I come from a long line of hard-working women. Women who shoulder the brunt of the labor. Women who would move heaven and earth to support the people they love and ask for very little, if anything, in return. Women who have a very difficult time resting or asking for support; whose biggest insecurity is being unhelpful.

These aren’t necessarily unique characteristics for women in general. Before we were “allowed” to work or get an education, women were fully responsible for taking care of everything “in the home” (aka, everything, physically and emotionally, outside of the ‘official’ workforce); now, lucky us, we get to participate in capitalism – a promotion without a title change or pay raise, and with even more responsibilities/expectations.

On one side of my family, I am a descendant of slaves. Women who had no ownership over their bodies, no choice but to labor for survival. The lighter shades of our family tree are a direct reflection of a master “taking what’s his.” On the other side of my family, I am a descendant of immigrants; my grandparents sailed to the US from Germany with two children. They settled on farmland in Nebraska by the time my mom, the youngest of five, was born.

I never knew my paternal grandmother, who passed away of breast cancer when my dad was just 24-years-old. My maternal grandmother, who we call Oma, just turned 90-years-old a few weeks ago and has outlived all of my other grandparents, including my Opa, by 15 years.

Last summer, I met my dad’s great cousin Odessa for the first time; she was 101 and still sharp as a tack. She sent me home with handfuls of trinkets to share with my mom and sister because she “can’t take them with her.” She shared stories of when my dad and uncles and other cousins would stay in her home when they were in need, the same home her eldest daughter was caring for her in. Odessa passed away last October.

Sometimes (a lot of the time), I think living that long must be hell. Because living is labor, it’s hard work. When I think about the saying “I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” it’s less about having fun while you still can and more about not being able to truly rest until it’s all over. Until there’s no one else to take care of. Because there's no rest for the wicked women.

I thought about this a lot while I laid in bed sick for most of last week. Every day, I would text my clients to say “Hey, I’m going to be out again today” and die a little inside. Because the only thing more agonizing than being ill is being unhelpful.

I chuckle when I think about people who believe women who don’t want children are selfish. As if I won’t find other needs to put before my own regardless. Or perhaps they’re scared I’ll learn to prioritize my needs more easily that way?

I believe the discomfort of rest is rooted in my family lineage. In womanhood. In eldest daughter-dom. It’s ingrained in my DNA, in my subconscious, in my bones.

It’s easy to see and call out in the women around me: You work too much! You deserve to rest! Give yourself time to heal!

But not when it comes to myself. Instead, my inner dialogue is: You’re being dramatic! You can push through! You should feel guilty! Get back to work! You’ll be replaced!

Last year, I worked with Giada, a business coach, and a lot of our sessions revolved around me feeling like I’m not doing enough. Despite feeling burnt out and overwhelmed, I still felt like I was slacking.

And while it felt counter intuitive, I came to the conclusion that the reason I felt I wasn’t doing enough was because I was doing too much. I was overextended, dealing with undiagnosed iron deficiency, and not operating at the level I knew I could (and though I should) be.

So I made intentional choices to do less, to postpone, to limit my scope, so I could recover. With the help of Giada’s insights and thoughtful questions, I’d decided if I wanted to grow I’d have to rest. Which is a wildly simple and also extremely uncomfortable conclusion to come to for an over-worker.

“It's almost as if actually taking the time I need to rest/recover makes me more productive upon my return,” I texted to a client last Friday after taking the entire week off due to a Summer cold.

It’s the first time in recent memory I didn’t try to work while being sick; I rescheduled every meeting, cancelled my simplification workshop, and laid in bed for five days. This week, I feel clearer, more energized, and a lot more motivated to do what I need to do.

This was not at all planned in alignment for this newsletter, but today Giada announced a special program to help other over-extended business owners reclaim creative joy before Summer ends:

Reclaim creative joy this Summer so that you’re ready to dive back into your work without forced positivity, overwhelm, or exhaustion. Learn more about Joyful Impact Summer Camp

She has personally helped me reclaim a lot of joy through our 1:1 work, and I couldn’t recommend her style of coaching/facilitating more.

I fear this is a lesson I will have to learn over and over until I finally find peace in death (dark lol). But I’m grateful to forge a new path in my lineage, one where I stay committed to self-compassion, care, and rest — even when it feels hard or unnatural.

xoxoxo Andrea