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There’s a weird thing that happens when you’re highly functional. You can tolerate expensive problems for a very long time. Not expensive because they necessarily cost you money. Expensive because they cost you a little bit of yourself every freaking day. The symptom you can work around. The relationship dynamic you know how to manage. The energy crash you’ve learned to schedule around. The visibility problem that isn’t technically stopping your business from growing. The thing with your kid you can probably research yourself. The resentment you’ve “dealt with.” The decision you keep revisiting. The 17 supplements. The three-hour rabbit hole. The part of your brain that’s always quietly monitoring: Is this getting worse? None of it is catastrophic enough to blow up your life. And that’s exactly why it gets to stay. If your house were on fire, you’d leave. But a faucet dripping? You learn to sleep through it. Until somebody shows you the water bill. And I think high-capacity women are particularly susceptible to this because we’re so fucking good at compensating. We make the workaround work. Then we forget the workaround has a cost. Japhia could still give the presentation when she needed the adaptogenic supplement for anxiety in her pocket. Jessie could still hold four little girls while trying to investigate her family’s health herself. Neither woman was incapable. That’s the point. They could carry it. The question became: Why the fck should they have to? That’s a very different question. Because eventually I stopped measuring a problem by: Can I handle this? Of course I can handle it. I’ve handled objectively ridiculous amounts of sh*t. That’s not an interesting metric anymore. I want to know: What is this costing me to keep handling? Attention? Energy? Money? Time with my children? Physical intimacy? Creativity? Momentum? Trust in my own body? My willingness to be seen? The mental real estate I could be using to build the next thing? Because sometimes the most expensive problem in your life isn’t the biggest one. It’s the one quietly charging rent every day. And this is why I opened private access back up. Not because I think everybody needs long-term 1:1 support. I don’t. Sometimes I look at something and think: Oh. I know exactly where I’d start. Sometimes we need one surgical session. Sometimes I want more time with you. Sometimes I want Mirror Magic involved. Sometimes I want to muscle test the entire freaking thing. Sometimes the answer is herbs. Sometimes I think the thing you’re convinced is the problem isn’t the priority at all. I don’t know which one you need until I see what you’re carrying. But I do know I’m unusually good at finding the thing creating disproportionate drag. And right now, I have room to do that privately for one or two more women. So here’s the external deadline: I’m going to read PRIVATE replies through Sunday. After that, I’m closing this particular doorway so I can actually support the women I say yes to. No elaborate application. No sales page. No pretending you know which one of my methodologies you need. Reply PRIVATE and answer three things:
That third question matters most. Because I’m considerably less interested in how bad your problem is… than I am in how much of your life is sitting on the other side of it. I’ll read your reply myself. If I see leverage, I’ll tell you where. If I think we should work together, I’ll tell you what that could look like. If I don’t think I’m the person for it, I’ll tell you that too. But whether you reply or not, I want you to ask yourself something today: If nothing about this changes for the next 12 months, what will it have cost me? Not whether you can survive it. I already know you can. Whether you’re still willing to pay for it. Love you, mean it |