People often say to me, “You’re always so busy. You have so many irons in the fire.”
They aren’t wrong.
This November, alongside my work at school, my clients and my business, I’m performing in a community theatre production. We have 20 performances across three weeks, preceded by a full week of technical rehearsals.
On paper, it looks like a lot.
It is a lot.
But it doesn’t feel like too much.
That isn’t because I have endless energy or some remarkable ability to keep going. I will need to be organised, plan ahead and protect time to recover.
The difference is that I have gradually learned to choose what fills my life more consciously.
Not all busyness feels the same
We often talk about being busy as though it automatically means being overwhelmed.
But I’ve noticed that not all tiredness feels the same.
I can finish a day of teaching, working with clients or performing in the theatre feeling physically tired but deeply satisfied.
Those activities require something from me, but they also give something back.
Teaching gives me connection, energy and the pleasure of seeing young people grow. My client work feels purposeful and worthwhile. Writing helps me make sense of ideas and share them. Theatre gives me music, creativity, friendship and the joy of contributing to something larger than myself.
Research into meaningful activity reflects this distinction. Activities that feel personally meaningful can support our sense of purpose, autonomy, competence and connection. Effortful experiences may not always be immediately relaxing or pleasurable, but they can still feel deeply worthwhile.
A full life is not necessarily the problem.
The more useful question may be:
Does what fills your life only demand from you—or does some of it give something back?
Purpose, joy and peace in an ordinary day
I try to include purpose, joy and peace in my life—not as abstract ideas, but in small, practical ways.
Much of my purpose comes through my work: teaching, coaching, writing and connecting with other women in business.
Joy is often much smaller and easier to miss.
When I don’t have a client in my office, my cat frequently takes over the chair. At the moment, I have three beautiful animals sitting beside me. There is a plant on my desk. I take my lunch outside into the sun. Because my husband also works from home, we will sometimes go for a walk together at lunchtime.
None of those moments is particularly dramatic. I have simply learned to notice them.
Peace also needs to be created deliberately.
I walk my dog and meditate in the morning. At night, my phone goes away. The people close to me know they are unlikely to receive a response after 8 pm because I am not looking at it. I don’t check social media, and I don’t remain permanently available simply because my phone makes that possible.
Research on recovery from work suggests that being able to switch off mentally during non-work time is associated with better mood and less fatigue. Experiences of relaxation, autonomy and psychological detachment can help support recovery, particularly during demanding periods.
These boundaries do not make my life less full. They help make its fullness sustainable.
Everything has value—and everything has a cost
I don’t want to give the impression that I have created a perfectly balanced life and now follow the formula flawlessly.
I haven’t always got it right.
I still misjudge my capacity, agree to things that take more energy than expected and realise that something which once worked for me no longer does.
I tend to treat my life as an ongoing experiment.
I make a choice, notice how it affects me and consider whether it still deserves its place. Sometimes I continue. Sometimes I adjust it. Sometimes I recognise that the cost has become greater than the value and decide to stop.
Because almost everything has both value and cost.
Performing gives me creativity, friendship, music and enormous enjoyment. It also costs evenings, physical energy and time that could be spent elsewhere.
Teaching, coaching and running a business matter deeply to me. They still require preparation, concentration and recovery.
Even meditation, exercise and planning meals require time and intention. Something does not need to be unpleasant to have a cost.
Choosing consciously does not mean filling your life only with activities that ask nothing from you. It means understanding what each choice gives you, what it requires and what may have less room because of it.
Many things are valuable. That does not mean they can all fit into the same life at the same time.
The more useful question is:
Is the value this brings worth its current cost—and does it still reflect what matters to me now?
The answer may change.
What suits one stage of life may be entirely unrealistic in another. Health, caring responsibilities, finances and available support all influence the choices we can make.
I am also aware that I am fortunate. I work partly from home, my husband also works from home, my children are adults and I have more control over my time than I did during earlier stages of my life.
But the life I have now did not appear entirely by accident.
It has also been shaped by many conscious choices over time: the work I accept, what I protect, when I am available and what I no longer allow to occupy every part of my day.
Perhaps the answer isn’t simply doing less
Sometimes we genuinely need to reduce the load.
But sometimes the issue is not only how much we are doing. It is that too much of what fills our time has been chosen through habit, obligation or other people’s expectations.
A quieter life is not automatically a more meaningful one. A busy life is not automatically a satisfying one.
The aim is not to fit in as much as possible—or to remove everything that requires effort.
It is to pay attention to what your life is made of.
What gives you a sense of purpose?
What brings small moments of genuine joy?
What helps you experience peace?
What are you continuing because it still matters—and what are you continuing simply because it has always been there?
You may not need to change everything. But you may need to become more honest about what still fits.
Does your life feel full of what matters to you—or simply full?
When a full life no longer feels like your own
There is a difference between a life that is full because you have consciously chosen what matters to you and one that has gradually filled with expectations, habits and commitments you no longer question.
In my Five Archetypes work, this is often the territory of the Quiet Rebel.
She may not want to abandon her life or make a dramatic change. Much of what she has created may still be valuable. But she is beginning to notice an inner restlessness—a sense that some of her choices reflect who she used to be, what other people expected or what once felt necessary.
Her task is not to reject everything. It is to become more honest about what still fits.
That may mean keeping some commitments, changing others and allowing herself to want something different without treating that desire as selfish or ungrateful.
You don’t need to identify with an archetype to recognise the question:
Does what fills my life still feel consciously chosen—or have I simply become accustomed to carrying it?
Have a beautiful day, Kate 🪷
If something in your life needs to change. Perhaps you know what isn’t working—or simply feel that your life no longer fits as it once did. I offer several ways to help you understand what is happening, clarify what matters and decide what comes next.Explore Ways to Work With Me