Whether it’s a busy stretch at work, health issues you’re quietly managing, raising a child (and dealing with the invisible load), caring for parents, or showing up for a friend, trying to be a functioning adult can be really hard.

Even when you’re deeply passionate about something, real life doesn’t pause or always allow you to maintain a schedule. That’s been true for me lately.

I’ve been working on executing a long-overdue repositioning strategy, and with that, I’ve been thinking through how to continue building a values-driven community of women and our allies through TheANDLife project.

When I sat down to look back at the last six months, it was clear that the posts that landed most deeply for me (and for all of you) were the most honest. Most raw. Created without pretense or frills. Just honest, real moments we’ve all struggled with at one point or another.

So, that’s what I’m going to do.

It’s not going to look like what I do through my consulting business, creating frameworks, lessons, and leaning deep into insights. In all honesty, that means it’s going to challenge me, push me, and at times make me feel uncomfortable, because I’ve lived in such a performative space for so long.

Of course, I’m still going to share things I’ve found helpful over the years – rituals, reflections, minute changes, and resources – but more than anything, I don’t want to just write for you; I want to build this with you.

Because the entire point of building a platform dedicated to redefining success requires connection, community, and collaboration. Being isolated or feeling alone is why some of these topics exist and why it’s so challenging to discuss them.

Subtle changes are happening.

I’m shifting to a structure that is more sustainable for me and the chapter of life I’m in. Every month, I can commit to:

• One long-form newsletter with a TL;DR intro

• One short-form version with a Q&A format or video

The distribution day and time might vary, not because I want to be inconsistent, but because I want to be realistic and meet more of you where you are.

Whether that’s adapting to more skimmable content or producing snippets that get straight to the heart of the matter. We’re all busy, and that’s okay.

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And now, I want your help.

As a project centered around women redefining success on our own terms, I want to know what you want. If you’re willing, I’ve added a quick poll to help me figure out what you care most about so I can incorporate those topics into my content.

Of course, if you don’t feel comfortable submitting your answers in a public poll or are interested in more than one theme, please feel free to message me directly with your thoughts or anything I didn’t include that you’d like to see.

Thank you for being here. This space matters to me, and I want to shape it in a way that feels like a deep exhale that warms my heart, not another thing on my endless to-do list.

With gratitude always,

Priya 💜

Because I’ve been sitting with something lately that I can’t sum up with a few bullet points, and because I know I’m not the only one quietly carrying this.

If you’re a woman building a life of ambition and meaning, especially after pregnancy, fertility issues, birth, or any other major health event, women’s health isn’t a side topic. It’s the foundation beneath everything.

The part we don’t say out loud.

There’s a version of success that looks great on the outside after having a child: you’re back at work, back on your feet, back in motion, back producing.

And then there’s the quieter reality many women live with.

Our bodies have changed, our nervous system is more on edge, and our sleep patterns are different. Our digestion is off, and our pelvic floor isn’t what it used to be. Not to mention the hormones—oh, the hormones.

But more importantly, our relationship with our own strength is different.

Of course, you’re grateful. You love your child. You’re proud of what you endured. But also, you’re struggling with what happened next.

And that doesn’t make you ungrateful. It makes you honest.

Birth can be miraculous and traumatic.

An emergency C-section is not a “quick delivery.” Let’s call it what it is: major abdominal surgery.

Not just any surgery, but one performed during one of the most vulnerable moments of your life. It’s filled with fear, urgency, pain, and shock. And, unfortunately, the expectation is to bounce back immediately, with scar tissue healing normally, and a simple do-and-don’t list being enough.

But that’s not my story, and I suspect that’s true for many others, especially when having children later in life.

What I’m still learning is how much pregnancy and C-sections can affect your body long after leaving the hospital.

Scar tissue and adhesions.

Uterus, fallopian tube, and ovary malfunction.

Pelvic stability and incontinence.

Posture and back pain.

Nerve sensitivity.

Sexual health.

Emotional processing.

And then there’s the reality that many women have to fight for basic post-surgical support. It’s the only major surgery where standard care doesn’t automatically include physical therapy. That weight has been heavy on my chest.

Because if we’re honest, a lot of women’s healthcare still operates as if we should be “fine” after whatever the ordeal, but for many of us, we’re not.

The identity whiplash no one prepares you for.

I also want to share something that’s hard to say out loud: I wasn’t the one who spent my younger years dreaming about motherhood.

I’ve always identified more with being ambitious and focused on my career. I enjoyed building, growing, and becoming. I loved my work and the feeling of momentum.

Then I became a mother—and it wasn’t just my schedule that changed.

It was my identity.

It was how I related to my body.

It was my sense of control.

It was my definition of “capacity.”

It was the emotional weight of being responsible for another human life.

So when postpartum recovery wasn’t straightforward—when I was still processing what happened, still advocating for care, still trying to feel normal in a body that didn’t feel like mine—it was disorienting.

Many things can happen at the same time: gratitude and grief, joy and exhaustion, love and resentment.

And if you’re living through that duality, I want you to know you’re not alone.

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Women’s health isn’t a niche issue.

I’m writing this within a project about redefining success because so many of us have been taught that success means pushing through, that discipline means ignoring your body, that strength means silence, and that resilience means bouncing back to normal as quickly as possible.

But if your body is the foundation of your life, what does it mean to create a definition of success that requires you to abandon it? We need to stop treating women’s health as an afterthought.

We must be honest about reality:

Pregnancy and birth can change your body.

Perimenopause can start earlier than most realize.

Menopause isn’t something to be ashamed of or only discussed in whispers.

Pain is often dismissed.

Postpartum support varies greatly.

That’s why managing your symptoms feels like another full-time job (on top of everything else you handle daily).

If you’re an ambitious woman trying to lead, parent, partner, create, and contribute, your health shouldn’t be seen as an inconvenience. It should be a priority.

Shifting from a ‘what’s wrong with me’ mindset.

