I live on an island 30 miles out to sea. For most of the year, it’s a quiet and somewhat isolating existence — and then July hits.

The population surges from 15,000 to nearly 60,000 in a very short time. A 300% increase that feels dizzying.

Suddenly, there are private jets flying overhead, people running each other over with their Rivians, men in blue dress jackets assaulting peaceful protesters, and content creators blocking the sunset with their ring lights.

I cannot emphasize how disorienting this is after a long, desolate winter out at sea.

The energy shifts from a community of people salty enough to live here during the months of February and March, to an island filled with people desperate to prove they are more ‘Nantucket’ than the rest.

The island becomes a microcosm of our obsession with status — all I can see is the false self.

As a reminder, the false self is what happens when the ego becomes so identified with the persona or mask it's created that it loses access to the truth of who it is. It's a highly defended, performative mode, where the ego works tirelessly to protect you from a false sense of inadequacy.

On Nantucket, most of the false self behavior stems from the exclusivity of the land itself. The island has become a status symbol to claim — to reinforce the persona of the ego.

If you want to physically stake your claim, there’s only so much land available. It’s not as though you can expand to surrounding territories and claim proximity. Because of this, property has become exorbitantly expensive, pricing out locals and creating a feeding frenzy of investors looking to cash in.

At cocktail parties, people socially stake their claim by sharing how deeply rooted they are to the island. Are you a wash-ashore? How long ago did you wash-ashore? A native? How many generations do you go back? You work here? How many seasons? A summer person? Do you own a home or rent? A day-tripper? God help you.

As silly as this is, it makes sense from an ego perspective. Territoriality is a survival instinct that has been ingrained in humans since the dawn of agriculture. Much blood has been shed over who owns what land. This is simply the less murderous, modern-day-version of signaling ownership and belonging.

To add to this frenzy, the island is apparently having a “TikTok” moment, meaning that the status climbing is reaching beyond the shores and out to the ethers of the internet. People are coming here just to say they came here. Did you even go to Nantucket if you didn’t post about it?

Just today, my hairdresser told me about a wealthy client who noticed a couple filming outside her house. They came prepared with multiple wardrobe changes, a dog, and a rolled up newspaper. The couple filmed scenes where the woman picked up the newspaper from the end of the driveway and walked her dog throughout the neighborhood, presumably to create the illusion that she lived there (wild).

This constant performance creates an atmosphere that feels detached from reality. It feels extractive. It feels fake. And it feels like people are losing themselves to the false self at frightening rates.

This summer, the false self made headlines when a local shop owner hung a handcrafted sign that read “No Influencers” in his antiques store. An influencer called it anti-feminist and caused a cultural firestorm. This same influencer had just opened her own shop downtown — a retail space called Dairy Boy, apparently named because she was brave enough to order a whole milk latte in an oat milk world. Her audience of over a million people found her authenticity refreshing and now a line of people who covet her aesthetic snakes around the block.

I know, it’s a lot.

For one thing, I don’t believe that sign is anti-feminist. It’s anti-content creation on an island that is quickly devolving into a backdrop for everyone’s personal brand — a status symbol that feeds the ego instead of an island that feeds the soul.

Secondly, this influencer has made a business off of influencing young women to be more like her persona (rich, beautiful) and less like themselves. She sells clothes and other goods so that these women can feel closer to her aspirational life.

It’s not exactly anti-feminist… but it definitely doesn’t seem pro-woman.

After following this drama, another young influencer popped into my feed.

She showed up raw and without makeup to proclaim that she didn’t even know who she was anymore – she was posting music she didn’t like, promoting products she didn’t care about, and feeling detached from who she actually was.

There was suffering in her admission: she felt trapped by the life her ego had created and cut off from her true self.

When everything is curated, nothing is real. The true self becomes elusive and hard to locate.

For years, Nantucket was a refuge for the true self.

People would take the ferry and drop the mask, feeling a sense of relief as the boat sailed farther away from the “real world.” They would roll up to their little beach cottage, surrounded by crab grass and filled with cobwebs, and feel at peace in the natural world. Kids would run barefoot from the ocean to the kitchen table, still salty from the waves, and go to sleep with sand in their sheets. There was a ruggedness about it, a ferality. A return to what is real.

Now, those cottages have been torn down to make room for enormous mansions. The crab grass has been replaced by a lawn so green you wonder how we could possibly be in a drought. And the property has been sprayed for bugs.

Despite the damage these sterile properties do to the natural ecosystem of their beloved island, people do not – cannot – give them up. The social status that comes with a very specific aesthetic is too valuable to lose.

In college, I worked at the very exclusive Nantucket Golf Club. At the time (20 years ago) it cost $300,000 just to join, on top of hundreds of thousands of dollars in annual dues. There were members who would pay this money and never set foot in the club or on the golf course. They were paying to simply belong.

There’s something so symbolic about that. Paying to simply belong.

Not because you love golf. Not because that massive house makes you happy. But because you want to belong.

And it’s not just rich people paying their way into societal acceptance.

Americans as a whole carry an enormous amount of credit card debt in an attempt to keep up appearances and signal a certain level of status. A friend who runs the books for a preschool says she sees it all the time: people who drive $60,000 cars but can’t afford tuition. We’re literally going into debt to keep up this charade.

And again, this is human nature. We behave in this way because of deeply rooted survival instincts to be accepted by the tribe, to gain a favorable reputation, and to signal that you have something valuable to offer to a mate and the group at large.

Our egos fight to hold ground, whether that’s a piece of land, a seat at the table, or envy in the drop-off line.

I’ve been on my own personal journey to explore my relationship to status. I grew up in a town where it mattered a lot and with a dad who cared deeply. As I wrote about in a previous post, when my dad lost his status, he lost his sense of self and eventually his life.

Aware of this at some level, I rebelled against it, feeling a visceral “ick” in response to the preppy clothes my high school peers wore: the Lilly Pulitzer, the double popped collars.

And in other ways, I absorbed it.

I didn’t realize what I had absorbed until I moved to Nantucket, a place that makes my hometown look quaint. “Billionaire island,” as some call it, awoke dormant associations around status, wealth and worthiness.

Suddenly, I was surrounded by symbols that set off alarms in my false self: the shitty pickup I drove went from endearing to low class, the cute little house we were so lucky to buy went from a total jackpot to not good enough, and the clover I had planted around the house went from practical to imperfect. (Side note: our obsession with lawns is fascinating.)

My true self, the one who loves that pickup because it’s the perfect beach car, was being challenged. My ego looked around at all the fancy homes and decided that my true self was a threat to my social standing.

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The challenge with the false self is that it cannot discern what is helpful and what is harmful. Status is no longer tightly bound to survival but it remains the unconscious driver for so many of the decisions we make, the feelings we feel, and the way we show up in the world.

And with the proliferation of social media, reality tv, and comparison culture — the false self is on high alert. In decades past, we could only compare ourselves to our neighbors (The Joneses). Now we compare ourselves to every wealthy person with an Instagram account. And as the wealth stratification increases, so does our collective self-loathing.

The false self is freaking out.

The only way out of this ego-hell is to collectively unsubscribe from the illusion of it all. We have to bring the unconscious into the conscious. To see the illusion for what it is and reconnect with who we actually are.

In Vedanta, this is called maya.

Maya is the Vedic concept for cosmic illusion or individual ignorance of your true nature and self. Maya disconnects you from your divine essence, the truth that you are innately worthy and whole.

I’ve been working with this concept for over a decade, and even though I understand it at an intellectual level, I’m still integrating it at a soul level. I still worry about my outward appearances: the way I dress, my aging body, if my home is decorated the right way. I still feel self-conscious in a room with people who have more money, notoriety, or prestige. I still want things to look a certain way.

