My Sabbath moment: a turning point

I used to believe my worth was measured in output.

As a millennial who grew up steeped in hustle culture, I wore “busy” as a badge of honor. I traded time for money, and when I encountered something I didn’t know, my instinct wasn’t to pause - it was to push harder, upskill faster, and prove I was competent.

Looking back, I can trace this pattern to my own wiring. As an Enneagram 5-8-3, I’m driven by depth, strength and drive. It’s a potent combination - one that convinced me I needed to perform well in every role I held: leader, mother, wife, daughter. Beyond that, I wanted a rich, well-rounded life, one where I stayed on top of my fitness, nurtured my mental and spiritual health, and kept deepening my knowledge. At the core, I’m simply an ambitious woman who believes you shouldn’t have to choose between a successful life and a full one.

The breaking point

In 2021, I experienced a pregnancy complication - an ectopic pregnancy that cost me a fallopian tube. My world didn’t just slow down. It shattered.

I spiraled into a narrative of failure. How did I miss the signs my body was giving me? I felt my motherhood was incomplete. Underneath it all was something I hadn’t let myself name: I was burned out. Not tired - completely burned out from all the accumulated battles.

60 days of silence

I was discharged from the hospital and placed on 60 days of medical leave. I made a decision to completely stop work: I isolated myself at home. No distractions. No entertainment. I didn’t even play Spotify for an entire week.

In that silence and complete stillness, I found myself doing something I hadn’t done in a long time - simply being with God. I cried. I prayed for comfort. I spoke to Him continuously, trying to make sense of the pieces.

That prophetic vision

And then, God gave me a vision. Clear and vivid.

I stood before a wooden cottage door. Jesus opened it and welcomed me inside, gesturing toward a couch. The room was minimalist - just a window, a flowing curtain, and a couch that felt like it was made for rest. Jesus stood quietly to my left as I sat down and closed my eyes.

In that moment, the message was unmistakable: Rest. Surrender. Take a Sabbath. I didn’t need to keep working myself into the ground to earn my worth or prove my love. He would carry what I couldn’t.

The shift

That vision became the foundation for how I live and how I lead, in an industry that moves fast, demands results, and rarely rewards stillness.

I’ve come to understand something simple, yet profound: the refusal to rest isn’t strength. More often, it’s anxiety wearing the costume of diligence. True surrender means trusting that we are held, even when we stop striving.

Since that moment, I haven’t just practiced rest - I’ve made it something I actively teach. To my team. To my family. To anyone still caught in the cycle I once lived in, mistaking exhaustion for commitment.

Here’s what I’ve come to believe, and what I try to bring into how I lead:

• Performance and rest are not opposites - they’re partners. Sustainable results come from people who are mentally and physically whole, not depleted.
• I don’t expect my team to prove their worth through exhaustion. I’d rather build a culture where people do excellent work because they feel supported, not because they’re afraid to stop.
• I lead from experience, not theory. I’ve been the person who can’t slow down. I know exactly what that costs, and I actively work to protect my team from repeating that same pattern.
• Competence still matters deeply to me. I hold high standards, move quickly, and care about real outcomes. But I’ve learned that pushing people - including myself - past their limits isn’t drive. It’s a shortcut to burnout.

Anyone who wishes to join my team will find someone who pushes for excellence and checks in on your wellbeing. Someone who understands ambition because I live it daily - but who also knows, firsthand, the cost of chasing it without boundaries.

Because sometimes, the most radical act of leadership isn’t pushing harder.

It’s giving yourself - and the people around you - permission to pause with intention.

If you're ambitious and want a leader who also checks in on you, let's talk.