This past weekend had a little bit of everything — a workshop, a milestone, a party. The kind of weekend that, on paper, looks packed. And it was. But by the time it was over, I found myself thinking about it differently than I would have a few years ago.

By Sunday night, I was exhausted. The kind of exhausted that comes after a weekend where you barely sit down, your feet hurt from standing and dancing, and you're already wondering how Monday arrived so quickly.

But underneath the tiredness was something else. I felt full.

That struck me, because for years I would have described a weekend like this as "too much." Too busy. Too many commitments. Too much running from one thing to the next. This weekend was undeniably full, but it was full of things I genuinely wanted to be part of, and that made all the difference.

On Saturday morning, I hosted my workshop, You're Allowed to Want More. We spent our time talking about something I think so many capable women quietly carry around: the belief that wanting something different somehow means we aren't appreciative of what we already have. That if your life is objectively good, you should simply be satisfied. You have a good job, a loving family, a nice home — what more could you possibly want?

But the workshop wasn't really about the guilt itself. It was about permission — specifically, where we think that permission has to come from. So many of us are waiting for someone else to tell us it's okay to want more: a partner, a boss, a friend, some external nod that says our desires are valid. We spent the morning talking about what it looks like to stop waiting for that outside approval and give ourselves permission instead.

The conversation reminded me how often women judge themselves for having desires that don't fit neatly into that picture. They feel guilty for wanting more time to themselves, more creativity, more rest, more adventure, more connection, more joy — as if gratitude and desire can't exist at the same time.

After the workshop, I switched gears completely. That afternoon, I sat in a martial arts studio and watched my son, Jack, complete his black belt test. For an hour and a half, he demonstrated years of discipline, perseverance, focus, and resilience. It wasn't flashy. It was the result of showing up over and over again, long after the excitement of earning the next belt had worn off. Watching him receive that black belt was one of those moments every parent hopes for — not because of the belt itself, but because you get to witness the person your child is becoming.

Then on Sunday, I celebrated my birthday with a Studio 54-themed party. I'll be honest: I almost didn't throw it. Part of me was afraid to put it out there and have no one show up. Part of me worried that wanting a party like this, for myself, was somehow selfish. But I really wanted it. So I did it anyway, and I'm so glad I did.

And wouldn't you know it, a few people had to back out at the last minute — an illness, a broken foot, a babysitter falling through. The exact thing I'd been afraid of, playing out in real time. But it didn't matter. The room still filled up with people I love, and the fear I'd been carrying turned out to be nowhere near as big as it felt.

Of course, life had its own plans in other ways too. I'd booked the date before I knew Jack's black belt test would land right in the middle of the afternoon, prime party-prep time. Then rain moved in for most of the day and pushed us indoors, at least for the most part. It added a layer of stress I hadn't budgeted for. But the unplanned has a way of teaching us things the planned never could — about acceptance, about letting go, about trusting that things work out, even when they don't work out the way you pictured. I handed the problems to my family and let them solve what I couldn't. And even though not everything went the way I'd mapped it out, the party ended up being everything I had hoped for, and more.

Sequins, disco balls, music, laughter, and people I love filling the room. Wonderfully over the top, in the best possible way. And the living room dance floor? On point.

Looking back over the weekend, I realized something: this is what wanting more actually looks like. Not chasing bigger for the sake of bigger. Not constantly striving because what you have isn't enough. It's creating a life that has room for the things that matter most to you — meaningful work, celebrating the people you love, milestones that deserve to be honored, friendships that make you laugh until your cheeks hurt, and yes, sometimes an excuse to wear sequins and dance for hours.

The irony isn't lost on me that I spent Saturday morning telling women to stop waiting for permission and give it to themselves instead, then spent the rest of the weekend doing exactly that. I didn't wait for reassurance that people would show up. I gave myself permission to want the party anyway, and to have it.

The "more" I've been working toward isn't a bigger house, a more impressive title, or checking more boxes. It's this — work that feels meaningful, being present for my family's biggest moments, celebration that isn't reserved for someday, a life that actually feels like mine.

Here's the part I think we often miss: building a life like that doesn't happen by accident. It happens one decision at a time. One boundary that protects your energy. One conversation where you ask for what you need. One invitation you say yes to. One unnecessary obligation you finally let go of. Small choices, each one creating a little more room for what matters — and they add up more than we give them credit for.

By Sunday evening, I was tired. Really tired. But it wasn't the kind of exhaustion that comes from constantly pouring yourself into everyone else's priorities. It was the satisfying kind that comes from spending your time on things that leave your heart feeling full.

And I think there's a pretty big difference between the two.