If you’re going through the aftermath of a miscarriage, C-section, hormonal changes, hysterectomy, menopause, or just a body that no longer feels familiar, it can be easy to dismiss yourself to focus on others. It might be hard, but instead of resorting to what’s comfortable, ask yourself, “What do I need?”

The best way to do this is by taking time to check in with yourself and honestly ask:

• What has my body been trying to tell me that I’ve been ignoring?

• What kind of support am I missing that I shouldn’t have to fight for?

• What would it look like to see my healing as part of my success, not separate from it?

• What do I need more of this month: strength, softness, rest, information, care, community?

• Who can I talk to who will believe me without making me prove it?

No perfection needed. Just honesty.

This very honest post is for women like me.

I know I’m not alone in experiencing these feelings and often keeping them inside. So, I offer you (and myself) grace because it’s important to lean on others.

You are not dramatic. You are not weak. And most importantly, you are definitely not failing.

We don’t want to sound braggy or feel exposed. We’re afraid of being perceived as ‘too much’ or of saying the wrong thing, offending someone, or opening ourselves up to criticism.

So, many high-achieving women have learned to do this: stay behind the scenes, let our work quietly speak for itself, and support others’ visibility (all while questioning our own).

But I believe this: we don’t need to perform to be visible; we just need to be real.

Non-performative visibility means sharing from truth, not trying to prove. It’s showing up as yourself—with clarity and intention—rather than a curated version aimed at approval.

For years, I was more comfortable shaping others’ narratives.

As a publicist, I am very familiar with what it takes to share captivating stories, position myself as a leader, and present as an expert. I know how to make others appear confident, compelling, and credible.

But for myself? I preferred the role of strategist—the one behind the scenes with the plan who could control the message but remained out of the spotlight.

Then something happened last fall that surprised me. During an unassuming date night with my husband, a modeling agent approached me, introduced herself, and handed me her card. I didn’t expect it, and honestly, I almost dismissed it.

But I followed up and am proud to now be represented by The Block Modeling Agency.

That might sound like a fun plot twist (and it is), but what it unlocked for me went deeper than modeling. Growing up in Iowa as a South Asian girl, I was always chasing a version of beautiful that wasn’t built for me.

The Midwest norm I grew up around celebrated a very specific kind of all-America beauty: white, blonde, blue-eyed, athletic, effortlessly girl-next-door pretty. And I wasn’t that. I was a brown girl with dark hair and dark eyes—an hourglass shape. Smart, musical, athletic—multi-dimensional in ways that didn’t match the stereotype I saw celebrated around me.

So, I learned to do what many ambitious women learn early:

• Excel in ways that feels safe

• Achieve quietly

• Let competence be my entry point

• Shrink the parts of me that might draw attention

And then, on the threshold of 40 and after having a child, here I was seen in a way that contradicted an old story I’d carried for decades.

It reminded me of something I knew but don’t always embody: Our perceptions are often not reality.

And sometimes, the only way to discover what’s possible is to be willing to be seen.

Because so many of us live with a lifetime of mixed messages, a reflection of why the and/or thinking is so ingrained in us.

We’re told to be successful but not intimidating, to be confident but not too much, to be visible but not take up too much space, to be ambitious but not make anyone uncomfortable.

So, we hide or perform. Either way, neither choice feels like freedom.

”I didn’t learn the value of visibility from being in front of the camera; I learned it from staying behind it.”

It’s time to start celebrating and being true to ourselves.

Visibility isn’t just about gaining attention; it’s about gaining access. As women, we are often uniquely positioned to share our industry knowledge alongside our lived experience.

When you share what you know, you:

• Expand opportunities: roles, partnerships, speaking engagements, community

• Become more trustworthy: people can’t value what they don’t see

• Create permission for others: especially other women who are watching quietly

• Shape narratives: rather than being shaped by them

However, when your visibility is driven by seeking approval, that performative behavior comes with a cost. It often leads to burnout, disconnection, superficial content, and chasing engagement. Your voice then loses its meaning.

Non-performative visibility is sustainable because it’s rooted in your identity and values. It doesn’t require you to be someone else to be seen. It encourages you to be more of yourself.

And if you’re thinking, “I don’t have anything groundbreaking to say,” it’s time to reframe. Your lived experience is expertise. Your perspective is valuable. Your clarity is leadership.

How to approach thought leadership.

If you’ve been struggling to share content that is meaningful rather than performative, it can be difficult to know where to begin. So, I created a three-part visibility reset to remind you of your ‘why’.

It can be adapted and refined to focus on what matters most to you, whether it’s leadership, your industry, or something more passion-driven like a hobby or life experience.

• First, choose what’s true: one area of your life that anchors you.

• Second, determine what helps: one story, lesson, or mistake you’ve learned.

• Third, identify what connects: others’ experiences or insight

Once you combine these three elements, you’ll have a framework for a post—just be careful not to overpolish or overthink it.

Not sure if it’s the right fit? Use the coffee test. Ask yourself, “Would I say this to a friend over coffee?” If not, rewrite it until you would.

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Your story is worth sharing.

If you’ve ever felt like you needed to stay small to feel safe or like being visible requires a performance you can’t sustain, remember:

You don’t have to perform to earn respect.

You don’t have to prove your worth.

You don’t have to be perfect to be impactful.

Non-performative visibility is simply the courage to be seen as you are, and sometimes, when you take the risk to share what’s true, life surprises you.

Not because you become someone else, but because you finally give the world a chance to meet you.

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Because you’re juggling so many different roles: career ambitions, caregiving, partnership, family, community, and the daily effort of maintaining a healthy, happy self.

And when you hold so many identities, it’s easy to feel like no one truly understands you. But building a community can change everything.

Not because it solves your problems, but because it helps you realize you’re not alone. It provides a mirror of relief, laughter, perspective—a space to let your guard down and be honest with others... and yourself.

However, what many don’t talk about is that it rarely comes from just one community; it takes a collective effort.

Most of us need to be part of different circles of people connected to various parts of who we are, that unique, multifaceted individual you are: a true unicorn.