This is normal, it’s human. We need our egos. We need to act in a socially acceptable way that won’t isolate us. We need individuality, preferences, opinions, and creative expression. But the work is to be in right-relationship with your ego. To not over-identify with the performance or the mask. To remember the truth: that you are innately worthy, regardless of the car you drive or the promotion you get.

Once you see the illusion of separateness and stratification — like what happens on Nantucket during the summer — you start to see it everywhere.

The illusion that corporate success validates your existence.

The illusion that material things prove your worthiness.

The illusion that being envied will bring you peace.

What’s fascinating about this particular moment is that all of the traditional constructs of the ego are being challenged. AI is coming for your fancy job and that degree from your brand-name university. The dead internet will co-opt your aspirational life. And that mansion is probably going to fall into the sea.

The veil is slowly lifting.

Just like the shop owner with the “No Influencers” sign, we are sick of the performance. We are exhausted by the trying. And we are over the myth that we can aspire to a status that is increasingly out of reach.

It’s easier to say fuck it, and just be yourself.

For some people, that might mean wearing a bold Lilly Pulitzer print. For others, it’s fully embracing your sea witch vibes. Liberation in this next era is letting your freak flag fly — whatever flavor that may be.

I used to feel activated by the influx of people in whale pants. I used to feel jealous of their picture perfect homes. I used to feel confronted by the wealth I would never have. Now I find it somewhat amusing. Nantucket in the summer feels like a giant production put on by the ego, complete with costumes, characters, and crazy elaborate sets.

The true Nantucket lies right beneath the surface, just like our own true self. It’s the version I’ve grown to appreciate as a relative newcomer (a “drag-ashore” as one friend anointed me). It’s the fog that engulfs you and settles your senses. The wind that whips the waves and cancels the boats. The community that holds you when there's nowhere else to go. The seal that pops its head up and doesn’t care what you’re wearing or where you went to brunch. The vast sky in the middle of the Atlantic that fills you with awe and makes you wonder what we’re all doing here.

The true Nantucket is what attracted people to her in the first place, because she reminded them of who they were: one with the earth below them, the sky above them, and the living beings all around.

Each summer the false self rolls in over the island like a tidal wave — and then slowly recedes back into the ocean, revealing her rugged, wild truth. This juxtaposition has helped me see the false self more clearly, both in myself and the world around me.

When I first moved to Nantucket, I thought the dominant summer culture was so against my ethos that I couldn’t stay. Instead, the island has been one of my greatest teachers.

Who would have thought.

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Shawn Casey is a Nationally Board-Certified Health and Wellness Coach, co-founder of Noria, mother of three, and a lifelong student of Vedanta and Ayurveda. With 15 years of experience coaching clients through identity shifts and inflection points, she writes about aligning with your true self to live a more meaningful and purposeful life.

Curious about coaching? Book a clarity call here or check out ShawnCaseyCoaching.com for more information.

My dad’s death was complicated. It’s still tender, and my process will be ongoing.

On the morning of the one-year anniversary, I went for a walk and listened to the music that helped me get through the last year — and the many years prior.

His decline spanned the last two decades, the entirety of my adult life. He battled addiction and mental illness and the end was excruciatingly hard for anyone who knew and loved him.

If you’ve ever lost someone whose essence slowly slipped away — someone who succumbed to the shadowy underworld — you probably know what I’m talking about. It’s painful to witness your loved one, especially a parent, become the worst version of themselves.

In my heart, and despite everything that happened, I knew my dad was not a bad person. I knew that he loved me. And I knew that he felt deeply, perhaps to his own detriment and death. I had always felt a soul-level connection to my dad, even in the darkest of times. His true self was tender and vulnerable and attuned to something greater. We connected in ways I didn’t with my other family members, and it’s a big reason why his death has been so complicated for me, and so deeply sad.

I’m not ready to go into my dad’s full story. One day I will share it because it’s so relevant to my work and worldview, but for now I’ll just say this: he lost his money, and then his status, and then his mind. The pain of that loss — of everything he had worked so hard to achieve, and what he believed amounted to his self-worth — drove him to drink himself to death. It was a slow, excruciating descent that left a trail of destruction across my entire family.

Since his death, I’ve wrestled with deeply conflicting feelings. The version of my dad that I loved had not been around for a very long time. I had been grieving him for many years. In fact, there was a sense of relief when he died. The terror of what would happen and how it would end was finally over. But I was also left with the gut-wrenching finality of it all.

My therapist would often remind me that a downward spiral like his doesn’t come out of nowhere. My relationship with my father, even before his financial troubles, was not perfect. He was a tough dad who caused some early damage. There had always been painful memories and underlying issues, even when I put him on a pedestal.

So what exactly have I been grieving? Why am I so sad when this person caused me so much pain? How do I reconcile the anger with the loss?

Part of the answer, outside of the biology and psychology of attaching to your parents, is that nobody is all “bad.” There are always glimmers of their goodness — their true selves, and the potential they hold. And I clung to those glimmers with everything I had.

I longed for the version of my dad who was present and curious and invested in my life. The version who was proud and supportive and gave me grace. These weren’t his dominant traits, but there were glimmers.

I realize now that I was holding onto some hope — some fantasy — that my dad would hit rock bottom so hard that it would force an awakening. That he would crack open and find God or some higher wisdom. See the truth. Kill his ego.

In my fantasy, my awakened dad would show up and look at my children, his beautiful grandchildren, with tears in his eyes and tell me how much he loved them. He would come see my new house and help me fix the things that were broken. He would laugh and say that he still didn’t know what I went out to California to do, but wow, I had done something, and he was proud.

I think children, no matter how old we get or how bad things end, always wish to share their life with their parents. They long for a parent who cares about who they are, what they’re going through, and the life they have built. I’m aware that even if my dad were still alive, he wouldn’t have been able to give this to me… and yet I still grieve that loss.

The concept of the false and true self has helped me make sense of it all.

Witnessing him succumb to the false self — watching his ego cope with what I could only imagine were deep feelings of shame and unworthiness — was incredibly hard to watch. For years, I tried in desperation to convince him that none of that actually mattered. The house, the status, the markers of success: it’s all an illusion.

But it didn’t work.

That’s the power of the false self and the society that feeds it.

And even though I felt so angry and betrayed — I also felt profound empathy, especially as I grew older and built a career and family of my own. There's enormous pressure to prove you belong and signal to society that you are “keeping up” with your peers. You acquire all the trappings of “success”: the cars, homes, neighborhoods, job titles, vacations, education, etc.

I find myself in a complicated relationship with my egoic desires all the time. My feelings of worth, and the way status gets under my skin. I’m not immune to the illusion of it all. In fact, I inherited much of my dad’s story of what it means to be worthy in this world — how could I not?

The way I work with ego is through constant self-awareness. I’m in conversation with her and I talk back. I know her triggers, and I tell her to take a backseat when she’s spinning out. I remind her that the things she cares about are no longer life or death — that actually, if she cares too much about these material, earthly things it can lead to our demise. Slowly, over time, I’ve created distance from my ego so I can remain in my higher self. The part of me connected to something greater and unconcerned with how I compare to others.

This is the backdrop to my lifelong exploration into the true/false self dichotomy. These were lessons my father never meant to teach me, but they have been the most important of my life.

I will share more in time, but today I want to honor my dad and share the eulogy I wrote for his memorial — a tricky event to facilitate given the many complicated feelings left in the aftermath of his descent. My intent was not to bypass all the hard but I no longer wanted to dwell in the arena of his ego, I had grown tired of being there. Instead, I wanted to remember the glimmers of light, his true self, and the very happy memories I was lucky to have with him.

