And… I’m Not Going to Feel Guilty

There’s a special kind of guilt that comes from being a woman who leads, mothers, partners, and still wants five minutes to breathe. It’s the kind of guilt that doesn’t yell — it hums quietly in the background. It tells you that you should be doing more, that if you’re resting, something must be left undone. I’ve felt guilt for as long as I can remember. I don’t think my mother meant to pass it down, but she’s Catholic, and guilt was practically wallpaper in our house. Rest was complicated — you could nap, but not for too long. You could sit, but you should probably fold laundry while you do. I think Glennon Doyle said it best — that feeling of being a kid on the couch when a parent comes home, leaping up to look busy. Somewhere along the way, I learned that stillness was suspicious.

The guilt doesn’t just live in the doing; it lives in the not doing. When I finally draw a boundary, I can’t always enjoy what that boundary was meant to protect. I’ll sit down and immediately think, I should be doing something. My brain runs through the to-do list like it’s trying to prove its own worth. So I have to talk to myself: It’s okay. Sit. Relax. You’ve done enough. You are enough. Sometimes that mantra wins. Other times, guilt does. I hate that when I do ask for help, I end up managing the help. “Hey, can you call the dentist?” And then an hour later, I’m asking, “Did you call the dentist?” It’s exhausting to delegate and still have to track the delegation. Sometimes I think, I should have just done it myself. And that’s how we end up overworked, overextended, and under-rested — because asking for help becomes another form of labor.

Guilt leaks into everything. In leadership, it shows up as that nagging feeling that I’m never in the right place at the right time. If I’m at work, I’m thinking about my kids. If I’m with my kids, I’m thinking about emails. If I’m home on a Monday after working a ten-hour championship Saturday, I’m convincing myself I should be producing something — a blog post, a strategy doc, or maybe just cleaning the kitchen. Trying to make everyone happy just means no one — especially me — actually is. But here’s the truth I’m learning: you can’t do it all forever. You can’t outrun burnout. You can’t sustain leadership if you never refill what you pour out. Rest isn’t indulgent; it’s infrastructure.

I’m learning to remember why I built my boundaries in the first place. If I felt a certain kind of way when I drew the line — overwhelmed, stretched thin, anxious — that feeling mattered. Just because I don’t feel it today doesn’t mean I don’t still need the protection that boundary gives. I’m reminding myself that I don’t need to answer every text right away. I can send people to voicemail. Not everything is an emergency. If I work on a Saturday, I get to rest on Monday. If I take a slow morning, I don’t owe the world an explanation. If I say “not right now,” I’m not being selfish — I’m being sustainable.

Protecting your peace isn’t a one-time event; it’s a daily practice. Some days it’s standing firm in your no. Some days it’s refusing to check your email after 7 p.m. Some days it’s forgiving yourself for being human. I don’t have this mastered — not even close. I still feel that pull to do more, to be more, to justify my stillness. But I’m trying to listen to that quieter voice that says, you’ve done enough for today. I want women to know they don’t need to feel guilty for rest. Slowing down isn’t giving up; it’s honoring your limits. Because leadership, motherhood, partnership — all of it — are marathons, not sprints. The only way to keep going is to stop sometimes.

So this is my mantra, and maybe it can be yours too: I’m going to draw boundaries, and I’m not going to feel guilty.

Because this isn’t just about guilt — it’s about redefining what leadership actually looks like. The GRL Initiative was never about doing it all; it’s about doing what matters and doing it well. It’s about creating a version of success that doesn’t depend on exhaustion as proof of effort. Belonging, authenticity, leadership — they all start with self-trust. Protecting your peace is not a pause from leadership; it’s part of it. The more we normalize boundaries, the more we model what sustainable strength looks like for the next generation watching us. So let’s keep saying no when we need to, resting without apology, and asking for help without guilt. That’s how we lead anyway.