Building a community without realizing it.

Right after high school, I made a bold move: I moved to DC to attend George Washington University, a school where I didn’t know a single person.

It was intimidating in a way I can still feel in my body when I think about it. But it laid the foundation for something I didn’t realize I was practicing: the willingness to start from zero to find my people.

I sought out those who shared my culture, my passions, and my forward-thinking energy.

And I’ll be honest: I didn’t get it right at first. It took lots of trial and error, a process of elimination, and learning the differences between people I thought I should be around and those where I could truly be myself.

Today, I apply that same philosophy but with a more focused intention.

My most valuable communities might seem small from the outside, like my barre3 studio here in Denver. It’s not just about movement; it’s about belonging. It’s the familiar faces who often join me in classes 5 to 6 times a week. But it’s also the quiet support of showing up next to the same women and realizing you’re not navigating life alone.

I’ve also found other communities that help me grow professionally—groups of entrepreneurs or women in business who want to support each other—and those that blend my personal and professional lives, like The Authentic Asian, where it helps me connect my identity and ambition while trying to decide which cultural aspects we want to carry forward and which ones we wish to leave behind.

I’ve also learned something that still surprises me: community can also come from family proximity.

I didn’t grow up with extended family nearby; my family has always been spread across the country and the world. But now, living in a city with a big family network, I see why they say it takes one. For the first time, within a five-mile radius, I have four aunts, a mother-in-law, and multiple cousins.

That kind of closeness has changed how I understand support. Not perfect support, but real support. The kind that shows up in small ways, making life feel more manageable.

”Community didn’t solve all the challenges I was facing, but it made me realize there's no reason to do it alone just to prove you can.”

We are wired for connection.

It was only a few years ago that the then U.S. Surgeon General, Dr. Vivek Murthy, warned us, in the aftermath of the pandemic, about the serious health risks of loneliness and social disconnection, which are comparable to smoking 15 cigarettes per day.

As we continue to normalize the importance of mental health, it emphasizes why, as a tribal society, it’s crucial for us to see finding our people not just as a touchy-feely idea, but as a strategic one.

Because the benefits of being part of a community are powerful in:

• Managing stress so you feel less alone during tough times.

• Remaining resilient so you have people who mirror your strength back.

• Being aligned so you hear yourself more clearly around safe people.

• Staying healthy so you can be mentally, emotionally, and physically strong.

And in seasons of motherhood, ambition, and caregiving, community isn’t optional or a luxury. It’s how you stay whole.

Begin with a small step that reflects where you are now.

If building community feels overwhelming, here’s what I want you to remember:

• You don’t need a hundred friends.

• You need a few meaningful touchpoints.

• And you don’t need to find them all at once.

Start small by making small moves toward building your community. Think of it as creating a constellation, rather than focusing on one North Star.

Identify Your Circles: Choose 1-2 priority life areas.

• Body or Wellness (movement, nervous system, nutrition)

• Identity or Belonging (culture, lived experience)

• Growth or Expansion (career, leadership, creativity)

• Joy or Laughter (fun, agenda-free)

Choose Your Entry Point: Commit to one activity for 30 days.

• Weekly Fitness Class(pilates, yoga, walking club)

• Monthly Meetup (professional organization, women’s circle)

• Online Community (hobby, connection, book club)

• Volunteer Activity (park cleanup, animal shelter, food pantry)

Make Your Micro-Move: Conduct one brave action.

• Introduce yourself to one person

• Ask someone to coffee

• Stay 5 minutes to chat afterclass

• Attend one event alone (even knowing it might be intimidating)

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If you’re feeling lonely, even when busy, that’s okay.

You’re not broken. You’re not behind. You’re human. Just remember that the life you’re building isn’t meant to be built alone.

Community doesn’t require perfection; it requires participation. The small steps that can be repeated, but with a willingness to be seen, make mistakes, and try again.

Because we all deserve a life that feels supported, not just survived.

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By keeping our composure at work, we think we’re fine. We power through the day and switch it off when we get home. But workplace stress rarely disappears the moment we come home.

It starts quietly, following us home. It makes us less patient and short-tempered, snapping at the tiniest things and reacting in ways that don’t match the situation. Then it starts to get louder.

It becomes a fatigue so chronic that being emotionally present feels impossible. You’re physically there, but your mind is running in the background, responding, bracing, and producing.

And those behaviors all spike your nervous system. You can’t calm down enough to sleep, or you wake up already anxious, or you carry a tightness in your chest that never fully releases.

Meanwhile, at work, you hold your decorum in meetings, get all your tasks done (and more), and you’re constantly performing. But the reality is that the impact shows up where it matters most: your health, your relationships, and your sense of self.

And years later, when we look back, those work moments will have faded. But, in its place will be a place of longing: wishing we felt more, were more present, or weren’t living life in survival mode.

There’s no way to contain stress, it will seep into every aspect of your life.

Our workplace culture shapes our nervous system.

I didn’t always understand that direct impact. Early in my career, I had two interactions with managers that I still remember because they were trivial on the surface but powerful underneath.

One told me I wasn’t using enough exclamation marks in my emails. The implication: I wasn’t friendly enough. Not warm enough. Not “likeable” enough. Another expressed concern that I didn’t respond quickly enough to Lynx messages (remember the clunky precursor to Teams), worried I didn’t receive their directive or that I was ignoring them.

Neither had anything to do with outcomes. Both were 100% about control.

And micromanagement like that doesn’t just frustrate you. It conditions you. Teaching you to be on edge, anticipate criticism, and constantly scan for what you might be doing wrong. Even if you’re doing everything right.

It’s no wonder that I internalized those two experiences.

In response, I became faster, more responsive, and more vigilant. I improved my performance, but also increased my perfectionism and self-criticism.

Those behaviors seemed to work, leading to bigger promotions and better titles. But eventually, it caught up with me.

I had a wake-up call that forced me to slow down. Not because I consciously wanted to, but because my body required it. After a near-death experience (which I share in more detail in my gratitude story),

I knew I had to make changes. Changes that helped me learn, grow, and evolve.