My hope is that if you're navigating something similar, this framing helps you connect with the essence of your loved one and remember that their ego is not who they really are.

Glimmers

I want to start by sharing a belief that’s helped me cope and make sense of things throughout the years. And that’s the belief that all of us, at our essence and our core, are innately good. No matter who we are or what we’ve done, or where our life took us, our true nature — our essence, our soul, our spirit — is pure love and light and goodness.

When we enter into this world, our essence is given a physical form — our body and mind — and the layers of life get added on. As the years go on, sometimes those earthly layers grow thick and bury the light of who we really are.

But even if the light is dim, I believe it’s always there within us, and occasionally shines through — revealing glimmers of who we really are.

That’s what I want to share today: the glimmers of my dad’s essence and what I believed to be his true self shining through, that I got to experience throughout my life.

One of my earliest, warmest memories of my dad is of my 4th birthday party. He is laying in the grass, the sun shining, and all of the kids are surrounding him, hanging on to his every word. He was conducting an Easter egg hunt and giving us hints as to where he had hidden the highly coveted eggs. He was present, completely engaged, and filled with delight as he kept us all in suspense. I remember feeling such pride that he was my dad. A glimmer of his playfulness and ability to connect with young kids.

When I was around 7 or 8, my brother and I used to take nature walks with my dad every Sunday. First, we would go to the dump and then head to the Duxbury town forest to look for antique cranberry boxes for my mom. My dad loved these walks. He always seemed to be at peace in the forest and in awe of the natural beauty around him. It was a resonant glimmer — as if the trees were reawakening his spirit after a long week of working and commuting. He always said we lived in the most beautiful place on the planet.

Music was also a source of joy and a way to unwind for my dad.

He loved a good music session in the kitchen while he cooked and watched sports.

The soundtrack of my youth is likely thanks to his good friends Liz and Zabe, who are here today. We listened to a lottt of Grateful Dead, Steely Dan, and Jerry Jeff Walker growing up. Sometimes, when he still wanted to listen to music but it was getting late and everyone else was going to bed, he would wear his favorite pair of noise-cancelling headphones and air drum around the kitchen. Thanks to those headphones, I was able to successfully sneak out of the house — and back in — a few times throughout my teenage years without him noticing.

As we entered high school, his love for sports, specifically amateur sports, became next level when it was apparent that my brother was a gifted athlete. My dad found so much joy in watching collegiate and high school level sports — he said it was because the players were motivated by nothing other than the love of the game. And boy, did he love the game. I used to leave the house when Boston College played Notre Dame because he would yell at the tv so loud the whole house would shake. And so, when Chris started playing high school lacrosse and football, his love for the game quite literally overflowed. He was so proud to see his own son excel on the field.

Another fun high school memory was when I decided to throw a party while my parents were at a “progressive dinner” — my first mistake. As my parents progressed from one house to the next, they made a pit stop at our house. My mom, assuming positive intent, came down the basement stairs carrying a tray of leftover hors d’oeuvres to share with my friends. She saw the beer pong game in progress and simply said “your father will be right down.” The party went into a full panic as kids attempted to flee the scene and escape out the basement door. But my dad was down there in seconds, yelling “freeze!” I’ll never forget seeing my tough guy friends literally fall to their knees. He brought us upstairs and lectured us about not being idiots and made sure everyone had a DD to get home. When the crowd left, it was just Claire, Kristin, and I in the kitchen with my dad. He broke into a big smile and started laughing. He joked that we had to be pretty dumb to think he wouldn’t notice 25 cars in the driveway, or that Kristin wasn’t sitting there “high as a freaking kite.” My dad loved my friends — and he really loved messing with us.

When I left for college, he wrote a note that I wish I still had. The glimmer though was less about the words and more of a feeling. He was feeling very sentimental about the whole thing, as was I. It helped me to know that this transition felt just as big for him as it did for me. I always thought of my dad as a very sensitive person. He felt deeply, and so do I.

Unfortunately, for most of my adult life, I witnessed fewer and fewer glimmers.

In one of our final conversations, in February of this year, he sounded like his old self. I called him while I was on a walk with my dog Pepper and he asked “how’s Pep??” He then told me, for what must have been the one hundredth time, about his very poorly behaved dog, PJ, that he’d had as a boy. I let him tell the story, once again, about the mischief and mayhem this dog would cause and about how he’d have to shamefully retrieve the dog from the neighborhood church or chase him down Adelphi soccer field.

Whatever happened to PJ, I asked? “I dunno,” my dad said, “one day the damn dog ran away and never came back! It was probably for the best.” My dad laughed, chuckling like I hadn’t heard in many years. A glimmer of his old and true self.

Lucky for me, that was not the last glimmer I got to experience. On the evening of the day he died, I was putting my daughter Rowan to bed. It had been a long day and I told her we could only read one book that night. She went and picked out a book from the back of her bookcase, one I hadn’t seen or read in over two years.

It was the book “Butterfly Kisses” — a story told from the perspective of a dad about his deep and undying love for his daughter. As I read the words out loud, I couldn’t believe it. I knew it was my dad speaking to me, a final glimmer of what I knew to be true all along: that he loved me and my brother, very much.

That final glimmer gave me such peace, because I know he has returned to his essence. Dad, I love you and I miss you.

If you made it this far, thank you for your time and attention.

I’ll leave you with the music that’s helped me cope. Perhaps it will help you too.

I listened to this a lot during the years I knew he was killing himself and there was nothing I could do. Accepting how little control and influence I actually had was helpful.

This song, and really the whole album, helped me immensely when I moved back to New England and faced the reality of what was happening. I don’t know if Noah Kahan wrote it with this intention, but I hear the “hometown” as a metaphor for your family ghosts and the shadows you inherit. You can leave and go far away — but you can never outrun them, they’ll always be a part of you. And that’s ok, because there are beautiful parts too.

A favorite of my dad’s and a staple from my childhood. This song is strangely prescient and autobiographical… a sad song with glimmers of joy. I feel very close to my dad when I listen to it.

Shawn Casey is a Nationally Board-Certified Health and Wellness Coach, co-founder of Noria, mother of three, and a lifelong student of Vedanta and Ayurveda. With 15 years of experience coaching clients through identity shifts and inflection points, she writes about aligning with your true self to live a more meaningful and purposeful life.

Curious about coaching? Book a clarity call here or check out ShawnCaseyCoaching.com for more information.

I vividly remember my mom turning 40. My dad threw her a big surprise party and I successfully kept the secret. She was “over the hill” and it all seemed to be a very big deal.

So for my 40th, I took the day off knowing my husband would be traveling for work and I’d be solo-parenting that week. I wanted a spacious day by myself to recharge, reflect, and start the decade right.

Instead, all three of my kids got the stomach bug (myself included) and I spent the day in full survival mode: scraping vomit off the carpet while my son yelled “Mamaaaa, I’m peein’ from my butt again!” and I disassociated from my own nausea. It was the most mom birthday ever.

That night, my cousin wrote me an email wishing me happy birthday and sharing the symbolism of the number 40:

The number 40 in culture and religion, particularly in Abrahamic traditions, symbolizes a profound period of testing, purification, preparation, and ultimate transformation. It marks a significant transition, often representing a generation (40 years), a complete season of spiritual renewal (40 days) and the gestation period for new human life (40 weeks).

Well, my first day of 40 certainly felt like a test - and defintely some sort of purification.

In the group chat, I jokingly told my friends that it felt like my 30s had chewed me up to spit me out, that I was ready for this next chapter.

And I am. I feel the immense privilege of growing older, but more importantly, wiser.

My 30s were hard. I’m sure many of you feel the same way.

