What Do You Need to Write Down Now so it Doesn't Follow You Into the Night?

This winter storm has brought much of the world to a standstill—perhaps with the exception of first responders. Everything else feels suspended, slowed, forced into pause.

I’ve been recovering from an unexpected cold. The weather caught me off guard, and I wasn’t as prepared as I thought I was. There’s a quiet lesson in that—how quickly the body reminds us that control is an illusion, and rest is not optional.

In my recent interactions, I can feel the collective resistance. People don’t seem thrilled about returning—temporarily or otherwise—to hybrid modes of communication and work. Maybe plans were disrupted. Maybe routines unraveled. There’s a shared urgency, a low hum of frustration. I understand it. I feel it too. And still, what I learned during COVID—and in the realities that followed—is this: I will always choose connection, even if it’s through a screen, over silence. Some communication is better than none.

My body, thankfully, has been faithful in asking for rest—even when my mind insists I’m “losing time.” Time that could be spent applying to graduate programs, jobs, fellowships. Time scrolling the apps, seeking connection. Time chasing the next opportunity. Between recovery and the ever-present pressure to thrive, there are moments when I wish I had another body just to keep up.

In divine timing, I’ll invest in support—maybe even a remote assistant—because sustaining high functionality while honoring a healthy balance between living and thriving requires help. I no longer see this as a failure. Life has taught me that no job has ever truly seen or adequately valued me. I’ve been fortunate to collaborate on projects aligned with my values, and for that I am deeply grateful. But leaders, coworkers, industries? Less so. My passion was rarely cultivated, my efforts seldom retained.

That realization has changed me.

I’m now far more intentional about taking up space—and time. If anything, I spend more of it with myself… and with Milo. I pause before over-pouring. I no longer humor places, people, or circumstances that do not invest in me. This chapter is about reciprocity.

For a long time, I believed that staying small would make me visible. That if I remained agreeable—reliable, passionate, creative, self-directed—I might move forward. Time proved otherwise. Whether I stayed quiet or spoke up, those in power often found it easier to dismiss me. To reroute me. To weaponize trauma-informed language while engaging in deeply unethical practices—terminating talent under the guise of care.

It makes me wonder: if we are truly entering a new chapter of collective growth, could we agree—at the very least—on cultivating trauma-informed communication and management practices in the workplace? Can honoring mental health become a basic human right in the spaces where we spend most of our waking lives?

Because many of us are barely living.

We are fed empty promises—of support, collaboration, open doors. Meanwhile, consistency shows up only as salary breadcrumbing, endless micromanagement, and a stubborn refusal to steward healthy team dynamics. We accept lower pay just to stay afloat. We’re policed instead of trusted. Coercion is dressed up as “culture,” upheld by outdated hierarchies that erode trust and fracture communication. Consciousness, it seems, makes one a liability. Awareness becomes a threat.

And yet.

I’ve come to understand that honoring my mental and holistic health—while perceived as a flaw by some—has granted me something invaluable: longevity. Depth. A journey infused with clarity and magnetic presence. I’ve outlived chapters others rushed through unaware.

I’ve arrived at a place of ease—not because the road was smooth, but because I no longer apologize for being the expert of my own experience. That knowing steadies me as I navigate these volatile, emotionally charged times we are all moving through.

So I’ll leave you with this question:

Are you willing to shorten your human experience to satisfy the egos of those who surround you—by choice or by circumstance?

If not, what is your strategy today?

And what do you need to write down now, so it doesn’t follow you into your sleep?