But here’s the truth: even when we make those conscious efforts, it doesn’t change society.

Those disruptive leadership styles and poor managers persist, marked by passive aggression, a need for control, unrealistic expectations, and constant urgency disguised as ‘standards of excellence’. So it shouldn’t have surprised me that years later, I was headed down a similar path.

When I recognized the early signs of a flare, I scheduled an urgent rheumatology appointment. I refused to let what happened to me in 2015 happen again because this time, it hit differently. This time, the stakes were so much higher. Now, I had a partner and an infant who needed me. If I kept living the same way, the consequences wouldn’t only be mine.

This time, I wasn’t looking for temporary solutions; I wanted a long-lasting change. Not just to my work standards, but to my patterns for defining success and the kind of life I wanted to lead. Opening my mind to a new way of being, one where I wasn’t required to live in survival mode to succeed.

That’s what led me to embodied leadership.

It’s not about a better productivity system; it’s about building a new foundation.

Embodied (or body-led) leadership is a management practice built on a regulated nervous system, grounded presence, and authentic alignment.

At its core, it focuses on:

• Regulation: the ability to calm your body under pressure instead of living in chronic stress

• Presence: being fully here, not constantly in the next moment

• Authenticity: responding from truth instead of performance

• Integrity: choosing based on values, not fear

• Energetic awareness: noticing what drains you, what fuels you, and what you’re absorbing

It takes a deeply practical approach, recognizing that your body is the first place stress shows up and the first place your life starts to fracture when something is unsustainable. This style of leadership is valuable in your career for obvious reasons: clarity, steadiness, trust, resilience, but more so, it can transform how you show up at home.

Because the ability to regulate your nervous system and stay grounded under pressure is a leadership skill, whether you’re:

• navigating a high-stakes meeting, or

• responding to a toddler tantrum, or

• holding space for a partner who had a hard day, or

• trying to make dinner while your mind is still answering emails.

Embodied leadership is not about being calm all the time. It’s about being less reactive and more intentional, ‘showing rather than telling’ through authenticity. Because your nervous system communicates before your words do.

And that presence is contagious: leading from regulation signals safety, while leading from panic spreads panic. There’s a confidence that comes when others can not only hear but also mirror a permission to breathe.

Now, I believe the way you lead says less about how you are as a boss or manager and more about how you live.

Whether you manage a team, run a household, lead a relationship, build a business, care for a child, or care for yourself, you’re leading.

And those small moments count. Whether it’s a harsh email, a toddler meltdown, a tense conversation, or the mental load at 10:00 pm. Those moments add up.

And when we don’t have tools to let our bodies rest and reset, we default to reaction, impatience, or shutdown.

Like any new skill, it requires practice.

Whether you’re managing a team, household, or relationship, caring for a parent or child, or attending to your own needs, you’re always leading. Situations like receiving a harsh email, calming a toddler’s meltdown, or handling a tense dinner conversation can trigger a nervous system response. Small moments matter; your reactions in these moments count. Without tools to help our bodies rest and reset, we tend to react impulsively, become impatient, or shut down.

So, what actions can we take, and when?

There are subtle signs that we’ve reached our limit and that stress may escalate. These often appear as physical cues: a clenched jaw, tense shoulders, or a sudden, unnecessary sense of urgency. If you can catch it in the moment, try a quick 60-90-second nervous system reset, broken into three parts:

1. Ground Yourself: Feel your feet, press them into the floor, and name three things in your line of sight.

2. Breathe Intentionally: Repeat a four-second inhale followed by a six-second exhale, three times.

3. Shift Perspective: Take one mood-boosting action, like a walk around the block or my go-to: watching a short, funny video.

Of course, if you’re like me and a nervous system reset doesn’t come naturally or is often bypassed in the moment, there are some ways to practice this every day:

• Spending five minutes in silence before checking your phone

• Walking without multitasking (e.g., leave your AirPods at home)

• Conducting a body scan in the shower

• Creating a reset playlist to transition from work to home

It’s a process, and it doesn’t happen overnight. These quick activities, when done consistently, can help change your baseline.

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We only get one life, let’s live it.

Just because toxic behaviors have been normalized doesn’t mean we have to perpetuate them. We don’t have to accept control cultures, chronic urgency, and survival-mode productivity as the price of success.

If you’re feeling the after-effects of high-performance stress—short temper, exhaustion, restlessness, disconnection—consider this your permission slip: You’re not failing for recognizing it. You’re choosing another way.

When we look back on our lives, we don’t want to wish we had done something differently. Instead, we can commit now to being healthier, kinder, more connected, and more ourselves.

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But we don’t talk enough about the truth underneath all of it: When you’re ambitious and driven, your partnership can either build you up—or quietly tear you down.

Because when life gets full (and it always does), success isn’t only determined by what you can do alone. It’s shaped by whether the person beside you is truly with you—sharing the load, protecting your energy, believing in your growth, and holding space for the hard seasons, too.

Partnership isn’t just romance. It’s the foundational.

It’s the difference between feeling like you’re carrying the weight of the world by yourself or feeling like you’re part of a team, celebrating wins, weathering disappointments, and moving through the hard moments together.

Without that collaborative feeling, it can be easy for the silent resentment to build.

I didn’t always understand the meaning of true partnership.

In my first marriage, the dynamic wasn’t “we’re building together.” It was more like an endless competition.

A competition centered around who was working harder to get promoted, who had better accolades behind their names, who was right, whose struggles mattered more. It was a relationship that focused on one-upping each other. Where wins were easily seen as threats, vulnerability was leveraged, and support was always conditional. There wasn’t room to celebrate each other because the focus was on keeping score.

It was exhausting.

And while divorce is never about just one thing, that competitive nature pulled us further and further apart. Even in the process of ending the relationship, the same dynamic showed up: defensiveness, comparison, and competition.

After that experience, I realized I wasn’t just craving love; I was craving safety. A place to be myself without having to perform.