In general, the third decade coincides with career acceleration, creating a family, big moves, large purchases, and a whole lot of responsibility and decision making. It’s the period calls “The Squeeze,” when you don’t yet have enough time or money to manage all the things in a sane and sustainable way. It’s also the time when your kids are young and your parents are old and you take on the responsibility of carrying a career while also caretaking for two different generations.

For me, my late 30s included becoming a mother during a global pandemic and, consequently, leaving a vibrant city life to start anew on a faraway island. I got pregnant for the second time and had a miscarriage, got pregnant again and had twins (!), quit my job of over a decade, started my own business, and lost my dad.

It was like a fire hose of personal growth. More than I would have liked.

If anything, the last six years gave me a lot of material to work with. I had to practice the teachings of my Vedic Satsangha, I had to confront what could no longer be ignored in therapy, and I had to align my work with the shifting values and constraints of my new life as a mother. I built muscles that I hope will support me in the inevitable twists and turns of this next decade.

For those of us lucky enough to grow older, there is an opportunity to integrate what we’ve learned about ourselves and being human to shape a more intentional latter half. It’s the difference between not just getting older, but getting wiser too.

The people in my life who are both older and wiser say that life only gets better and better. I imagine this is because you keep getting closer to the truth of who you are.

An introduction to the True Self

Much of my 30s was learning about the true self. In both my personal and professional work, I saw firsthand how much suffering is rooted in a fundamental misalignment between who we are at a soul level and how we operate in our everyday lives.

Alignment is living a life that honors who you are at your core. Your values, your strengths, your passions, your spirit, and your connection to something bigger than yourself.

Alignment results in less friction and more flow.

Picture a sliding door.

The sliding door’s raison d’etre is simple: to open and close with ease. When it’s properly aligned and on its rails, it moves smoothly like it’s meant to. When it’s misaligned and off its rails, excessive force is required just to get it to function.

Feel familiar?

In my spiritual practice, my teacher, Shunya-Ji, refers to the true self as the Sovereign Self. I love this language because I feel it in my body. It feels grounded, powerful, and inherent - something that belongs to me rather than something I’ve had to earn or cultivate.

You might call this your essence, your core self, your inner self, your spirit, or your soul. There are many different frameworks for the true and false self from different philosophies, religions, and sciences. It’s fascinating to see how universal this concept is.

I like to use “true/highest self” and “ego.”

Most of us don’t live with our true selves in the driver seat. Not because we’re doing anything wrong - but because the ego is a powerful trickster who likes to be in charge.

The ego developed to cope, survive, and navigate the world of being human.

She’s not bad. She’s actually been incredibly useful. She protects us, keeps us alert, adapts our behavior, and helps us get things done.

But for many of us, there comes a moment of reckoning — usually around mid-life.

The scope of our lives expands. We become leaders. We become mothers. We experience our own power. We no longer need the protection our conditioning has provided, and we see how our conditioning holds us back.

Neuroscience supports this. There is evidence that as women enter midlife, they naturally start giving less fucks. As in: they no longer have the capacity to continue contorting themselves to fit into systems that don’t align with their true self.

The misalignment of not living from your true self is deeply depleting, and as we get older we simply do not have the energy to keep up the ruse.

This is a beautiful thing because the true self is a much better driver!

She is not rushed or fueled by urgency. She is not constantly trying to please or accommodate others. She drives her life from inner authority rather than external validation and leads with clarity, compassion, and conviction. Her energy is drawn from a deeper well.

It feels good to be her.

The ego, on the other hand, is externally motivated. She learned early on that love and belonging came from being useful, productive, or indispensable. She’s capable and competent, but her pace is driven by fear rather than flow.

She shows up as the task-rabbit, the people-pleaser, the perfectionist, the good girl, the one who can do it all, and the control freak.

She evolved to survive in a patriarchal society - and she is tired.

What we want is the true, sovereign self in the driver’s seat of our lives.

She is wise. She is creative. She is connected to something bigger than herself. And she is capable of truly impressive things.

We need her now more than ever.

World leaders and the ego run amok

What we are witnessing on the world stage is what happens when the ego takes the wheel and drives off a cliff.

So many of the people in power right now are operating from unchecked and out of control egos. Our culture fuels the collective ego through over-consumption, comparison, and invented constructs of status and worth. We buy into the myth that these leaders are aspirational. We trust them. We covet their material success. We think they know the truth of what makes a worthy and happy life.

But the cracks are beginning to show.

We are seeing clearly what it looks like when ego takes over, when fear drives decision-making, and when power is disconnected from truth and integrity. (See: the corruption of the Trump administration, the Epstein files, and the Broligarchs running our world.)

The shadows of our society are being exposed. It’s maddening and heartbreaking, but also not surprising. If you feel a mix of outrage and deadness, it’s because your highest self has known the truth.

Now it’s in plain sight.

We see that the people in power are primarily motivated by their precariously fragile egos. Their entire sense of self is wrapped up in power and they make decisions to protect their status, not us. They don’t believe in something greater than themselves. And they are wholly disconnected from the truth of who they are, eschewing any kind of self-introspection should it lead them to that truth.

More people are seeing this. A jury recently found Meta and YouTube liable for negligently creating products that harm children. And the public turned against Sam Altman and Open-AI when he rushed to make a deal with Trump’s Department of War.

While we see these “leaders” with more clarity, we also realize these are the same people shepherding us through the most significant technological advancement in human history.

Unsettling at best, absolutely terrifying at worst.

The opportunity

As the veil thins and the masks drop, a paradox is revealed.

Light is standing right alongside darkness. Clarity around the giant mess we are in.

It’s as if a spotlight has been turned on the collective consciousness, illuminating necessary evils that have long lived in the shadows.

With this clarity, more people question the way things are. The veil thins even further.

I believe we are in a moment of awakening. We are waking up to the truth of who we are and recalibrating how we see the world.

If you’re a woman entering midlife, this awakening is even more potent.

At the same time that we are stepping into our sovereignty and giving less fucks about being bossy, opinionated, and fed up - we are also watching the patriarchy buckle under the weight of its own imbalance. We are feeling the earth die. We are aching for the women abused. The mothers unsupported. The children who suffer because of it.

As women, we feel this all in our bodies.

As women in midlife, it becomes absolutely intolerable.

We know there is a better way, even if it’s not yet apparent. And we finally feel what we are capable of.

As said in this fantastic talk: we need to give ourselves permission to think in a different way. We need to break free of the fog that says this is how things have to be.

The more we tap into our true self (our power), the more we trust our instincts, access our desires, and realize what’s possible. We start to experience the untapped potential of a sovereign woman who has the power to birth a new world.

This all starts with making sacred space to connect with the true self and let her speak: lowering the volume of outside voices, spending more time in the quiet of nature, and going inward (through meditation, journaling, art) to hear your inner voice.

So with that, I’ll leave you with some prompts to call her forth:

• What is possible when we stop listening to our ego and start listening to our true self? What does she have to say? What does she want? What does she need?

• How does she define a good life? What does it feel like? What are her metrics of success and how would she design for them?

• How would she run a business if the bottom line was the greater good? What would she create, build, or start?

This is the energy I’m bringing into my 40s. Purging the old world (thanks for the initiation, noro virus) and allowing a new one to come through.

Wishing you many blessings as we walk through this portal together.

Shawn

Shawn Casey is a board-certified coach, co-founder of Noria, mother of three, and a lifelong student of Vedanta and Ayurveda. With 15 years of experience coaching founders, leaders, and mothers through identity shifts and inflection points, she writes about the intersection of inner work and outer impact. Curious about coaching? Learn more and book a clarity call here.

