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If there’s one thing I’ve noticed about women — especially women who lead, nurture, and carry multiple responsibilities — it’s this: we are tired. Not just physically exhausted, but emotionally, mentally, spiritually stretched thin. And yet, we keep going. We wear exhaustion like a badge of honour. We think, “If I just push a little harder, maybe I’ll finally prove I’m enough.” Burnout is not a badge; it is a warning sign. For many of us, rest feels uncomfortable. Almost guilty. You sit down to breathe, and suddenly a list of ten things you “should” be doing pops into your head. Society praises the woman who never stops, the one who sacrifices sleep, self-care, and even her health to “get it all done.” Somewhere along the line, we equated busyness with worth. Busyness doesn’t equal impact. In fact, busyness without rest often leads to blurred vision, poor decisions, and even sickness. Think about your phone. Even the best iPhone needs to recharge or it dies. Why do we expect our bodies, minds, and spirits to keep running without pause? When you pause, you reset. When you sleep, your brain processes and strengthens memory. When you step away from work, your creativity is refreshed. When you retreat into stillness with God, your spirit is renewed. Some of the best ideas I’ve ever had didn’t come in the middle of working — they came when I was resting and taking a walk. Journaling. Sitting quietly in prayer. Rest is the soil where clarity grows. What Rest Looks Like in Real Life Rest does not always mean a vacation to the Maldives (though if that’s available, take it!). Sometimes rest looks like: Rest is deeply personal. What restores me may not restore you. The key is to ask: “What fills me back up?” Then make space for it, unapologetically. The Spiritual Side of Rest As women of faith, rest is not just physical — it’s spiritual. God Himself rested on the seventh day, not because He was tired, but to model rhythm and balance. In Matthew 11:28, Jesus says, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” Rest is not just permitted; it’s promised. When you rest, you are trusting God with what you cannot control. You’re saying, “Lord, I release this. I trust You to sustain me and my work.” That’s not weakness — that’s wisdom. This week, I want you to do something radical: schedule rest into your calendar as if it’s a business meeting. Block the time. Protect it. Honour it. And when guilt creeps in (because it will), remind yourself: “Rest is part of my assignment. Rest is how I stay effective. Rest is how I live long enough to enjoy what I’m building.” You don’t need to overexert yourself to earn rest. You don’t have to prove your worth by being perpetually exhausted. You are allowed to breathe. You are allowed to pause. You are permitted to take care of yourself. The world doesn’t need a burned-out version of you. The world needs a whole, rested, joyful, creative, powerful you. So the next time you feel guilty for slowing down, remember: rest isn’t the opposite of productivity — it’s the fuel for it.

