For a long time, I believed presence was conditional.

That I had to earn it.

I thought I needed to cross everything off the list before I was allowed to slow down.
That peace was a reward — not a right.
That rest, ease, and presence were what came after I proved myself productive enough.

So I did what so many of us do.
I kept going.
Kept pushing.
Kept doing “all the things.”

And then one day, something unexpected happened.

I was looking at my to-do list — every single item crossed off.
The kind of list that should have felt satisfying.
The kind that once would have made me feel accomplished, capable, even proud.

But instead?

I felt empty.

Not relieved.
Not fulfilled.
Not peaceful.

Just… hollow.

That moment stopped me in my tracks.

Because it finally clicked:
The list will never love me back.

No matter how efficient I became.
No matter how many boxes I checked.
No matter how much I carried, managed, or held together.

And even more importantly — peace was never meant to be a prize for productivity.

When Peace Becomes a Moving Target

Somewhere along the way, many of us learned this quiet rule:

First, handle everything.
Then, you can rest.

But “everything” is a moving target — especially for women.
Especially for mothers.
Especially for those of us who are capable, reliable, and used to being the one who makes it all work.

There is always one more email.
One more load of laundry.
One more detail to manage.
One more person who needs something.

So if presence is something we have to earn…
When exactly do we get to arrive?

The truth I had to face — gently, honestly — was this:

If I kept waiting for permission to slow down, I would be waiting forever.

Presence Is a Choice, Not a Reward

That day with the crossed-off list changed something in me.

I realized that presence isn’t something you unlock once you’ve done enough.
It’s something you choose — right now.
As you are.
In the middle of the mess, not after it’s cleaned up.

And that was both freeing… and confronting.

Because if peace isn’t dependent on the list,
then I couldn’t blame the list for my lack of peace either.

It meant I had agency.
It meant I had a choice.

And it meant I could choose again.

The Honest Part (Because This Matters)

I’m not going to pretend I live in a constant state of zen now.

I still get caught in the swirl of doing “all the things.”
I still get overwhelmed.
I still have moments where “not enough” creeps in — quietly, persistently.

Motherhood is hard.
Womanhood is hard.
Life is hard.

This isn’t about perfection.
It’s about awareness.

It’s about noticing when I’ve slipped back into believing that rest must be justified, or presence must be earned.

And then — without judgment — remembering:

I have a choice.

Choosing Again (Over and Over)

Sometimes choosing presence looks like putting the list down before it’s finished.
Sometimes it looks like sitting on the couch instead of pushing through one more task.
Sometimes it looks like actually being there — with my kids, my partner, myself — instead of mentally racing ahead to what’s next. (Like just the other night, after we finished decorating the Christmas tree, cuddling on the couch together admiring the warm glow.)

And sometimes, choosing presence is as simple as pausing long enough to breathe and ask:

What do I need right now — not after I prove myself, but right now?

That choice doesn’t erase responsibility.
It doesn’t mean nothing gets done.

It just means productivity no longer gets to dictate my worth.

If This Feels Familiar…

If you’ve ever told yourself,
“I’ll rest when…”
“I’ll slow down after…”
“I just need to get through this first…”

You may think you're broken. But you're not.
You may think you're failing. But you're definitely not.

You’ve just been living inside a story that tells you peace has to be earned.

And maybe — just maybe — you’re ready to question that story.

Because presence isn’t something you unlock someday.
It’s something available to you now.

Not when the list is finished.
Not when you finally feel “caught up.”
Not when you’ve done enough to deserve it.

But here.
In this moment.
Exactly as you are.

And you can choose again — as many times as you need to.