I needed some sacred space of my own to integrate a significant year, and everything that came with it — some of which I'll share in future posts.

To re-orient myself, and anyone reading, this Substack is an exploration of the truth of who we are, and the many internal and external layers that pull us away from that truth.

I want this to be a sacred space, for both myself and anyone reading, to process and explore various topics and ideas through the lens of the true/false self.

Writing has always allowed me to pull apart the many threads inside my head that are complex, layered, and nuanced. And, right now, there is a whole lot going on to work through.

My promise

One thing that almost kept me from re-engaging with Substack — and from publishing this post at all — is the complicated relationship I have with the wellness and spiritual world right now.

I wasn’t surprised to see Deepak Chopra’s name in the Epstein files and the subsequent silence from prominent wellbeing influencers. (That deserves its own post, so stay tuned.)

But the overall ick I feel about so many false gurus in this space has made me question whether I want to be associated with it at all. It’s made me question the legitimacy of sharing spiritual wisdom. It’s made me wonder if any of it is real.

So I sat with it. Went inward. Grappled honestly with why I feel compelled to write, what I actually want to say, and how to do so with integrity.

What I landed on is this:

I love to write.

I have something to say.

And my life is genuinely better from the wisdom I’ve received after two decades of ongoing self-exploration — years in therapy, sitting in Satsangha, practicing meditation, and engaging in formal study.

The questions that have always fascinated me are the ones about the human condition — what causes suffering, how to navigate the hardest parts of life, and what actually allows you to arrive at that elusive state of equanimity. We deserve to be in conversation about this. We deserve to share knowledge and sit with these questions together. And just because a few charismatic bad actors exploited the wisdom doesn’t mean it should stop circulating.

So, I promise to write from a place of truth and integrity — and genuine hope that shared wisdom, experience, and inquiry can shift something in each of us, and then collectively.

I’ll anchor much of my writing on the concept that we are so much more than our physical body and mind.

The belief that inside our physical being dwells a spiritual self — our true self — that is connected to something far greater. And that the true self is distinct from our mind and our ego.

I’m still very much in my own process — and expect I always will be. (Don’t believe anyone who claims to be fully healed.) But this concept has made the most profound difference in my life.

The ego masquerades as the true self, and left unchecked, it is the source of so much of our suffering. It pulls us off center — aggressively, persistently, and with startling persuasiveness.

It’s the ego that gets wrapped up in what other people think. It’s the ego that keeps us in careers that “should” bring us joy but don’t. It’s the ego that still believes our worth is tied to what society deems valuable — status, wealth, achievement.

This distinction between the true self and the false self has been life-changing for me.

I’m less agitated. Less concerned with what others think. More able to navigate challenging dynamics and people. And most significantly — especially as I move into midlife — I’ve become more courageous in living in alignment with who I actually am. This has been key to creating more ease and less friction in my life.

It’s an imperfect, ever-evolving journey. But it is possible.

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This Substack is meant to provide a sacred space to pause, contemplate, and integrate knowledge that feels both deeply familiar and difficult to access.

We all need sacred space right now.

We need space to quiet the incessant noise, to zoom out, to look at ourselves, to explore – to actually feel and experience the spiritual being that inhabits our physical vessel.

As a coach, this is what I do: create sacred space for clients to pause, reflect, and see themselves and their choices more clearly. I listen deeply, share my intuitive hits, and move people closer and closer to who they really are.

In these sacred spaces, the veil lifts, the fog dissipates, and we see the truth. We connect our inner world to the vast outer field, and experience peace.

In these sacred spaces, we don’t just take in information and keep scrolling by — we slow it down and let it land.

What to expect

I’m interested in this exploration of self through a spiritual lens. I’ve been a student of Vedanta for many years. I believe in something greater than myself, and in a oneness that connects us all beyond the body and mind.

I’m also interested in this exploration of self through a cultural lens. I see how our culture perpetuates illusions of what matters and convinces our fragile egos that we are not enough—that there is always something more to be had or done. Our culture separates us from each other, and from ourselves.

And I’m interested in this exploration of self through a professional lens. Burnout is the defining phenomenon of the modern workplace, and it’s directly connected to our separation from self. So many of us are propelled by anxiety, self-doubt, and the need for validation. We give everything to systems that take every last drop—and still leave us feeling unfulfilled.

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I’m excited to explore these topics with you. Something potent is in the air right now — a collective invitation to move closer to our true selves.

Thank you for going on this journey with me!

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I’m Shawn, a Nationally Board-Certified Coach, co-founder of Noria, mother of three, and a lifelong student of Vedanta and Ayurveda. With over 15 years of experience coaching founders, leaders, and mothers through identity shifts and inflection points, I write about the intersection of inner work and outer impact. Curious about coaching? Book a conversation here.

It's not lost on me that the powers that be (Trump, Musk, etc.) are modeling a style of leadership that is in direct contrast to what I teach and promote.

It's disappointing at best, dangerous at worst.

The Trump administration has done many (manyyy) things I don’t agree with – but the leadership style this administration models to the world at large hits home both personally and professionally.

Since Trump took office, we’ve seen a dramatic backlash to the modern, human-centered approach to leadership. Like most things with this administration, it’s a return to the past. Trump himself, and his cronies (Musk, in particular), model a traditional leadership style that dominated much of the 20th century and harks back to industrial-era thinking.

It’s the style we associate with “bad boss” tropes: the commanding, controlling figure who makes top-down decisions and doesn’t care what you think. The boss who yells at employees and fires them on the spot. The boss who rewards conformity and punishes innovation. It’s Pink Floyd’s warning in “Welcome to the Machine.”

But at the start of the new millennium, things began to shift. As Gen X and Millennials entered the workforce, concepts like emotional intelligence emerged. We started to understand the importance of culture, connection, and empowering employees. Leadership became less about commanding and controlling, and more about coaching.

The transition from the industrial era to the information era fundamentally changed how leaders approached their teams. Leaders were taught to value the human behind the employee and to draw on psychology and behavioral science to motivate, engage, and rally people toward shared goals.

Employees were no longer cogs in a machine – they were assets. And a leader’s role was to retain and grow those assets through development, trust, and meaningful work.

Things were progressing in a healthier, more human direction – and then came the backlash.

A Return to Command and Control Leadership

Trump, Musk, Zuckerberg - they’ve all expressed nostalgia for more “masculine” ways of leading. But why?

I have … so many thoughts. (But I’ll save my rant on how their fragile egos play a big part in this for another time.)

What I believe entered the general zeitgeist is the sense that we swung too far toward compassion and diplomacy in the workplace - that we abandoned some valuable aspects of traditional leadership like directness, decisiveness, and control. And honestly, that’s fair.

Perhaps we leaned too far into the “feminine” principles of leadership in an attempt to overcorrect what had become a toxic and outdated model. What we truly need is a balanced blend of feminine and masculine leadership principles. (I write about that here.)

But the problem is: these men are very powerful and incredibly successful. So leaders everywhere, especially women, start to wonder:

Should I be more like them?

What the Evidence Says

Even though the evidence shows that more “feminine” leadership traits—like empathy, collaboration, and emotional intelligence—are tremendous assets, many women leaders have begun to question themselves in the face of this backlash.

Psychologist Adam Grant captures this tension beautifully in his NYT opinion piece, “America Is Learning the Wrong Lesson From Elon Musk’s Success.”

He writes:

“How then do you explain Mr. Musk’s success? With Tesla and SpaceX, he’s built two wildly prosperous companies, disrupting one industry and supercharging another. But those results have come in spite of the way he treats people, not because of it.”

He goes on to explain the concept of idiosyncrasy credit: as people accumulate status, we allow them to deviate from social norms.