We live in a culture obsessed with success: bigger careers, better paychecks, higher status, more recognition. Success is celebrated loudly, splashed across social media feeds, and held up as the ultimate prize. Success fades, but legacy lasts. I’ve sat with women who’ve achieved incredible professional heights yet still feel something is missing. The promotion was great, but it did not meet their expectations. The recognition was exciting, but it was temporary. Then, I sat with women who, maybe didn’t have flashy titles, had lives that overflowed with impact, thanks to the people they touched, the seeds they planted, and the love and wisdom they shared. That’s legacy. Success is about what you can gain. Legacy is about what you can give. Success is often measured in achievements. Legacy is measured in impact. Success ends with you. Legacy outlives you. When I coach women, I often ask: “What do you want people to remember about you when you’re not in the room?” Rarely does anyone say, “I want them to remember my salary” or “the car I drove.” Instead, they say things like, “I want to be remembered as kind,” “I want to be known as someone who lifted others,” or “I want my children to grow up confident because of me.” That is legacy. Legacy isn’t reserved for the rich or the famous. It’s built into the everyday choices we make. Each of those moments creates ripples that extend far beyond you. For me, legacy is deeply tied to my purpose. It’s why I pour myself into coaching women, mentoring young leaders, and building social enterprises. Yes, I want to succeed — but more than that, I want to leave something behind that matters. When a woman I’ve coached tells me she finally dares to start her business, when a young person from Proudtobeme steps into leadership for the first time, when communities are lifted because one small initiative grew into something bigger — that’s legacy. That’s impact. How to Think About Your Legacy Here are a few reflective questions for you: Legacy doesn’t have to be massive. It just has to be meaningful. So, as you chase your dreams, don’t stop at success. Go deeper. Ask yourself: What am I leaving behind? Who am I lifting as I climb? What story will my life tell when I’m gone? Success ends when you do, but what about your legacy? Legacy is the echo of your life — and it keeps ringing long after you’ve gone.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned from coaching women, it’s this: we put so much pressure on ourselves to “get it right” the first time. The perfect job, the perfect marriage, the perfect business, the perfect path. And when things don’t go as planned? We quietly feel like we’ve failed. There is beauty in starting over. We love the idea of a neat, straight path: go to school, graduate, build a career, settle down, tick off every milestone at the “right” time. But real life? It’s rarely that neat. Sometimes the job doesn’t work out. Sometimes the business flops. Sometimes the relationship you thought would last forever doesn’t, but that’s not the end of your story. It’s the beginning of a new chapter. Starting Over Is Not Failure I want you to hear me clearly: starting over doesn’t mean you’ve failed. It means you’re brave enough to try again. It means you’ve gathered wisdom from the last season and you’re ready to use it in the next. Think about it: when you restart a video game, you don’t call yourself a failure. You say, “Okay, I know what to do differently this time.” Life works the same way. Lessons Hidden in the Restart Some of the most potent lessons come when life forces us to start fresh: I’ve met women who thought losing their jobs was the worst thing that could happen — until it pushed them to start the business they’d been dreaming of for years. I’ve coached women who thought heartbreak would break them — only to see them step into deeper self-love and healthier relationships. Give Yourself Permission Sis, you don’t need anyone’s permission to start again. Not society’s, not your family’s, not even your own inner critic’s. You are allowed to pivot. You are allowed to rebuild. You are allowed to say, “This chapter is over, but my story isn’t finished.” And let me remind you — God is the author of new beginnings. He doesn’t recycle old failures; He writes fresh grace into every season. So if you’re standing at a crossroads right now, feeling like you’ve “lost time” or “messed up,” breathe. You haven’t missed your moment. You’re not behind. You’re simply being invited to start again. There is beauty in starting over, and this time, you’re bringing wisdom, clarity, and resilience with you.

Let’s talk about a word many of us women struggle with: no. We say yes to the extra shift, yes to the family favour, yes to the late-night project, yes to being the strong one everyone leans on, and before we know it, we’re exhausted, stretched thin, and running on fumes. Every time you say yes to something that drains you, you’re saying no to yourself, and you deserve better. We have been conditioned to believe that saying no makes us selfish or unkind. That to be a “good woman,” we must be endlessly available, endlessly giving, endlessly sacrificing. Endless giving without boundaries leads to burnout. And burnout helps no one — not your family, not your workplace, not even yourself. Boundaries Are Not Barriers Saying no isn’t about shutting people out. It’s about protecting your energy so you can show up fully where it matters most. Think of it this way: you wouldn’t let your phone battery drain to 0% every single day without recharging. Why do we do that with our lives? Boundaries are your recharging stations. They remind you: “I am not infinite. I have limits. And that’s okay.” How to Practice Saying No Start small. Say no to the extra commitment you don’t have time for. Say no when someone crosses a boundary. Say no to the voice in your head that tells you your worth is tied to how much you do for others. When you start practising no, you’ll discover something powerful: your yes becomes more meaningful, because you’ll be saying it from a place of joy, not guilt. Sis, your no is not rejection — it’s redirection. It’s making space for the things that actually align with your purpose. So the next time you feel guilty for turning something down, remind yourself: “I’m not being selfish. I’m being wise because saying no is one of the highest forms of self-care.

As women, we are often told that to be strong, we must hide our softness. That being emotional makes us fragile. That showing care makes us weak. Somewhere along the line, the world sold us the lie that strength and softness can’t coexist. You can be soft and firm at the same time. You can cry and still be courageous. You can nurture others and still lead boldly. You can rest and still be resilient. When I coach women, I see it often. We carry the weight of households, careers, ministries, and communities, and still, we tell ourselves, “Don’t let them see you sweat. Don’t let them see you break.” Strength doesn’t mean pretending you don’t feel. Real strength means showing up as your whole self — tender and tough, kind and courageous, soft and steadfast. Being emotional doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human. Your empathy is a gift. Your tears can water the seeds of resilience. Your care can create environments where others feel safe to grow. Think about the leaders who have impacted you most deeply. Were they cold and unfeeling? Or were they the ones who balanced authority with compassion, firmness with kindness? Softness, when embraced, becomes a superpower. So here’s my challenge to you: permit yourself. Permission to rest. Permission to feel. Permission to say, “I can be both.” The world doesn’t need women who are hardened into someone they’re not. The world needs women who can stand tall in boardrooms, classrooms, pulpits, and kitchens, not despite their softness, but because of it. The next time someone tells you, “You’re too emotional” or “You care too much,” smile and say, “That’s my strength.” Soft is not weak — it’s sacred, and when you embrace it, you’ll realise just how strong you really are.