Later, when I found myself in a new relationship, I came to understand what it means to find a partner. Someone who not only sees you but also respects you. Who doesn’t need to compete with you to feel worthy? Who appreciates all the parts of you.

Not only did he see my ambition and drive, but he was also there for me on those tough days when my vulnerabilities and insecurities were on full display.

So I knew he was the person I wanted to have by my side when I took the biggest leap: parenthood.

When my son was born, I could see our partnership at work. Those early ‘keep the tiny amoeba alive’ days are brutal, marked by sleep deprivation, body transformation, and identity crises. They really test your relationship. But that’s when I saw him step up over and over again.

It wasn’t about grand gestures. It was during those moments in the daily grind that he took the lead, letting me rest, recover, and adjust to this new life.

And suddenly, partnership wasn’t a foreign concept, but one I understood, and also wanted to protect and preserve.

Let’s be honest… partnership is hard work.

Whether you’re doing it right or not, partnership is challenging. Whenever you bring together two people from different backgrounds, nervous systems, family norms, and lived experiences to build a new life, it’s not always sunshine and roses.

And parenthood? Parenthood amplifies everything.

If you’re aligned, the hard seasons feel survivable. But, when you’re not aligned, those normal days can feel endless and heavy.

Because misalignment doesn’t just look like arguing about chores. It can easily become:

• Emotional labor falls to one person

• Assumptions replacing communication

• One person defaulting into ‘project manager’ mode

• Resentment is building quietly under the surface

• Feeling lonely in relationships

• Negotiating your needs while prioritizing everyone elses

And there’s a bigger cultural layer here, too, especially for those of us raised around older generational expectations. We were shown a genderized approach to the division of labor, emotions, family sacrifices, and career paths. It can be easy to fall into those norms without even knowing it.

It’s not surprising that, despite the Pew Research Center's showing of an overall decline in the U.S. divorce rate, the rate has risen steadily among those 50 years and older.

Regardless, it’s important to note that stress exists in every relationship and is only compounded by the other stressors we carry.

A thriving partnership doesn’t happen by accident. It requires even more intentionality when building careers, raising kids, and trying to maintain your own health and wellness.

Creating opportunities to connect.

Let’s be honest: when people say “prioritize your relationship,” it can feel like advice for someone with more time than you.

In the season you’re in, you’re juggling everything: work demands, kid logistics, meals, routines, maybe a business, maybe aging parents, maybe your own health, and, of course, the invisible load of everything in between.

So I’m not going to tell you to plan a weekend getaway. I’m going to tell you what actually works in real life: small, consistent gestures.

The moments when you say, “I see you,” before resentment grows. The tiny rituals that remind you you’re on the same team. The quick reconnections keep the relationship from becoming purely operational.

I’ve compiled some connection ideas, grouped by how they can support your partnership to help you get started:

Fun Connection, because joy matters:

These are the ‘remember that we actually like each other’ activities:

• We’re Not Really Strangers Couples Edition (try one card, one a week)

• Adventure Challenge Mini Dates (scratch-off date ideas)

• Dinner Decision Dice (trying something new or when decision fatigue sets in)

• 30 minutes or less bucket list (10-12 small activities for the month)

Intentional Connection, because life is real:

These help you align without feeling too heavy:

• A monthly date night (out with a babysitter or at home after bedtime)

• A 10-minute Sunday check-in (What’s coming up? What do you need?)

• One ‘team decision’ simplified together (childcare schedules, meal planning, etc.)

Micro Connection, because little rituals keep love alive:

These small, subtle moments have big payoffs:

• A morning hug after brushing teeth

• A kiss at night - regardless of how you felt that day

• A 2-minute bedtime moment: one gratitude note and one request/need

• A hand squeeze or butt tap in the kitchen

• A sticky note on the mirror celebrating a win

It’s not about creating more time; we all know we don’t have that. Instead, it’s about creating touchpoints. Pick one item from each category to start actioning it without overthinking it:

• Choose one ‘Fun Connection’ to do this week or month

• Choose one ‘Intentional Connection’ to the calendar

• Choose one ‘Micro Connection’ to start tonight

That’s it. Don’t get caught in the perfection or try to do a complete relationship overhaul. Just identify three small reconnection options to remind each other of the life you’re building together.

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Building a place to share and receive

No matter what stage you’re in—newly dating, newly parenting, remarried, rebuilding, or decades into marriage—being in a partnership where you can both feel valued, loved, appreciated, and seen is priceless.

Because during the heaviest seasons, especially the growth seasons, the sleep-deprived seasons, the “who am I now?” seasons, perfection doesn’t carry you. Connection does.

So, if you have a few minutes while shuffling from one task to another, send your partner a quick text that says “I appreciate you supporting me with ________ lately. Thank you for all that you do.”

And if you’re reading this thinking, “I can’t do that, it’s too complicated,” know that you’re not alone.

Partnership is a practice. Sometimes you’ll get it right, sometimes you’ll get it wrong. But, no matter what, you’ll keep practicing again and again and again.

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We just feel the symptoms of being off balance, stretched thin, always behind, and never fully present.

On one side, we want to be career-oriented – driven, capable, growing. On the other side, we want to be family-oriented – present, connected, available.

We want to do meaningful work and still have energy to enjoy the people we love at the end of the day. We want to contribute to our communities and honor our limits, capacity, and commitments.

Often, we frame those desires as choices, as if we can only pick one or the other. But, in truth, there is a way to align ourselves and allow for both.

It’s not always going to be at the same intensity depending on the season, but it needs to be real, compassionate, and sustainable – no matter what it looks like.

If life feels like a game of tug-of-war, it’s often because you’re living a life of ‘or’.

I know this tug-of-war intimately.

When my son was months old, I was grinding day in and day out.

My day started at 6:00 am. I’d work until around 3:30 or 4:00 pm, when it was time to relieve my nanny or pick him up from daycare. Then I’d spend a few hours with him before bed.

