And We'll All Float On, Okay

"Sustainable pace isn't about never slowing down. It's about recognizing when you need to float for a minute so you don't completely flame out."

Corporate Exit Diaries - November 22, 2025

You know that old Modest Mouse song from the early 2000s? The one that's been living rent-free in my head all week?

"And we'll all float on, okay..."

I've been humming it for days. Beep beep boo, the little synth riff, the whole thing. That song about how no matter what happens, it could always be worse—just look at the bright side and keep moving.

That was this week.

Not in a "everything's falling apart" way. In a "my brain and my body are operating in two different time zones and I'm just... floating" way.

This week, my body showed up, but my brain stayed somewhere else entirely.

I did the things. Client work got done. Deadlines were met. Meetings happened. But the whole time I felt like I was watching myself from the outside—going through the motions while the actual me was just... floating.

Not depressed. Not checked out. Just disconnected.

And you know what? That's okay. Because sometimes you just float. And life keeps moving anyway.

The Mental Gymnastics of New Clients

New clients are a gift. Let me say that first.

They're validation that what you've built matters. Proof that people trust you with their brand. Revenue that keeps the lights on and the dream alive.

But holy shit, the mental gymnastics of onboarding new clients when you're doing it differently than you've ever done it before? That took a metric fuck ton of brain capacity this week.

These clients don't have a huge online presence yet. They're revamping their website. They don't have a marketing team I can plug into—because I'm helping them BUILD the marketing foundation.

Which is actually really fun. I love it. Helping them find their voice, building something from scratch that feels authentic to who they are—it's the work I want to be doing.

But building from the ground up looks a hell of a lot different than jumping into a business that already has systems, content, and a clear brand voice.

This isn't "maintain what's working." This is "figure out what works and then build it."

And my brain? My brain was tired.

The Difference Between Jumping In and Building Up

When you work with established companies, there's a rhythm. You learn their voice, adapt to their systems, optimize what's already there.

You're conducting an orchestra that already knows the song.

But when you're building from scratch? You're writing the music, teaching the instruments, and hoping it all comes together into something that doesn't sound like chaos.

It's exhilarating. And exhausting.

This week required me to think differently. To build frameworks I haven't built before. To ask questions I don't usually ask. To hold space for a brand that's still figuring out what it wants to say.

I'm happy with how it's panning out. We're not starting from zero—they have a foundation. But we're building something solid. Something that'll hold up when they scale. Something that feels like them, not like every other company in their space.

But doing that while my brain was in another time zone? That was the challenge.

When Your Kid Is Struggling and You Can't Fix It

And then there's Josey.

My girl has had a busy week. Too busy. Too many practices. Not enough sleep. Teenage hormones doing their thing.

Normal life stuff. The kind every parent navigates. The kind that shouldn't be a crisis but somehow feels like one when you're already running on fumes.

My momma heart always bleeds when my kiddo is struggling in any way—big or small.

Doesn't matter if it's a legitimate problem or just the normal chaos of being a teenager with a full schedule and too many feelings. When she's overwhelmed, I'm overwhelmed.

Because I can't fix it for her. I can only sit with her while she sorts it out. And sometimes that's harder than actually solving the problem.

This week she was tired. And hormonal. And stressed about things that feel huge to her even if they're small in the grand scheme.

And I couldn't take any of it off her plate. I could just... be there. Make her food. Remind her to sleep. Tell her it's going to be okay even when it doesn't feel like it will be.

Parenting a teenager is a special kind of helpless.

The Paper Bag on Fire

You know those moments when everything is technically fine but it all feels like too much at once?

That was this week.

Normal life shit that becomes a heaping mound that someone threw into a paper bag and lit on fire.

New clients requiring new frameworks. Kiddo struggling with normal teenager stuff. Manuscript chapters still waiting to be edited. Newsletter going out Sunday. House chaos. Holiday season approaching. Doctor's appointments that are always tough.

