Finding the Self in the Pressure of Life
(For the mothers, the executives, the doers who’ve forgotten how to breathe)
I woke up this morning thinking about holiday Meg - the version of me my husband (Philip) teases about. She’s light, playful, spontaneous, a little silly. She laughs easily, lingers over coffee, forgets about time.
And then there’s everyday Meg: focused, disciplined, efficient. She carries the family, the business, the vision. She’s good at getting things done.
Philip once said, half tender, half wistful, “I miss holiday Meg.”
I bristled. I wanted to defend the woman who holds it all together. But if I’m honest, the words stung because they were true. Somewhere between building dreams and paying bills, I’d misplaced the part of me that used to dance while cooking dinner.
The Quiet Cost of Competence
When we’re good at managing life, we stop noticing what it costs.
We become so capable that we start living only from the part that performs, provides, and plans.
It happens to mothers who’ve poured themselves so fully into caring for others that they forget what lights them up.
It happens to executives whose purpose-driven work becomes a weight instead of a calling.
The outer life might look thriving - but inside, something goes quiet.
The soul whispers: “I miss the part of you that doesn’t measure everything.”
A Different Kind of Balance
For years I thought balance meant doing less. Today I reflecting - maybe it’s about letting more of myself in. Welcoming the playful and irresponsible into little moments of my day.
My maternal grandfather was an absolutely incredible man - everyone who knew him loved him. As the first born, I had named him “Pwudah” and the name stuck - he was a beloved man, a missionary with deep focus on the massive responsibility of leading a church. He was a Godly man. But OH WAS HE NAUGHTY!!
He once left his children in the car (you did that in the 1950’s) to visit a sick person. And to liven up the boredom for this children, we climbed out of the window of the 5 story flat and walked on the outside of the building to make them laugh.
He never walked - he danced and hopped. In the seriousness and reverence of his pastoral life, he was fun and naughty and totally irreverent.
The soft with the strong. The laughter with the logistics. The being with the doing.
I am realizing that balance isn’t about perfection; it’s a dance where lightness gets to twirl alongside duty.
The “Holiday You” Practice
If you, too, feel like life has turned serious, here’s something simple.
It takes two minutes, no candles, no app, no “self-care guilt.”
1. Pause.
Close your eyes. Whisper: “Nothing to fix right now.”
2. Recall.
Think of a moment when you felt free - barefoot on a beach, laughing with friends, sun on your face. Feel it in your body, not your head.
3. Invite.
Say softly: “You’re welcome here, even on a Monday afternoon.”
Then bring one trace of that feeling into your next task - a song, a breath, a smile.
That’s it. Holiday You just clocked in.
A Word of Encouragement
This is my message to me today (I hope maybe it will be for you too).
You haven’t lost yourself.
You’ve just lived so long from one side of your magnificence that the other side is homesick.
She’s waiting patiently - not to replace your capable self, but to walk beside her.
So let her.
Let her laugh too loudly. (something my friends say I do)
Let her see beauty before productivity.
Let her bring humour into the heaviness.
Because when we let the lightness in, life doesn’t fall apart it just feels a little more fun and whole.