When "Having It All" Started Stealing My Life

I think it’s like anything else in life. We become the crab in the pot.

We’re placed into cool, comfortable water and feel perfectly content to be there. Everything seems fine. Normal. Expected.

But unbeknownst to us, the heat has been turned on.

Slowly.

Gradually.

Until one day we realize we’re losing life. Maybe not literally. But in a lot of ways… maybe even so.

When I was growing up, women were entering the workforce in huge numbers. Working hard for your money was glamorized. Independence was celebrated, and the message was loud and clear: women could have it all.

And quietly, almost invisibly, women were handed the responsibility of actually doing it all.

College.
Career.
Marriage.
Kids.
A beautiful home.
A meaningful life.

And damnit if we didn’t try.

We tried, didn’t we?

And let's be real — we did well. We wore ourselves out, but we did it. All.

But looking back now, I realize we were set up for failure, because while we were told we could have it all, no one told us we didn’t have to have it all at the same time.

And no one told us we didn’t have to be perfect at any of it.

So we put on a brave face and worked hard. We met the expectations of everyone around us with very little complaint. We took care of everyone else. We put the needs of everyone else first.

And somewhere along the way… we forgot that we had needs at all.

It’s as if we were handed the script to a movie, but we didn’t audition for the role we wanted. We were simply assigned one. And more often than not, it was a supporting character.

The helper.
The fixer.
The encourager.
The responsible one.
The best friend.

Before we knew it, we were so deep into the performance that we didn’t even realize we could audition for a different role. We didn’t realize we were more than ready — if not completely overdue — to become the main character.

Until we woke up.

Maybe for you that moment came through burnout, or grief, or a quiet numbness inside that you couldn’t shake anymore.

For me, it came at what I thought was the height of my writing career.

I had worked so hard.

I had written and self-published three books — which at the time was almost taboo. I was traveling around the country speaking about the themes in those books. Themes about salvaging your life. Fighting for what was right. Being true to yourself.

I'd successfully rewritten a screenplay and got to be on set in Nantucket to see it get made. I was hired to rewrite other scripts, and do script coverage - all while I wrote my own screenplays, and developed my own series ideas.

I created incredible characters who overcame obstacle after obstacle. They were courageous. They fought for their purpose. They lived their lives boldly.

I wrote those stories for them. But I wasn’t living them myself.

Instead, I allowed people to take advantage of my talents. My ideas. My passion. Not because they forced me to — but because I hadn’t yet learned how to protect what mattered most to me.

I would excitedly share creative ideas, only to watch others - often with more resources -  take them and make them their own. And without me.

I was asked repeatedly to do the work but give up the credit. Accept less pay. Put up with poor treatment. Take the back seat. All so others could shine while I quietly stepped back and dimmed my own light.

I slowly realized something harder to accept: no one else was responsible for moving me forward.

And when I wasn’t climbing the success ladder, I assumed the problem must be me.

Maybe I lacked the talent. Maybe I wasn’t good enough. Maybe I had poured years into a writing career that I simply didn’t have the ability to succeed in.

The more people took pieces of me — and the gifts I brought into the world — the more I slowly died inside. My light grew dimmer. I became quieter. More timid. I didn’t have the courage to ask for what I deserved. And my lack of self-confidence made me doubt I even had the right to.

Standing up for myself felt mean.

Saying no felt selfish.

Until one day something finally clicked.

 

I realized I wasn’t selfish at all. I was simply waking up.

It hit me — very late, but finally — that I hadn’t been held back by a lack of talent.
I had simply been surrounding myself with people who were comfortable letting me stay small. I was being held back by the lack of other people’s skills. Or creativity. Or courage to start something themselves.

They needed me. They needed my creative mind, my ideas, my vision, my stories, and my words. And I had been giving them away freely.

Over and over again.

The day I realized I had been living someone else’s story… was the day I finally took the pen back. The day my creativity and vision were reborn. The day my courage returned. The day I let myself dream again. 

The day I allowed myself to grieve the loss of what I'd so easily given away - my spark.

Not because it had been taken from me, but because I had slowly, quietly handed it over — piece by piece — believing that was simply the price of belonging, of succeeding, of being a good and responsible person in the world. Of having it all. 

But here’s the truth I wish someone had told me years ago: No one else is supposed to hold the pen to your life.

Not your boss.
Not your family.
Not your friends or co-workers.
Not the expectations you grew up with.
Not the voice in your head that tells you it’s too late.

You do.

And the beautiful thing about waking up — even late — is that there are still blank pages ahead. You can still rewrite the story. You can still choose a different role. You can still become the main character.

All you have to do… is take the pen back.

Taking the pen back was only the beginning.

Because once you wake up and see things clearly, you also begin to notice all the pieces of yourself you left behind… and the long, quiet process of picking them up again... 

We'll see you back here next week to pick up the pieces.