But if I’m honest, I really wasn’t with him.

I might have been physically present, but the entire time I was thinking about the laundry list of to-dos that remained. I was distracted. I was irritable about the small things. Not because they were important, but because I was grossly misaligned.

After bedtime, I’d immediately hop back online. I’d get whatever minimal sleep I could and then start the cycle all over again.

It wasn’t healthy or sustainable. Though I was checking all the boxes, it didn’t feel right.

That’s when I started noticing the mindset underneath everything. I was in binary mode.

• I can be a present mom, or I can be a successful leader.

• I can take the rest I need, or I can stay on top of things.

• I can take care of myself, or I can take care of everyone else.

And the moment I accepted the ‘ors’ as reality, my overwhelm multiplied.

Because that kind of binary thinking automatically creates a win/lose system in our minds.

If I choose work, I feel guilty about my family. If I choose my family, I feel behind at work. If I rest, I feel lazy. If I push, I feel resentful.

And quickly, shame rears its ugly head, not because what’s happening is wrong, but because living inside a framework like that doesn’t allow anyone to feel whole.

The realities of modern life.

Here’s the thing about binary thinking. It’s incredibly common and expensive.

It’s something today’s world rewards. We’re praised for pushing through, for being capable, for ‘handling it’. And for many of us, we’re taught – directly or indirectly – that being good is a singular activity that requires consistency and endless availability.

But this ‘or’ thinking comes with a cost. It creates pressure, harshness, and disconnection.

Shifting to AND thinking doesn’t remove any responsibilities or magically erase the constraints we all face. But it does something essential: it prioritizes the most important relationship we have, the one with ourselves.

When you shift from ‘or’ to AND, you unlock:

• More possibilities and less pressure by stopping false tradeoffs.

• Less guilt and shame since you stop seeing yourself as failing on all fronts.

• More grounded decision-making, basing your choices on values rather than fear.

• Better emotional regulation by expressing yourself rather than holding it all in.

• More sustainable ambition fueled by positive reasons.

• More presence by not being constantly at war with yourself.

The challenge is that AND asks us to unlearn years of practice and accept our realities. Concepts we’ve been conditioned around for decades, so understanding that change doesn’t happen overnight.

It’s saying to ourselves:

• I’m ambitious, AND I’m tired

• I’m strong, AND I’m empathetic

• I’m clear, AND I’m still figuring it out

• I’m grateful, AND I’m wanting more

• I’m capable, AND I’m in need of support

It requires us to be honest with ourselves, something even the most self-aware are challenged by.

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Another way to clear space.

Much like the invisible load we previously discussed, embracing AND means allowing ourselves to be okay with the time and place we’re in. It means acknowledging and accepting this season of life.

Making space in this capacity isn’t about giving you back time, but about stopping yourself from abandoning the part of yourself you know you need to succeed.

That’s why this shift matters.

Your nervous system cannot survive in a constant state of overdrive in a place where you see yourself as separate identities, constantly living in a state of self-criticism and self-judgment.

So, here’s a simple practice to use in those moments when binary-mode thinking is creeping in.

Step 1: Name it.

Write down the thought using an ‘or’ framework:

I can be __________ or I can be __________.

Example: I can rest, or I can be successful.

Step 2: Replace it.

Now, adjust the sentence, replacing the ‘or’ with AND.

I can be __________ AND I can be __________.

Example: I can rest, AND I can be successful.

Step 3: Action it.

Ask yourself, “What is one tiny action that I can do today to honor both sides of myself? This allows you to create a micro-action that immediately takes that mindset reframe one step further.

Examples:

• Rest AND success: taking a 10-minute break to walk the dog at lunch, then completing one high-priority task.

• Rest AND success: conducting a brain dump at the end of the workday and adding it to my digital planner to shut down my brain.

• Rest AND success: creating a boundary that I don’t check my emails on Saturday, informing my team that if there’s an emergency, they can call me.

This three-step practice can be repeated whenever you need it and is always available. It may take a few tries before it becomes a go-to activity.

It’s all a work in progress.

If you’re like me and have spent most of your life being rewarded for being in overdrive, powering through, then the ‘keep it together’ option is going to feel incredibly uncomfortable.

That doesn’t mean it’s wrong. It just means it’s new and challenging.

But remember, we don’t have to do this alone. One of the reasons I created TheANDLife project is that I believe transformation requires community. It shows you that it’s normal to feel this way and that it’s nothing to be ashamed of.

We need people in our lives who remind us that we’re not failing and that we’re growing (because it’s hard for us to see it sometimes). And remember, that push-pull feeling is something we all struggle with, but be comforted that we’re all learning to put down the rope.

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The quiet work of running a life with all the tabs open in your mind. The constant remembering, anticipating, coordinating, smoothing, and managing.

For many of us, the invisible load stretches across everything at once: work (and for some of us, businesses), kids, partners, family obligations, community responsibilities, friendships, personal growth, and the emotional labor of being the person people count on.

And when you’re ambitious and a mother, the load can feel like the cost of being capable.

It’s not always the work that breaks us. It’s the constant carrying.

When ‘being capable’ becomes a performance you can’t stop.

Every so often, a familiar feeling rises in me.

It’s not a single task or one hard day. It’s the weight of it all, that reminder of all life’s responsibilities.

When that feeling hits, the pressure quickly morphs the stress into something outward: performance.

Not just at work, but in the way I show up as:

The responsible one.
The organized one.
The resilient one.
The one who remembers.
The one who makes it easier for everyone else.

That pressure then finds its way into how I behave behind closed doors. Sometimes it’s me being irritable. Other times, it’s a numbness. But, as my partner will tell you, it’s most often a drive to get things done – plan more, produce more, clean more. A proof point that I’m on top of it and I’ve got this.

But underneath it all, there’s one question that I have to keep reminding myself to ask: Just because I can, should I?

High performance often hides depletion.

As someone who has a hard time not letting the invisible load take over, it’s important to remember that it’s a slippery slope. It’s dangerous because it doesn’t always look like a struggle. Often, it’s the opposite. It looks like competence.

