I was crawling across the floor... or should I say I was trying to crawl across the floor.
Everything hurt. Every muscle twitch was excruciating.
Tears fell like hot lava from my face - and somehow, even THAT hurt. At best I was whimpering, at worst, outright wailing, as I made my way from the floor in the family room to the bathroom.
And then I had to try and stand up.
I was seriously entertaining the idea of just laying there - creating a pool of my own filth - just so I didn't need to move another millimeter.
But I kept going. I still don't know how I managed to "hold it" until I got to the toilet.
When my husband got home from work, we beelined to the ER. A few tests later confirmed that the sciatica that had disappeared months ago had come back with a vengeance. A pinched nerve that required neurosurgery to solve the problem.
Swell.
They sent me home with pain meds and told me to come back. The soonest they could get me in was 11 days away.
I'm sorry, what?!?!
Did you not hear the howling? Did you not see my wrenched up face and contorted body? I literally rode in the back seat of the car because I couldn't sit up straight, I was in so much pain.
I ended up having to reschedule my Creative Freedom Retreat because there was no way I could stand for more than a few moments at a time, never mind trying to lead a planning workshop.
At least with some pain meds, I could still get some work done. Right?
Wrong.
The meds took the edge off, but the pain was constant. I gave up trying to dress myself and ate as little as possible to minimize trips to the restroom... because said trips always required help. I practically had to be carried, it was that bad.
"Work" consisted of a handful of virtual appointments where I was strategically "propped and covered" so as not to reveal too much of myself on video. The less I moved, the less it hurt, so anything I could do without a camera on, I would attempt.
I had 4 semi-productive sessions before I finally gave up on the idea of doing anything that involved other people. The remainder of my "waiting" time, I was alone with my thoughts, wondering what would be left of my business when I was finally able to return to work.
Hustle taught me how to push — how to make things happen through grit, willpower, and sheer stamina. It trained me to override my body’s signals, distrust my intuition, and measure my worth by how much I could produce before collapsing at the end of the night.
Hustle applauds the late nights and the full calendars. It rewards the moments you say “yes” when your whole being is whispering “not now.” It’s a survival strategy dressed up as ambition.
When my kids were young, I wore busy like a badge of honor. So much so, that my kids thought I was always working and my youngest started to think his babysitter was his mom.
While I let a lot of that thinking go over the years, I was still the bottleneck in my business. I could outwork almost anyone, and I often did - until I couldn't anymore.
I told myself it was passion. Dedication. Proof that I was serious about success. And maybe that's a little bit true.... maybe.
What it really was, though, was fear.
Fear that if I slowed down, everything I’d built would crumble. Fear that if I stopped producing, people would stop paying attention... or caring about me at all.
I knew how to reach for the next milestone, but I didn’t know how to rest in what I’d already achieved. Every goal met, every box checked, every objective achieved only opened the door to the next one (and the next one, and the next).
Satisfaction never lasted long. It's a chronic condition for Fusion creatives - wind your key, put your head down, and go.
Ask for help? Naw. It's faster to just do it myself.
Celebrate? Maybe. Will there be cake?
Even with all the growth work I've done, I still didn’t realize how I’d internalized the notion that success is earned through exhaustion. That the more I sacrificed, the more I proved I was worthy of having it.
Well, crap.
It took being laid up in bed for 11 days to see how hustle had conditioned me to mistake constant output for consistent progress. To believe that if I wasn’t moving, I was somehow failing.
Double crap.
Hustle won't teach you how to hold success—how to sustain it without sacrificing yourself in the process. Because it’s one thing to climb the mountain; it’s another to live at the summit without losing your footing.
Real, sustainable success doesn’t demand more from you; it asks for something different: discernment, pacing, and the courage to stop performing your worth. It’s the quiet, grounded kind of success that expands your capacity instead of depleting it.
I knew how to climb the mountain of success. I'd been climbing my whole life. But I didn’t know how to live at the top without losing myself.
Hustle glorified the sprint and ignored the recovery.
Sustainable success is not about doing more; it’s about doing what matters with integrity and enough space to breathe. It asks you to trade urgency for rhythm, exhaustion for discernment, and constant striving for steady alignment.
It calls for pacing, not pushing. For courage—not the kind that conquers, but the kind that trusts.
The world doesn’t need your burnout. It needs your brilliance: steady, embodied, and alive.
Hustle culture disguises depletion as achievement. We’ve been conditioned to believe that busyness equals importance — but as leadership coach Ray Williams notes, being “addicted to busyness” actually diminishes well-being and real productivity.
The culture of hustle convinces us that constant output, all-in commitment and “always on” momentum are the marks of real achievement. Actually, though, research shows this mindset often leads to the opposite: exhaustion, declining performance and diminished creativity. Over-working (i.e., more than ~50 hours/week) actually reduces productivity, impairs cognitive function and stifles innovation rather than increasing it.
This is how depletion gets dressed up as achievement: you check off the hours, you hit the metrics, you keep moving — but the foundational capacities for leadership (clarity, presence, deep thinking) erode. The badge of “busy” becomes a mask for being drained.
When our identity is tightly bound to what we produce, our self-worth hinges on the next "result" - another client session, another set of deliverables.
