It crept up on me slowly, in the spaces I hadn’t made room for.
Or rather, spaces I thought I didn't recognise anymore.
A strange heaviness, each time I looked at my schedule. Not dread, exactly, but something quiet yet loud, and persistent. There was a tightness in the chest. A flicker of resistance. I was living inside a calendar that didn’t feel like mine anymore.
The boxes were full. The hours accounted for yet, a hollowness lingered.
I kept telling myself I was being productive. Efficient. Responsible.
But if I was really honest, I hadn’t felt spacious in weeks.
So slowly and unannounced, I did something quietly radical (though part of me felt it was more irresponsible).
I chose to let calendar breathe.
As some may know, I started kickstarting each new year with themes. And the word for 2025 is/was growth.
Growth encompassed personal development (learning and doing new things), moving away from comfort zones, and getting my new career underway.
Somewhere along the way of excitement and fervour, I equated fullness with value.
I believed I had to make the most of every single minute of my waking hour towards growth. I started activity stacking: listening to podcasts/ audiobooks on business growth while showering or cooking, I replaced daily exercise with extra-time working online, my daily meditation practice became a negotiable.
The signs crept up: interrupted sleep, more and more takeaways, increased activity stacking. My mind was constantly working and overworking.
No wonder I couldn't sleep!
I wasn’t just overworking, I was also overbooking myself. Too many calls. Too many context switches. Too little recharge time.
So the day I decided to let my calendar breathe, it felt a little like taking time to return to myself. Like a homecoming to becoming.
Creating breathing space in my calendar isn’t about doing nothing. Though admittedly, I cleared a lot and it did look like I was doing nothing.
No, it was really about doing less on purpose.
I’ve started saying no to things I technically “have time for,” but that don’t feel nourishing.
I took pauses to practice radical honesty: Am I doing this out of obligation, expectation or because I truly wanted to?
I returned to practicing intentionality.
I put weekend plans on pause, and swapped urgency for rhythm. Convenience for clarity.
These small shifts are teaching me to be more discerning.
And when I resist the urge to cram in “just one more thing”, I notice something strange and beautiful: my mind softens.
My thoughts stretch, mind expands, and I begin to hear myself again.
Even now, I catch myself feeling guilty when I see space in my calendar, or when I'm not in front of the computer.
Somewhere deep inside, I still carry the fear that empty hours signal laziness or complacency. That rest must be earned. That visibility equals relevance.
With this space, it made me also remember that growth isn't always about learning. It's also about unlearning: rest doesn't only have to be a reward. Maybe it can be a return or a remembering - a radical trust in my own timing.
Maybe breathing space is part of 2025's growth too.
The more I make room, the more I realise that I don’t need more hours to do more stuff.
I need more presence.
Letting my calendar breathe isn’t about abandoning my goals. It’s about letting them unfold at a human pace. My pace. It’s choosing depth over density. Impact over appearances.
So, while I acknowledge I dropped the ball with my weekly newsletter and I feel terrible and disappointed with myself, I've decided to let softness be a strategy. I accept I will not meet my initial (admittedly, unrealistic) targets I had set for, for myself.
And I’m learning, too, that space isn’t just for creativity: it’s how I come to know my edges.
Because how can I recognise what’s too much if I’m always submerged in it?
In this process, I've learnt the subtle wisdom in noticing the difference between a healthy stretch and an unsustainable strain. And the only way I’ve found to know that difference is to give myself breathing room. To move gently towards the edge, not with force, but with curiosity.
What do I still feel connected to when things slow down? What starts to fray when I push too far?
These are the questions I’m sitting with, not to limit myself, but to learn what’s true for me now. Limits aren’t the enemy.
They’re the contours of care.
The outlines of a life that’s lived with intention.
If you’re finding yourself in a similar season, questioning the pace, the pressure, the shape of your days, you’re not alone.
This kind of shift isn’t always easy to navigate on your own.
This is the very work I support my coaching clients through: unravelling hustle-rooted habits, finding your own rhythm, and rebuilding a relationship with time that feels spacious and sustainable.
If you're craving clarity, support, or simply someone to walk with you as you untangle what's too much, coaching might help.
You can learn more about how I coach, or book a free discovery call to see if it’s the right next step for you.
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