What You Don’t See

On producing through burnout, saying yes when I meant no, and why I’m craving a slower summer

I’ll be honest—I almost didn’t write this.

Which might sound strange coming from someone who’s been publishing five newsletters a week, editing a podcast, running a business, working on a book, and… well, you get the picture.

But that’s the thing. What you see isn’t always the full story.

Behind the scenes, I’ve been stretched thin. I’ve been saying yes to things I should’ve said no to. Yes, even when my body was quietly saying please don’t. That yes came from fear—of disappointing others, of missing out, of not being “productive” enough. But it came at a cost.

The truth is, I’ve been trying to rewire my relationship with productivity. And it’s hard. I’ve built so much of my identity around being the person who shows up, who gets it done, who keeps moving. So when I stop—even briefly—it brings up fear. What does it mean if I’m not producing? Who am I if I rest?

Lately, I’ve also found myself leaning on AI tools more to help me shape my writing—especially when I’m overwhelmed or unsure. They’ve helped me find structure when I couldn’t see it clearly. But even that makes me pause sometimes. I worry: Will people think less of me? Am I losing my voice? Will I be judged for needing help?

I don’t share the stance of those who refuse to use AI. I respect their choice. But for me, these tools have made it possible to keep showing up—imperfectly, but honestly. And that counts.

Then there’s the loneliness. Sometimes it feels overwhelming. It’s not that I don’t have support—I do, and I’m grateful for it. But there are days where all I want is for someone to say, “I’ve got this. You don’t have to make every decision alone.” That kind of leadership—solo, creative, ever-evolving—can feel isolating.

When those moments hit, I know it’s time to pause. To sleep. To read something light. To take a walk or play in the garden. Because, inevitably, I’ll be out in the world, finally not thinking about the next piece of content or client deliverable—and I’ll hear a line in my head. I’ll get a spark. I’ll reach for my phone to jot it down. And I’ll smile, thinking: There you are.

And just when I was questioning whether any of this was landing last weekend, I got a note from someone I’ve never met. A state election official who told me my newsletter helped her understand AI, think through complex issues, and feel less alone in these chaotic times.

It reminded me that the messy middle—the part where you’re figuring it out in public—is still a place worth writing from. That showing up doesn’t always mean showing up perfectly.

So this is your reminder too:

• If you’re feeling tired, overwhelmed, uncertain—me too.

• If you’re trying to shift how you work and live but don’t know where it’s all leading—same here.

• And if you’re worried your spark is gone, I promise: it isn’t. It’s just resting.

This isn’t a goodbye. Or even a break. But it is a truth-telling moment. I’m hoping for a slower summer—one filled with walks, rest, and space to think. And maybe, you are too.

Thanks for being here. For reading. For reminding me that what you don’t see is often where the real work lives.

💬 P.S. I’d love to hear from you—what are you hoping summer brings?