Not that I speak from experience or anything. It took a LOOONG-ASS TIME for me to figure that out... and more time to do the work of unravelling it. And yeah, it still pings me from time to time... especially when my results aren't what I expect them to be.
The first six months of our move to the Pacific Northwest have felt like I was doing everything I could to just tread water. It would have been easy to slip into old patterns of feeling crappy about how little "progress" I felt like I was making.
Two things are at play here. First, I had to acknowledge that my capacity constraints had shifted in ways I was not planning on. I knew I was leaving my gig at the radio station, packing or selling everything we owned and finding a new place out west. But I didn't plan on Jim having 4 heart procedures, a cancer diagnosis, and surgery for said diagnosis during that same time frame!
So, um, yeah... a LOT was going on and my "results" were focused in the personal part of my life, not the work part!
Second, I had to acknowledge that I was doing something - just not what I had originally planned! My container was full - with different, and equally important things!
To begin separating identity from output, you might start by asking: “Who am I when I’m not hustling? What parts of me are independent of my last result?” Then create structural practices (e.g., a weekly non-work reflection, a non-output-related role) that remind you your value isn’t tied to what you ship. This shift frees you to lead from your whole self rather than your last achievement.
When I gave myself credit for taking care of a move, my partner, our home, and that my container was full in other, equally important ways, I could let go of the notion that I had to hustle. As I tell my clients, resting is doing something! And even if I wasn't actively doing anything, I am still priceless to the people who love me most.
Having a foundation you can depend on (rest, rhythms, boundaries, mission) while continuing to evolve, expand, and learn (without spinning or burning out) creates a kind of stability that allows you to keep growing in meaningful, effective ways.
Here's what your "magic paintbrush" image might look like:
Rather than growth that feels like sprint after sprint, you’re building a resilient ecosystem — the soil is strong, the roots are deep, the trunk is steady.
Growth happens up and out, not just forward at any cost.
You wake up feeling grounded and energized instead of on the brink of burnout.
You have a business that expands - without losing your weekends, your focus, or your sense of peace.
You feel like your effort actually sticks... compounding instead of constantly resetting.
Output is transient, but belonging and worth are enduring.
Belonging to yourself, and what really matters (alignment, integrity, impact, connection) instead of the misleading signals of “more" is what I mean here. Enoughness... in life and work.
Hustle promises short-term wins, usually at a long-term cost. It teaches you to sprint every race like it’s the last one—to chase visibility, validation, and velocity over intentionality.
You can’t build longevity on adrenaline alone.
The harder you push, the less space you have to integrate what you’ve built. Eventually, your growth outpaces your grounding—and the Noble Empire you worked so hard to build starts to feel like quicksand.
“If you just work harder / longer / push through, you’ll win and you’ll be safe.”
Whatever safe means.
I've said it to myself. My own clients have said it, too. I had to invite one client recently to consider that maybe, just maybe, their brain was lying to them.
Sometimes, it's true. When you're reaching the finish line, that little extra push can be exactly what you need to get over the hump and get it done. I call that "compassionate hustle".
I'm not anti-hustle. I'm anti-hustle culture.
Hustle culture sells the notion that exhaustion is a sign of commitment, that sacrifice equals reward. You're always "on" you can never rest, never quit, never replenish.
But the evidence says this isn’t reliable. It's not sustainable. Extended working hours correlate with worse health outcomes and reduced productivity — the premise of “more hours = more success” is flawed.
Because effort looks like virtue, it’s socially rewarded. It perpetuates the “ideal leader” myth of being tireless.
Also we lack good signals: when you’re busy and “on,” you might still hit goals, so the erosion is gradual — creativity diminishes, relationships strain, presence fades — but you still check the boxes that make it look like you're successful... while you don't feel successful at all. Meanwhile, culture normalizes overworking. One rocket-launching billionaire once tweeted that "nobody ever changed the world on 40 hours a week."
I call bullshit.
Working within your capacity means you’re not doing more — you’re becoming more effective, generative and whole. You're making space for what really matters so that you can grow with more ease - if you even want to grow in the first place!
Building from capacity (what I call your Conditions For Success) unlocks greater creativity and innovation. When you stop frantically "producing for the algo" and allow space (for reflection, rest, and integration) your mind generates richer ideas, your leadership voice deepens, your presence becomes magnetic rather than frantic. One report says that constant “output” pressure stifles the very creativity that innovation demands.
It’s built inside seven domains:
When these conditions work together in your favor, growth stops feeling like a tug-of-war—and starts feeling like a rising tide. Just knowing that they exist can make a big difference in how you choose to show up and what you choose to take on in your life and work.
Imagine building your business from stability instead of strain. Growing with rhythm, not reactivity.
You don’t have to chase balance because your systems and energy naturally support it. Opportunities flow because you’re operating in resonance—not resistance.
To slow down enough to hold what you’ve built.
To lead with clarity instead of compulsion.
To measure your worth by your alignment, not your exhaustion.
Become a member of my Rising Tide community (it's free, yo!) and you'll get access to my upcoming Conditions for Success workshop. Together we'll walk through the seven domains of sustainable growth, so you can build momentum that lasts, without losing yourself in the process, and create growth that doesn’t drain you.