She Pissed Me Off...

In 2013, I sat in therapy and rambled off every problem I could think of in my life.

• Financial setbacks.

• A lack of community, with my family and friends hundreds of miles away.

• A marriage that was in shambles.

• Professional disappointments despite how hard I worked.

• The exhaustion of trying to carry it all while raising two young children.

When I finished, she asked a few questions that felt oddly disconnected from my rant. Then she said something I will never forget:

“You need to learn how to play.”

I was pissed.

I couldn’t believe that was her response. My life was literally falling apart, and this was what we were talking about.

She had been my therapist for some time. She had context. There was no need for extra explaining. I politely listened while continuing to strategize my way out of everything in my head.

I know now those words were exactly what I needed.
I just couldn’t see it yet.

Like most high-achieving women, I was driven, responsible, and disciplined. But left unchecked, without balance, I was also rigid, intense, and honestly… boring.

I was always the one to fix things.
Go the extra mile.
Plan for the next goal.

Somewhere in my adulting manual, I had missed the chapters on:

• Joy just because

• Finding beauty even in brokenness

• Allowing space for the unexpected

Life was challenging my perfectionism, and I was losing.

God was watching me wear myself out. The Bible was being read. The prayers were being prayed. But I wasn’t actually giving anything to God, because I was determined to fix everything here on Earth.

This season began challenging some of the statements we’ve heard, and maybe even said ourselves:

• If you work hard, you can have anything you want.

• If you pray, God will work it out.

And yes, God does work things out. But for a long time, I thought that meant He would give me what I wanted.

I had a performative lens on life.
A performative faith.
A performative work ethic.

So God was inviting me onto a new path and playing wasn’t just about playing.

It wasn’t about finding a hobby or taking a vacation.

It was about learning how to pause.
How to enjoy a moment, a person, or a thing without a goal attached.
How to be present without needing a win.

Old me assigned play to vacations and special occasions.
New me understands play as a vital part of everyday life.

Unintentionally, I found myself in a season God had very intentionally designed, one meant to confront control and dismantle superficial markers of success.

In the months that followed, I noticed something unsettling.

I would question whether my goals were even worth pursuing.
Or I’d hit the goal and still feel empty inside.

For example, I had a goal to receive a six figure base salary. When this actually happened, it was the lowest professional moment of my life.

This realization was scarier than the losses I could easily name, because:

• There was no timeline or clear ending.

• There was no community for this kind of unraveling.

• There was no measurable definition of success.

• There was no clear next step.

But this season produced:

• Contentment

• Curiosity

• A call to deeper things, spiritually and practically

In 2020, while living in Fort Lauderdale, I began journaling Scripture during my quiet time. I was wrestling with the unknown. I wanted clarity, especially around the plans for my life. I had desires in my heart and prophetic promises spoken over me, and what I really wanted was a neat, practical download outlining my next steps.

Instead, the Lord said something simple. And profound.

Learn to live.
Steward well.
And savor well.

I had Stewardship down.
Savoring? Not so much.

To savor means to relish, to take pleasure in, to delight.

I didn’t realize at the time that savoring would be the hardest part.

Much of my journey over the last several years hasn’t been about doing more. It’s been about doing less. Or doing the same things, but no longer at the expense of my soul.

It meant learning when to say no.
Releasing the reflexive yes.
Discovering joy and fun in ways that once felt irresponsible, or even silly.

We’re in January now. A month when many are pressing harder, especially in productivity and professional goals. If any of this resonates, let me lovingly challenge you to pause and reassess.

Like so many women, I carried a deep-rooted sense of control. If I worked hard enough, long enough, faithfully enough, I believed I could produce the outcome I was looking for. Culture reinforces this. And before we realize it, we’re running on an invisible hamster wheel, busy, exhausted, and spiritually disconnected.

The women I’m called to serve don’t need help doing more. They’ve mastered that. They’ve accumulated accomplishments, accolades, and more education than they could ever use in a lifetime.

What they need help with is learning how to live fully.
How to slow down.
How to align their lives with what matters most to God, and to them.

Maturity for me now, spiritual and otherwise, isn’t metric-based. It isn’t earned through output. Often, it looks like doing less and playing more. That may sound wild, but it’s honest.

Maturity looks like acknowledging shame, guilt, and self-condemnation when they surface, from trauma, drama, or cultural conditioning.

Maturity looks like savoring the sun on my face.
A cool breeze against my skin.
A beautiful outfit or thoughtfully designed space.
A heart-felt conversation that nourishes my soul.

And maturity looks like admitting that years ago, that therapist really did piss me off in the moment.

But she was absolutely right.

And I’m grateful.

Has God been dealing with you on slowing down, savoring more and laying down things that don’t matter?