The invisible load can look like:

• being the one who always has it handled

• answering the texts quickly, keeping the plans moving

• remembering birthdays, deadlines, and school requests

• saying yes because it’s easier than explaining why it’s a no

• taking on more because it’s faster than delegating

• being dependable even when you’re empty

But over time, powering through can start to weigh on you. It doesn’t just show up as being exhausted; you feel disconnected from yourself.

You start feeling resentful toward the people you love, with a short fuse, losing patience faster, feeling like all your creativity has dried up, that your nervous system is in overdrive, that rest is simply unproductive time rather than restoration, and you forget what you need because everyone else’s needs supersede yours.

Setting boundaries isn’t about saying no; it’s saying yes to your life.

As ambitious, high-achieving, and fully capable women, we struggle with boundaries. We correlate them with rejection. Translation: we’re being cold, unavailable, and selfish.

In reality, boundaries are what we need to become aligned.

If you’re like me and see boundaries as letting someone down, try reframing it to show what you’re actually giving everyone in the long run.

Instead of thinking “I’m saying no,” shift the focus:

I’m protecting my energy.
I’m protecting my nervous system.
I’m protecting my presence.
I’m protecting my ability to love well.

Because when you create space, something beautiful happens. It frees you to enjoy your life again by loving more deeply, laughing more genuinely, and being present and in the moment.

The truth is, reconnecting with yourself and restoring ultimately gives you the ability to be more present with others.

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Name it. Sort it. Choose one space-making move.

If boundaries are how we protect our energy, then this is how we begin to create the space we need.

It’s not about having a better plan. It’s about lightening the load, a load we were never supposed to carry alone.

Here’s a practice that you can do in 10 minutes to reconnect when that overwhelming feeling starts to creep in:

Step 1: Write the invisible load list.

Write down 10-15 things that you’re carrying that most people don’t see. If you’re struggling to come up with the items, start with some prompts:

I’m the one who always remembers _______.”
I’m the one who always handles ________.”
I’m the one who thinks ahead about __________.”
I’m the one who absorbs ___________.”

Step 2: Sort it into three bins.

Pick out three highlighters or decide on three symbols that will help you decide what to keep, share, or release.

• Keep: These are the items that are genuinely aligned with your values and matter most to you.

• Share: These are the responsibilities you don’t have to carry alone, even if you’ve carried them for years.

• Release: These are the ‘shoulds’, the expectations you never agreed to and the obligations draining you.

Step 3: Apply it with one action each week.

Choose just one space-making move from one of the three bins. Not one from each, just one total.

• Keep = Protect one activity: Time-block it on your calendar, make it a non-negotiable, and treat it like a work meeting.

• Share = Delegate a task: Ask for help with a recurring task, share responsibility, assign ownership, not just assistance.

• Release = Delete an item: Drop one obligation bogging you down, say no to one ‘should’, stop volunteering yourself by default.

Once you’ve gotten through the list, feel free to repeat it monthly, quarterly, or however often you need to until you start feeling like you’re lightening the invisible weight on your shoulders.

Let’s stop carrying it alone.

If this concept resonates, I want to make it more normal to share what we often keep inside with others, because the invisible load is less burdensome when it’s named and we know we’re not alone.

1. Name one invisible load you’re carrying. A phase is enough.

2. Finish this sentence: “This year, I’m making space for _______.”

3. Say this out loud (even if it’s hard): “I’m not saying no; I’m saying yes to me.”

If you’re comfortable, share one thing you’re keeping, sharing, or releasing.

Reconnection doesn’t require us to reinvent ourselves. It starts with remembering who we are, what we need, and why it matters.

If you’re entering this year feeling heavy, let this be your permission slip: You don’t have to carry it all. AND, you don’t have to carry it alone.

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I was in India with my family, celebrating my wedding earlier that summer. A trip meant to mark the beginning of a new chapter became, instead, the moment that quietly rewired how I would experience ambition, purpose, and leadership for the rest of my life.

Not all awakenings are gentle. Sometimes our bodies force us to listen.

The weeks after I returned were brutal.

The stress, the illness, and the sustained fever took a physical toll I wasn’t prepared for. I lost more than half my hair. What had once been long, thick, and familiar suddenly fell away, forcing me to cut it into a short pixie just to feel like myself again.

I learned that what I experienced stemmed from an undiagnosed autoimmune condition. The result?

My joints were inflamed.
My body was weak.
Simple movement required patience I didn’t yet have.

It took almost a month for my full mobility to return, and far longer to reconcile the disconnect between the woman I had been and the body I was now learning to inhabit.

What I didn’t know then was that my body knew I needed a change, something that happened long before my mind was ready.

But still, that near-death experience left me invigorated. It made me realize how precious time is, and I wanted to do more by giving back, being more purposeful, and making the pain and physical impact mean something.

So I pursued a Master of Public Administration, convinced that corporate social responsibility was the bridge between the work I knew and the purpose I craved. For a moment, it felt aligned.

But old habits are comfortable, especially for ambitious women. It didn’t take long for me to slip back into what I knew best: chasing titles, seeking promotion, and proving my worth by overperforming.

It wasn’t long before I returned to corporate life — right back to where I had been before India — telling myself this was maturity, pragmatism, responsibility. In hindsight, it was survival disguised as success.

Then motherhood intervened.

Another harrowing medical experience – 32 hours in labor and an emergency C-section – during which my body demanded I slow down, whether I wanted to or not.

And yet, after my maternity leave, I returned once again to those ambitious defaults.

But this time was different. I didn’t want to just push through the burnout because it wasn’t just about me. My life had fundamentally changed. And the cost of pretending otherwise became impossible to ignore.

Fast forward to this time last year. Six months after leaving my job, I finally admitted what I had been circling for years: entrepreneurship wasn’t a detour; it was my true calling. And with that clarity came a choice.

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I decided to dedicate a year to gratitude.