“So when we see leaders being uncivil, we often get cause and effect backward. We assume that being unkind makes them successful. In truth, however, success can give them a license to be unkind.”

“The engineers at Tesla and SpaceX tolerate abuse from Mr. Hyde because they admire the vision of Dr. Jekyll.”

But Grant reminds us:

“Leadership by intimidation and insult is a bad strategy. Belittling people doesn’t boost their productivity; it diminishes it.”

And there is plenty of evidence to back it up, a review of over 400 studies across 36 countries with nearly 150,000 people showed:

“In the face of workplace aggression, people are less productive, less collaborative and more inclined to shirk their responsibilities. Abusive bosses break confidence and breed resentment. And ruthless, haphazard downsizing can cause the highest performers — the ones who have the best opportunities elsewhere — to jump ship. Denigrating people is not a path to accomplishing meaningful goals.”

His point is that you are not Musk. If you want to be an unkind and lazy leader, you need to earn it - until then, you'll need another strategy. (But I genuinely hope that's not the goal!)

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Soft Power is a Super Power

In a recent podcast, Scott Galloway talked about how dismantling programs like USAID are eroding America’s soft power, a form of influence that comes from trust, credibility, and cultural modeling rather than coercion or brute force.

Soft power, a term coined by Harvard professor Joseph Nye in the 1990s, refers to influence through attraction and inspiration, rather than dominance. When we lose soft power, we lose trust, reputation, and influence - globally or organizationally.

And that’s a big thing to risk – not just for a nation, but for any leader or business.

You need your people to trust you, to work hard for you, and to carry your vision forward. That isn’t accomplished through fear or force. It comes from soft power, which is built on skills like coaching, active listening, and emotional intelligence.

When people feel safe, they bring their best energy. When they feel threatened, they shut down or burn out.

Using the USAID example, you see soft power at work when the US invests in local communities, economies, and institutions and builds goodwill and trust globally. That goodwill often translates into stronger diplomatic relationships, support for U.S. policies, and stability in regions important to U.S. interests.

In business, soft power might look like taking the time to hold an emergency huddle with your team to address concerns after a major disruption. It could mean owning a mistake publicly or modeling healthy boundaries - like taking breaks - so others feel safe to do the same.

Practically, it looks like:

• Being someone people come to for guidance so that issues get solved faster.

• Creating psychological safety so your team feels brave enough to challenge ideas and contribute their best thinking.

• Modeling integrity and consistency, so your influence carries weight, even when you're not in the room.

Leaders who cultivate soft power don’t need to micromanage. Their presence sets the tone, their words carry weight, and their team moves with aligned momentum.

Final Thought: Don’t Be Like Them

The danger in devaluing soft power is that we’ll pile more onto a workforce that is already disengaged, burnt out, and, as the Wall Street Journal put it, miserable. Fear and force won’t fix that – they'll just further erode an already fragile workforce and decimate the wellbeing of our fellow citizens. I honestly cannot see how this is a win for anyone.

So, my advice for any leader during this time – especially women – is to ignore the strong man leadership style of Trump and Musk. It’s an outdated model that only works for a very small percentage of leaders (who ,frankly, aren't getting great results lately anyways).

Instead, lean into the leadership style that feels intuitive, relational, and human. Use your innate ability to read a room, tune into others, and show up with both clarity and care.

You do not need to be a hard ass to get results. You do not need to be a robot to be a boss. You can have expectations and high standards - and you can lead with your heart.

That is powerful and effective leadership. And lord knows we need more leaders like that in the world right now!

____________________________________________________________________________

👉 Want to lead with more confidence and clarity?

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Hello Dear Readers and Leaders,

Last month, I wrote about how I was bracing for a big month and the measures I put in place to avoid exhaustion.

I saw it coming. I prepared. I planned. And still—last month kicked my ass.

We had a big launch, a major work event that took months of effort, planning, and investment. We were testing new systems and managing a million small details. I knew it was going to be an intense month, so I did everything I could to set myself up for success.

And yet…

Things did not go as planned.

I’ll spare you the gory details and just say: it was not a smooth launch. It felt like one of those Musk rockets that starts out with such promise and anticipation — only to burst into a million flaming pieces mid-air.

Debris raining down, you think: What just happened? All that hard work… for nothing? What’s next? What does this mean? Will I be OK?

If you drill down deep enough, you always end up at existential threat.

Life, man.

It’s full of failed launches, major set backs, and constant pivots.

Sure, this may sound like just starting a business—but to expect anything less from life in general? To believe we have it all under control and the path is straightforward? That’s a complete fallacy—and a dangerous one for those who cling to it.

Which got me thinking: life feels especially *off the rails* right now. At a collective level, we are being challenged to confront our fears, anxieties, and the unnerving feeling that the bottom could drop out at any moment.

Things are moving quickly. Shakeups are all around us. Rockets are exploding mid-air.

So how do we cultivate real, deep, and dynamic resilience when everything feels completely out of our control?

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Turbulent times are upon us.

Almost everyone I’ve talked to this week—friends, clients, colleagues—seems to be in the midst of a free fall. Searching for the ground beneath them but unable to find it.

We want answers. We want certainty. We want to feel safe.

But the world is serving up none of that right now.

Layoffs, political upheaval, the market crashing, personal setbacks, chaos on the job—we are most definitely in a moment, and it’s not a comfy one.

Pema Chödrön summarized this feeling best:

“To be fully alive, fully human, and completely awake is to be continually thrown out of the nest. To live fully is to be always in no-man's-land, to experience each moment as completely new and fresh. To live is to be willing to die over and over again.”

I’ve been sitting with this quote and taking in its hard truth.

It feels really good to control, plan, and feel certain about our future. And yes, there are many ways to be responsible and proactively create a life that provides certain securities.

But deep down, we know that the big things in life are largely out of our control.

To be fully alive is to be awake to this truth. To allow ourselves to be pushed out of our comfort zones so that we can grow. To embrace the unknown and let our ego—the identities we hold onto, the securities we cling to, the plans that we have for ourselves—die over and over again.

Right now, I think this moment is calling us to really look at our relationship to control, ego, and what it truly means to be resilient.

Yes, resilience is about practicing self-care, self-regulation, and doing the things that allow us to stay resourced.

But at a deeper level, we are being asked to trust the free fall.

To loosen our grip and not base our sense of safety on how things are supposed to be.

Because our true safety lies in our ability to respond to the twists and turns, not in trying to control them.

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Finding Stability in the Unknown

The astrology for March 2025 says we’re being pulled deep into the shadowy depths of the unknown, courtesy of two eclipses. We are being challenged to find our own footing, our own sense of self, and our own security within the murky and mutable unknown.

It’s quite provocative to ask yourself: Would I survive, no matter what?

If I mess up?

If I let someone down?

If I lose my job?

If lose my house?

If I fail?

If I feel humiliation?

If systems crumble and life as we know it looks completely different?

Can you face your deepest fears and strip away your comforts—the things that make you feel safe and secure and worth something— and still believe that you could handle a major upheaval? A shakeup to the plans that you so carefully laid out?

To believe at your core that you will be okay, no matter what, is the most potent way to build resilience.

It’s a belief that you have the resources, the resolve, and the adaptability to keep going. That you are willing to reinvent yourself. To receive the wisdom that’s coming through and be open to possibility. To allow your ego to die over and over again.

And this isn’t a passive belief giving you permission to put your head in the sand and just say “don’t worry! everything’s going to be alright!”

No, it’s a way to ensure that you do not collapse into despair or despondency. It’s a belief that will bolster you to keep going — to fight for yourself, your family, or for your country.

There is fortification in the tough moment, and freedom in the free fall, if we remember that true safety lies within us. Inner stability comes from our willingness to respond with right action to what might be deeply disruptive or unnerving in our lives.

