware (anywhere from a self-help enthusiast to a licensed therapist to a Spiritual Savant), and yet, you find yourself in another toxic love relationship (or no relationship at all), still having money woes, or circling the same drain at work. 

You do all the things, and you're still exhausted, irritable, and beside yourself with why you aren't over it!

I've recently given up shaming the crap out of myself for guilty pleasures. Hence, my latest Netflix binge/obsession. 

 It's a show called Ginny & Georgia—a coming-of-age-meets-mother-daughter-thriller where survival means staying one step ahead, and safety is a luxury no one actually feels.

It got me thinking about how good we are at storytelling—not just the kind we stream, but the ones we live. 

They say you teach what you need to learn, and that statement could not be more accurate from where I stand. I've been on a journey of relentless emergence – to find my voice, my worthiness, and my place. 

I've studied, practiced, and taught countless forms of the same thing from ancient wisdom to neuroscience, only to barely scratch the surface of what is to be known, much less understood.

Urgency has become our drug of choice. Everything's a fire. Everything needs our attention RIGHT NOW.  

But here's what I've learned: Most of the urgency we feel is anxiety dressed up as productivity, strutting around our nervous system like it owns the place.

Urgency has become our drug of choice. Everything's a fire. Everything needs our attention RIGHT NOW.  

But here's what I've learned: Most of the urgency we feel is anxiety dressed up as productivity, strutting around our nervous system like it owns the place.

Here are three inspirations to ease you back to post-holiday life! The first one is my trick for getting unstuck when your perfectionist tendencies are running you ragged. 

I never considered myself a perfectionist because

a) I'm more of what you might call a “clutterist”, and

b) I couldn't catch a detail if it sneezed in my face.  

Now, however, I know that perfectionism is why it's taken me a millennium to get out of my own way. I was so busy fearing failure that I encased my feet in cement.

As for me, my husband and I usually take our first step into a store on Christmas Eve morning (which, in itself, feels like a burden). 

However, we don't need to go that far this year because my 14-year-old manifested a cat.

On a drive to the store in October, when he started his cat campaign, I told him that if one were to materialize (as in a carton of free kittens on the corner), I would consider it - if for no other reason than to encourage the manifestation practice.

I’ve been on a deep dive into my inner world for the last few months. I’ve run into sharks and manatees, gasped for air, and nearly drowned, but much is shifting and coming to light.

Much like my clients (and sometimes friends) feel about me, my partner in this crime is the type you love to hate. She roots for me from the bottom of her soul, which means…

I fell off an emotional cliff last weekend—in a fantastic mood one minute, and the next, a loaf on the couch, binging cold-case documentaries on Netflix, eating everything I could get my paws on (nothing exciting as Brian hides all the good stuff).

I’m pretty sure I know what shifted, and it had to do with the part of my ego that hides in corners, biting her nails, thinking I need to stay small, shut up, and know my place.

When I was little, I burnt a black hole in my carpet (hanging a lamp too close while drawing on the floor). We moved the bed over it, and I spent the next several years terrified that a monster lived under there.

I was also afraid of the basement, the dark, dying, being alone, laughed at, found out, looking stupid, Mrs. Finley, making a mistake, people hating me, and most of all, that I was fundamentally unlovable. 

Do you get Hallmark-Channel holidays, where relatives genuinely enjoy, feel safe, are heard, seen, and entertained by one another, and also cook well?  

Let's face it, some people got different blessings in this life, but holidays are hijacked by drunk Uncle Wilbur making an ass of himself.

Perhaps relatives laugh uncomfortably or glue their eyes to the potatoes while a select few scowls from the kitchen. How the day will end out is anybody's guess, but next year, everyone holds their breath and pretends the year before never happened.

I'm just back from dragging my body and mind kicking and screaming on a walking meditation.

I say “dragged” because every cell of me wanted to a) complain, b) go back to bed in defeat, or c) do my endless dance of forcing, efforting, and pushing on my business.