This Part Wasn't in the Plan
I gave myself the month of January to rest. It was my birthday month, and after a really challenging year, I wanted to start fresh by doing… nothing. (Or trying to—let’s be honest, you can’t take the planner out of the planner.) I told myself I’d gift myself rest for 30 days. No big plans. No big pushes. Just space.
Of course, the reality of no job set in quickly. It was my birthday month after all, and I’m a social person—I like to celebrate. But I was listening to my body more than ever and following some guidance from my therapist: stay off my phone, make fewer plans, do less—and remind myself that “doing nothing” could actually be productive.
Then came February.
The questions started rolling in—So, what’s next? What are you working on? Any updates? And the pressure of having an answer kicked my nervous system into overdrive. I was trying to stay grounded, trying to trust, trying to quiet the internal (and external) voices. I had a front row seat to how deeply wired my need to “perform” had become.
The word “lucky” came up a lot that month. Too much, actually. And not in a way that felt kind. I found myself bristling at how people would say it—“You’re so lucky to be able to take this break.” I am deeply grateful. But luck had very little to do with it. There was no luck in burnout. No luck in the painful clarity that came with realizing I had outgrown a job I once loved. No luck in staying longer than I should have out of loyalty, responsibility, or fear. No luck in the deep, intentional work my husband and I did to get to a place where this kind of leap felt possible. There’s nothing lucky about trying to survive something quietly for a year before making a change. Gratitude? Yes. Luck? No. This was a choice. A risk. A lot of work. And a little magic.
February was about unlearning. Letting go of habits, fears, and people-pleasing tendencies that no longer served me. I started giving fewer shits. Which was so freeing.
March was the true test.
It was the month where I had to take all the things I said I wanted to change… and actually do them. Show up differently. Work differently. Think differently. It was uncomfortable. Vulnerable. Energizing. I took care of myself. I started following joy—not just productivity. I listened to my gut. I said yes to things that lit me up and I could feel a little spark coming back.
I explored. I helped a friend with her wedding planning business. I did a few design consults. I dove deep into a possible career pivot in Real Estate. I shadowed agents. I asked questions. I met a group of people who are doing things differently, people who reminded me of the kind of work and energy I want to be around. I fell in love with their integrity—and in that mirror, I felt mine return. Ultimately, I chose not to pursue that path (at least for now), but I chose myself again. That spark was back, and I am so grateful to the team for their generosity and for reminding me of the kind of work and energy I want to be around.
April was my favourite.
People stopped asking me what was next—maybe they thought I’d never work again (ha!)—but I felt lighter. I stopped thinking about what I should be doing, and started moving through my days with motivation and intention. My own pace. My own way. Clients started reaching out. Ideas returned. Energy trickled back. And I realized something kind of beautiful:
I want to work on my own terms. With clients I love. On projects that stretch and surprise me. I want the freedom to pivot, to pause, to build something that moves with me as I grow.
I don’t have it all figured out. I’ve said that in every journal entry so far… and maybe that’s the point.
I’m a planner by nature. But this part?
This part wasn’t in the plan.
And maybe, that’s exactly where the magic lives.
Just one foot in front of the other.
My husband and I started saying “medium pace” to each other last summer while doing chores—just a gentle reminder that there’s no race. Now, I’m saying it to myself as I rebuild, recalibrate, and reignite.
One slow, intentional step at a time.