From Setback to Reset

So, dear reader, I brought you down into the depths of deep fears and insecurity when we started with what might now seem like a very surface-level example of a launch gone wrong.

But that “failure” is what kicked this all up for me.

Because although I felt big disappointment, I held onto the idea that there was something bigger at play. And in just a week’s time, the bigger picture was revealed to me.

The setback was in fact a reset—a necessary shake-up that allowed me to realign the business in a way that made more sense.

It was as if the universe was saying, “You’re going the wrong way!! Here, let me help you.”

A somewhat painful, but ultimately promising redirection.

Trust the Free Fall

I guess what I’m saying is that if you’re in the midst of a free fall or experiencing a setback or simply reeling from the state of our world, remind yourself — again and again — that no matter what, you can handle it.

And not only can you handle it, you will be fortified by it.

Look for the lessons, take in the wisdom, be open to the redirection.

This inner belief will carry you through the tough times and allow you to show up with curiosity, inner stability, and openness to possibility.

The only thing you actually can control is how you respond.

Personal Reflections to Integrate this Work

Here are some questions I’m asking myself as we navigate these topsy-turvy times:

• Am I gripping too tightly to ONE idea in a moment that calls for dynamism and adaptability?

• How might old fears/traumas/patterns be keeping me stuck? How will I transcend them? (because now is the time!)

• Practically, when things feel hard, how will I remember to slow down, zoom out, and remind myself that, no matter what, I can handle it?

I wish you well on your current journey — and we’ve got this!

Shawn

Hello and happy February to anyone relieved to see January go!

January kicked off the year with natural disasters, human tragedies, a triple virus surge, a new president, a thousand dizzying executive orders, and a chaotic news cycle to follow. It was a great reminder that to sustain our sanity and well-being, we need to protect our precious energy and refuel whenever we have the chance.

Which brings me to the topic of this month’s post.

If you’re like me, February will not be the letdown you’re hoping for—it’s yet another month of intensity (fun!). This month kicks off a big business launch, the start of my co-founder’s maternity leave, school vacation, and managing many other irons in the proverbial fire. It’s a very exciting time—babies, business growth, and a break from school—but I also know it’s going to come with a whole lot of work, stress, and disruption (and the looming threat of more sick children—pray for us parents!).

There’s no better time to practice what I preach.

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So, given the realities of my situation (I have to work, I have to parent, I have to exist in this crazy society), how am I going to honor my needs and protect my energy?

Here’s my process:

Step 1: Acknowledge What’s Coming Down the Pike

Writing this post isn’t just for you, dear reader—it’s very much for me. Writing allows me to pause, zoom out, and be intentional about what’s ahead. Instead of just powering through, I’m going to plan and prepare in advance.

So, what does this next month actually look like?

• My business partner will be on leave, which means an increase in responsibility and workload.

• I have a weekend trip to plan for (which can feel more like a cross-Atlantic voyage when you have three kids under five and live 30 miles out to sea).

• Our launch is happening the same week my kids are out of school and daycare providers are on break. Beautiful.

Acknowledging that this month will be different—more work, less childcare, and complicated travel logistics—means I won’t treat February like business as usual.

Step 2: Don’t Be a Hero

I developed this mantra after my twin sons were born.

Unlike most of the moms in my personal and social networks, I wasn’t having one baby—I was having two. Before finding out I was having twins, I had been excited to embrace all the joys of being an easy-breezy second-time parent: stress-free breastfeeding, baby-wearing, loosey-goosey sleep schedules, mommy-and-me yoga classes, bouncing around town with my newborn…

But once I learned I was having twins, I had to adjust all of those expectations because, unsurprisingly, everything is easier with one baby than with two.

That’s when I had to remind myself: Don’t be a hero.
Don’t feel the pressure to do it all, to do it a certain way, or to keep up with what other moms are doing. This is not a normal postpartum experience.

And that’s exactly what I need to remind myself now.

This is not a normal month. I’m down a business partner, managing a huge workload, and balancing motherhood with big career milestones. Trying to push through without adjusting my expectations would be a recipe for burnout.

So, I won’t be a hero.

• I will say no when I need to.

• I will delegate to my amazing team.

• I will ask for help from my partner (and give him a heads-up about what I need from him!).

This is one of the most important lessons—especially for ambitious women.

There’s pressure to be everything for everyone. There’s pride in being seen as someone who can do it all. In a patriarchal society, we’re deemed the weaker sex, so we push ourselves to prove otherwise.

But we need to unravel this conditioning and honor our very human limits.

Which brings me to my final step.

Step 3: Make It a Zero-Sum Game

At , we talk a lot about the concept of the inner well—a way to gauge how resourced or depleted you are.

Imagine your personal energy as a well filled with water. If your well is full, you feel energized, grounded, and capable. If it’s dry, you’re running on empty—burnt out, exhausted, and barely holding it together.

This month, I know I’ll be drawing from my well more than usual. There will be long days. There will be late nights. I’m not immune to the reality of working hard, but I must be just as committed to refilling my well as I am to emptying it.

Every time water goes out, water needs to go in.

That means if I stay up late one night, I go to bed early the next night. If I’m working long hours, I need to make it to my yoga class that evening. I can’t keep withdrawing without making deposits– that’s not how our bodies work. And because it’s still winter (hibernation time), I may need to prioritize more rest than other seasons.

I must listen to my body, pay attention to the seasons and cycles, and remember that the stakes are too high to compromise my well-being. If I don’t protect my inner well, I won’t show up in the capacity I know I can. My power, my presence, my ability to do great work—all of it will be compromised.

So that’s the plan!

1. Take stock – Acknowledge what’s ahead and plan accordingly.

2. Don’t be a hero – Adjust expectations and ask for help.

3. Make it a zero-sum game – Replenish what I deplete to avoid burnout.

If you’re heading into an intense season of your own, how do you prepare? I’d love to hear. Drop a comment and let’s talk.

I’m also hosting a free training at the end of the month for women in leadership who want sustain both their success and their well-being. We’ll dig more into the topic of why ambitious women are wired to burnout and practical ways to break the cycle. More info here.

May we all find energy, balance, and some sweet moments of stillness during the final winter months!

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A new business requires an enormous amount of energy, and because your livelihood is on the line, the instinct is to move fast. It also confronts all the ways you’ve been conditioned to stay small, play it safe, avoid failure, and project success.

Over the past year, I’ve realized that the material we’ve created at Noria has been working through me in unexpected ways. It has pushed me to explore the deeper layers of why slowing down feels so difficult—uncovering our attachment to control and our pursuit of an idealized self-image.

I’ve been sitting with reflections that might be helpful to you, too:

• How do I enjoy the sweetness of life without letting stress distract me from it?

• How do I balance ambition and surrender, taking action while also trusting?

• If I weren’t comparing myself to others, what would I be doing?

• If I weren’t concerned about what others thought of me, how would I behave?

A theme that has emerged from these reflections is the challenge and beauty of staying true to one’s path—even (and especially) when it’s not a well-trodden, conventional one.

This Joseph Campbell quote has been on my mind: “If the path before you is clear, you’re probably on someone else’s.”

To follow your own path is to surrender to the great unknown. To relinquish control. To trust that you are the expert of your own life.

Let’s consider a lighter example—one that doesn’t carry so much weight but still holds wisdom: potty training twin toddlers.

I read the books. I listened to a “twin potty training” podcast. I armed myself with treats, bribes, two little potties, and a pile of car-themed undies. My intention was to “crush” potty training this time around because, with my older child, it took three years and felt like my own personal hell.

