I typically don’t work weekends.
With family, friends, and a sweetheart to spend time with... unless the muse comes a-calling, I make it a habit of stepping away from the laptop and the to-do list.
However, this past Saturday, with my honey hard at work at his office, I decided to dedicate my day to a sole business-related task: re-writing my website sales copy.
Honestly, since deciding to close my coaching business last December, I have been actively avoiding this particular to-do. Ask anyone who has done it, and they’ll tell you: writing website copy for your own business is like giving birth.
It’s painful and drawn out, and all you want to do is get the epidural and get on with it. It’s everything precious to you out there for the world to see. Deeply personal, intimate, revealing.
I did it. Over the course of six hours, I wrote four pages of website copy. Brand new, never-before-seen website pages, including one “Work With Me” page and 3 brand-spankin’ new packages. With graphics and links to boot. Published.
I felt like I had given birth. To a calf.
For three days after, it was as if I had been hit by a Mack truck. I was exhausted, emotional, recovering.
For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t string two sentences together on Facebook, why I couldn’t focus enough to write my weekly post, why peeling myself out of bed in the morning felt like an impossible task.
I was disjointed and unbalanced, jittery and painfully unproductive.
Truthfully, I was spent.
During the week, I go hard. I connect and create, I work and write. I spend hours editing content and even more talking about writing and editing content. And, honestly, I love it. Wouldn’t have it any other way. I’ve found my business bliss.
But, if this past week has taught me anything, in order to do what I do, I also have to stop, step back, and surrender.
No more striving when my body is begging me to stop. No more to-do lists when I just need to take a break.
In her book, Sacred Success: A Course in Financial Miracles, Barbara Stanny describes it as an organic process, akin to pruning fruit trees.
'If you don’t prune back most of the new buds,' [her daughter] explained, 'too much of the tree’s energy goes into producing foliage instead of growing fruit. you don’t want the trees to spread themselves too thin, reducing the amount of fruit they bear.'
The metaphor was inescapable. I was that fruit tree, spreading myself too thin, letting too many budding projects sap my creativity, my energy, my focus. A part of me was scared to cut back. The other part knew I had to.
I imagined my Soul smiling patiently as I worked myself into a frenzy.
This month, I’m reinstating a practice that I had originally cultivated in college: the one-day-a-week sabbatical.
One day each week, wholly devoted to atypical creative expression, connecting with nature, connection and rest. A pruning.
I’m grateful for the go, go, go. Wholly appreciative to be fueled by Soul, able to spend my week connecting and creating and crafting with other women entrepreneurs.