I committed to starting and ending each day with gratitude. I wrote 52 handwritten letters — one each week — to people who shaped me.

Some were still in my life, and others passed through briefly.
Some challenged me, and some comforted me.
But all of them left a mark.

The goal was never to get a response, reconnect, or be validated.

Yet the responses came.

Responses I didn’t expect: handwritten notes, emails, phone calls, text messages. They shared moments of humanity that reminded me how interconnected our lives really are.

Gratitude didn’t just help me remember others; it helped me remember myself.

Through reflection, I rediscovered moments I had forgotten and the people I had lost touch with. The versions of myself I had outgrown and the ones I was ready to reclaim.

Gratitude became my anchor as I rebuilt my business, reminding me to choose long-term value over short-term gains.

It didn’t soften my ambition or change who I am fundamentally; it sharpened it—allowing me to make decisions focused on purpose, not pressure.

What This Year Taught Me (and What I Hope It Sparks For You)

Through this year of reflection, I learned some important lessons:

• Your body can force you to slow down, even when ambition keeps you moving.

• Not every awakening leads to immediate change, and that’s okay.

• Ambition without reflection eventually leads to disconnection and misalignment.

• Gratitude is a powerful tool to help you choose what actually matters.

• Sometimes, building your foundation means looking back before moving forward.

It’s important to note that this is just one of the experiences that shaped the many chapters of my life. Chapters we’ll dive into on divorce. Chronic illness. Body image. Adoption. Late diagnosis of ADHD.

Each of those life moments involved rebuilding identity over and over again.

But for now, I want to turn this outward because the most meaningful part of my year of gratitude wasn’t just what I learned. It was realizing how much we carry alone when we don’t have to.

Let’s practice expressing gratitude together.

If this story touched something in you, I’d love to invite you to practice gratitude together, in your own way and at your comfort level.

Choose one of the options and add your response in the comments to start a gratitude ripple.

1. Remember One Person: Write the first name or initials of someone who shaped you, even if they didn’t know it.

2. Share Your AND: Finish the sentence, “Right now, I’m learning to be [insert adjective] AND [insert adjective].

3. Send One Message: Add ‘sent’ after texting or DM’ing a simple, short message, like “Thanks for being part of my story.”

These small gestures are simple acts that help us build community and let everyone know they’re not alone.

If you want to live differently as we start the new year, this is a beautiful place to begin. It’s a small step toward redefining success and toward experiencing the subtle power of AND.

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Not the quiet or polite kind, but the competitive, driven, and always-striving kind.

As a child, I wanted to win—not just for recognition, but because effort and progress mattered to me. Becoming more mattered.

That instinct stayed with me through every chapter of my life—school, music, sports, career, then later leadership and entrepreneurship. The challenges and expectations might have changed. But the drive never did.

Until one chapter shifted everything.

Becoming a mother was the first time I felt truly torn.

Not torn from a challenge perspective, but because it was the first time being ambitious extended beyond myself. My responsibilities were something that no title, role, or milestone had ever carried: the real responsibilities for another human being.

With that came a level of pressure I wasn’t prepared for.

Guilt.
Comparison.
Fear of losing momentum.
Fear of being misunderstood.
Fear of becoming less.

It was a kind of vulnerability I had never experienced before and one I couldn’t strong-arm my way through, even though I tried.

So, I did what many high-achieving women do. I pushed.

I tried to prove—to colleagues, to peers, to family, and, most importantly, to myself—that nothing had changed. That I was just as ambitious. Just as driven. Just as committed. If anything, more so.

Eventually, my body and mind forced me to face a truth I had been trying to ignore: Burnout isn’t a sign of weakness or a failure of strength. It’s the price of not acknowledging transformation.

You can’t go through a life-changing experience and expect to move on unscathed. You need to process it, adapt to it, and give yourself the time (and grace).

And I know I’m not alone.

I know there are women like me who have struggled after becoming mothers.

• Women who questioned whether they even wanted motherhood at all.

• Women who felt disconnected from the version of themselves they once knew.

• Women who felt ashamed for finding the transition harder than expected.

And here’s the part we don’t say enough: That doesn’t mean you’re ungrateful or a failure; it simply makes you human.

This is why I created TheANDLife project, because we don’t have to choose.

Not between ambition or empathy.
Not between growth or rest.
Not between leadership or presence.
Not between who we were or who we’re becoming.

We get to embrace AND.

Now, that doesn’t mean every woman’s life looks the same. There’s no specific way we have to slice the pie of life. Balance isn’t static, linear, or even pretty at times. What it means is you get to decide what matters—and when—because our identity is allowed to evolve.

Success looks different for each of us—it’s deeply personal and not performative.

TheANDLife project isn’t a space focused on perfection, trying to do it all, or following someone else’s path. It’s about sharing honestly, listening deeply, and supporting each other as we travel through our next chapters.

Here, I’ll share what I’m doing, you’ll share what you’re navigating, and together, we’ll define what it means to live fully—without hiding or dismissing any part of ourselves.

Because we only get one life. Who else is ready to live it with intention, purpose, and courage by focusing on AND?

However, behind the praise was an unspoken expectation I didn’t have words for at the time: that I had to choose.

• Ambition or empathy.

• Career or motherhood.

• Success or rest.

• Who I was or who I was expected to be.

Like many women, I learned how to navigate a world built on either/or thinking, until I couldn’t anymore.

Through that tension, TheANDLife project was born.

I created this space for ambitious, purpose-driven women like me who are done choosing and ready to embrace AND.

Here’s what you can expect:

• Honest reflections on leadership, ambition, and identity

• Stories about motherhood, work, and redefining success

• Practical insights for leading with clarity, boundaries, and alignment

• A community rooted in respect, inclusion, and real-life conversations

It’s important to note what TheANDLife project isn’t: it isn’t a mindset that lets you have it all. Instead, it’s about living and leading intentionally.

If this resonates, I’d love for you to subscribe to receive my newsletter every other Tuesday. And, if there’s another woman you know who needs a space like this, please share it with her.

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