But despite doing everything “right,” I did not achieve the miracle of potty training in just three days. Three months in, I’m ecstatic if one of them even cares to tell me when they need to go.

The experts warn: “Don’t you dare put your kids back in diapers!”

What to do…

Surrender. Be open to what’s possible. Put them back in diapers if it feels right. Stick it out if it doesn’t. Loosen my grip. Deal with poopy pants. Remind myself that it’s not forever. Remember I’m the expert of my own life. Let go of unnecessary stress and rigidity. Accept what is and stay open to what could be.

And you know what happened when I shifted into that mindset? Progress. And less stress.

So how do you apply this to the big things causing stress in your life? The things you so badly wish you could control? The business you’re building, the leap you’ve taken (or are thinking about taking), the job you’re searching for, the outcome you’re dreaming of? The world events that concern you?

It’s surprisingly similar.

With intention: let go of the stress, worry, and fear that isn’t helping you.

Allow stress to drive you in a healthy way. You need motivation and activation—a good kick in the butt to help you do what’s necessary. Good stress pushes you to put yourself out there, follow your gut, do the hard things, and flex the part of you that’s growing into your zone of genius. This kind of stress feels expansive—it propels personal growth and activates your higher self.

This is different from unhealthy stress, which wastes precious energy on excessive worry, self-doubt, and pushing yourself beyond your limits. This kind of stress appears when you feel out of control, filled with fear and doubt, or “less than.” When uncomfortable feelings are too much to bear, you may suppress them by overworking, grinding harder, or numbing out. This stress feels contracted—it stifles your growth and activates your smaller self.

Excessive stress doesn’t set you up for success. It’s the difference between eustress (good stress) and distress (bad stress).

To avoid chronic distress that spins your wheels and steals your joy, you need to practice letting go. Trust that it’s okay to release bad stress. That you don’t need constant worry to propel you forward. Let go of the fear—it won’t put you in harm’s way. And you don’t have to follow the cultural narrative of what brings success because it will likely lead you to burnout.

Do what you can, then surrender to the process. Trust the universe instead of trying to control it.

Practically, this means feeling your feelings. When uncomfortable feelings arise (fear, worry, doubt, despair) become aware of them and try not to resist, distract, or push them down. Instead of talking about them, feel the sensations in your body and allow the feeling to bubble up and move out. Let it go.

For me, this year is about letting go of the negative feelings that don’t actually help me and being open to what’s possible.

I’m trusting my inner knowing and balancing the masculine energy of our current paradigm (action, control, dominance) with the feminine energy that is arising (allowing, trusting, collaboration).

My prediction and hope for 2025 is that more people will opt out of the rat race and stop caring about “keeping up with the Joneses” in favor of authentically pursuing their own paths.

May this year be one of rebalancing, letting go, and leaning into who we truly are.

What a week it’s been.

Emotions are running high, with opinions flying around —there's so much to process, both within ourselves and from the world around us.

I’ve been sitting with my own feelings all week, and one insight that keeps surfacing is the complexity of teaching self-regulation to women, especially at a time like this.

For me, I’ve been experiencing anger. After a full week, the fire within is beginning to smolder, but for several days it burned strong and intense, coursing through my body and enveloping my entire being. I wondered if it was okay to feel such a powerful emotion. I feared I might become destructive or inadvertently reveal my rage because it was so close to the surface – that I would lose control. In fact, there was a moment last week when I let the fullness of my fury burst forth from the depths of my soul. I felt both shame and liberation.

Nervous system regulation is the practice of bringing the body back to a state of balance – shifting out of fight-or-flight mode and into relaxation. I teach this to leaders as a critical tool to prevent burnout and reduce chronic stress through my company Noria.

It occurred to me that anger is similar to stress. Acute anger can be healthy, motivating, and a catalyst for action against injustice. It signals something that requires attention. Anger only becomes harmful when it’s chronic, unchecked, and destructive to oneself or others.

For women, we’re often conditioned to “regulate” our anger, even when it’s in its acute, healthy state. We suppress it, lock it away, and pretend it doesn’t exist. “I’m fine,” we say, projecting the calm and poise that society rewards us for.

This is where nervous system regulation, especially for women, gets nuanced.

Last week, I didn’t want to breathe away the intensity I was feeling. I wanted to feel the anger coursing through me, to let it rise and be released. I wanted to trust that I was receiving essential information. I wrestled with whether this was “the right thing to do.” My anger made me feel uncomfortable and out of control.

I asked myself: Should I breathe? Meditate? Get a hold of myself?!

Perhaps… but with discretion, I decided.

The opinions, thought pieces, and post-election analyses are ways of intellectualizing and making sense of what happened. Objectively, I know this election was incredibly complex, with much to learn and analyze to move forward more informed. But the acute feelings I was experiencing needed acknowledgment, to be felt and expressed. I didn’t want to “get them under control” by over-intellectualizing or breathing them away. I would use these tools once I felt my emotions had been honored, my nervous system needed a break, or when I needed to show up with composure (fully raging on a Zoom call or while picking up your kids is not advised – that’s the discretion).

I channeled my anger into conversations, a good scream, and a brisk, determined walk. I sat with the sensations. Felt their power. Got curious. Journaled.

Our feelings are information. And if you don’t feel much emotionally, turn your attention to your body. Many friends told me they felt “frozen” or “numb” but were experiencing back pain or stomach issues. These are clues – tension held, gut feelings activated.

For me, my emotions echoed old sensations of feeling disrespected, invisible, and unheard – remnants of growing up with a father who, frankly, reminds me of Trump. I’m allowing those long-buried feelings to rise up and be released in a way that I can only describe as healing. As my awareness broadens, I see myself and the world more clearly. My resolve that a misogynist should not be the leader of the free world only strengthens. This is the silver lining in the discomfort and disappointment of the moment. (And, by the way, feelings are non-partisan—I'm sharing my experience as an example, but I know people on all sides have been stirred up in various ways and for many reasons, all of which are valid.)

I want all of us women to be mindful of the urge to bypass our emotions, especially anger, through self-regulation. We’ve been told by society and spirituality to be wary of our anger, that it’s bad. But it’s okay to be dysregulated for a short time. Your body is telling you something important – something that needs to be looked at and given your full attention.

I’ll leave you with an excerpt from the book Roar Like a Goddess by my spiritual teacher, Acharya Shunya:

“Healthy anger is an expression of Shakti, an empowering, activating spiritual force that rouses us from our comfort zone to renegotiate agreements and redefine expectations. Anger helps us overcome false guilt and irrational fear by unleashing momentum, strength, passion, energy, intensity, and driven behavior to move toward restoration of our sovereignty, respect, or boundaries. Anger can provide the motivation to constructively correct an injustice. It urges us to act on our inborn sense of justice… 

Clearly, anger has an alerting and protective function in the divine scheme of things, and rather than giving anger itself a bad rap (especially if women embody it), it is better to learn to discern between healthy and unhealthy versions of anger and to express or retrain it accordingly. 

This scientifically valid approach, more than ten thousand years old, exists in Hinduism, because the Vedas teach judiciousness, never absolutism. No wonder all the Hindu goddesses and gods are depicted in art and mythology as having several hands… They hold symbols of peace, prosperity, and spiritual awakening… and in other hands they hold weapons like a mace, bow, arrow, or discus. They are ready to experience righteous rage and set out for battle to protect dharma. They are both constructive and destructive, able to enhance light or destroy darkness, proactively. That is why in goddess myths and hymns, Durga is often fuming and roaring with anger, like her spirit animal, the lion. 

We must stop listening to the voices that say all anger is bad or evil or that it does not become women. Let go of such foolish teachings that arise from fear of women recognizing their true power.”

With love and power,

Shawn

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