Youare allowed to begin again. Too often, we feel trapped by their past decisions. The career we studied for. The relationship that didn’t work. The business that failed. And instead of starting fresh, we stay stuck — out of fear of what people will say. Think of nature: trees don’t hold onto old leaves forever. They release them and make room for new growth. Your life works the same way. Each season invites you to evolve, to pivot, to start fresh. Maybe you’ve outgrown a job that once fulfilled you. Maybe motherhood is teaching you a new rhythm. Maybe your faith is calling you into a new assignment. That’s not failure. That’s transformation. We fear starting over because it feels like admitting we “wasted time”, but nothing is wasted. Every chapter teaches you something you carry into the next. Your past experiences are not anchors, they’re stepping stones. How to Embrace a Fresh Start You don’t owe anyone an explanation for outgrowing old versions of yourself. Ask yourself: What excites me now? What feels aligned in this season? You don’t have to have the full plan — just the courage to begin. Reinvention is easier with mentors, coaches, and community cheering you on. Don’t let fear of judgment keep you trapped in old seasons. You are allowed to pivot. You are allowed to grow. You are allowed to reinvent yourself. Sometimes the bravest thing you can do is say: “This chapter is over. But my story isn’t finished.” New beginnings aren’t scary. They’re sacred.

Let’s talk about one of the hardest words in the English language — no. For so many women, “no” feels heavy. It feels selfish. It feels like letting people down. So we say yes to everything: yes to extra projects at work, yes to favours for friends, yes to family demands — even when our plates are already overflowing. Every time you say yes to something that drains you, you are saying no to yourself. On the outside, saying yes looks kind and generous, but on the inside, it often leads to exhaustion, resentment, and burnout. You’re constantly giving, but you’re never refilling. Eventually, instead of showing up with love, you show up tired, frustrated, and empty. Sis, that’s not serving anyone. A healthy no isn’t rejection. It’s redirection. It’s saying: “This doesn’t align with my purpose right now, but here’s where I can give my energy.” When you say no with clarity, you protect your time, your energy, and your peace. And when those are protected, you show up stronger and more present for the things that matter most. How to Practise Saying No (Without the Guilt) You are not weak for saying no. You are wise. You are not selfish for protecting your energy. You are strategic. This week, I want you to practise one small no. Maybe it’s declining an invite you don’t have the bandwidth for. Maybe it’s saying no to overthinking and resting instead. Whatever it is, choose freedom, because every no you give to the wrong thing creates space for a yes to the right one.

Have you ever noticed how quickly women apologize?“Sorry, but can I say something?”“Sorry, I just wanted to add—”“Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” We apologize for our ideas, for our presence, for simply existing. And the sad part is, most of us don’t even realize we’re doing it. Sis, let me say this with love but also with urgency: you don’t need to shrink. You need to shine. Many of us have been conditioned to play small. At home, at work, even in friendships, we’ve been told to “tone it down,” to “not be too much,” to “not take it personally.” Over time, we start editing ourselves out of the conversation. Shrinking doesn’t protect you. It robs you. It robs the world of your brilliance, your perspective, your creativity. Taking up space doesn’t mean being rude or domineering. It doesn’t mean silencing others. It means bringing your full self into every room and refusing to apologize for it. Think of a sunflower. Does it apologize for growing tall and stretching wide? No, it just blooms, and in doing so, it inspires everyone around it. How to Practise Taking Up Space If you’ve been used to shrinking, stepping out will feel uncomfortable at first. But here are some ways to start: I once coached a brilliant woman who kept describing herself as “just an assistant.” She downplayed her leadership, her creativity, and her influence, but as we worked together, she began to see herself differently. By the end of our sessions, she had applied for a managerial role she once thought was “out of her league”, and she got it. All she needed was permission to stop shrinking. Sis, you don’t need to apologize for your dreams, your voice, or your presence. The world doesn’t need a smaller version of you. It requires the complete, authentic, powerful you. So this week, I challenge you: catch yourself when you start to shrink. Instead of stepping back, lean in. Take up space because you were never created to blend in. You were made to stand tall.