None of it catastrophic. All of it just... a lot.

And when I tried to tell myself "I'm fine," my brain laughed and said, "Yeah, okay."

I'm fine. I'm fucking fine.

(Narrator: She was not, in fact, fine.)

What Disconnection Actually Feels Like

Here's what nobody tells you about running your own business while parenting while writing a book while building a life:

Sometimes you just float.

Not burnout. Not breakdown. Just... disconnect.

Your body keeps going because it has to. Clients need you. Your kid needs you. Deadlines don't care that your brain checked out.

So you show up. You do the work. You make it look seamless from the outside.

But inside? You're just trying to remember what day it is and whether you already had coffee or if you just thought about having coffee.

That was me this week.

I showed up for every client call. I delivered what I promised. I helped my kid navigate her overwhelm. I made dinner. I handled the chaos.

But the whole time I felt like I was operating on autopilot while the actual me was somewhere else, trying to catch up.

The Chapters I Didn't Write This Week

Last week I wrote about crying in Starbucks while expanding Chapter 2—my mom's death.

This week? I didn't touch the manuscript.

Not because I didn't want to. Because my brain wasn't there.

Chapter 3 is waiting—my dad's death 26 days after my mom. Heavy stuff. The kind of writing that requires you to be fully present, not floating in two different time zones.

I could've forced it. Sat down and churned out words just to hit the timeline.

But I've learned this about writing: you can't fake presence. The reader knows when you're just going through the motions.

So I didn't write it. I worked on clients instead. I showed up for my kid. I let my brain be wherever it needed to be while my body kept the ship moving.

And I'm not sorry about it.

What I'm Learning About Sustainable Pace

Here's the thing I keep relearning: you can't sprint forever.

I spent six weeks writing 20+ chapters at breakneck speed. Then I spent two weeks expanding the hardest chapters. Then I launched a newsletter. Then I onboarded new clients.

And somewhere in there, my brain said, "Cool, I'm taking a break now."

Not quitting. Not giving up. Just... pausing.

Because sustainable pace isn't about never slowing down. It's about recognizing when you need to float for a minute so you don't completely flame out.

This week I floated. And that's okay.

The manuscript will still be there next week. Chapter 3 isn't going anywhere. The timeline I set for myself is a guide, not a guillotine.

And the clients I'm serving right now? They needed me fully present. So that's where my brain went—even if it felt like it was in another time zone while it did it.

The Gift of Building From Scratch

Here's what I don't want to lose in all the "this week was hard" honesty:

Building from the ground up with new clients is actually the work I want to be doing.

It's not easier than jumping into an established brand. But it's more meaningful.

Because when you help someone find their voice from scratch, you're not just maintaining what exists. You're creating something new. Something that didn't exist before you showed up.

That's the work that matters.

Not the work that's easiest. Not the work that requires the least brainpower. The work that builds something solid. Something real. Something that'll hold up when they scale.

And this week, even though my brain was floating somewhere else, I did that work.

I helped new clients build a foundation that's going to serve them for years. I showed up for my kid even when I couldn't fix her problems. I kept the ship moving even when I felt disconnected from the wheel.

And that's enough.

Where I Am Now

And you know what? I actually am fine.

Things are working out. One day at a time. One client call at a time. One conversation with my kid at a time.

As I keep becoming, sometimes I have to sidestep to help my girl become on her own. That's part of this too. It's not just my transformation—it's teaching her how to navigate hers.

I can't believe Thanksgiving is already next week. Which meant clients were off work this week, so I had to double down. Get everything done before the holiday slowdown. Which I did. Because that's what you do when you run your own business.

I also wrote Chapter 3 this week—my dad's death, 26 days after my mom. And for some reason, that one felt less turbulent. Even though I was a daddy's girl through and through. Even though losing him so soon after Mom nearly broke me.

Maybe it's because I've already cried through the worst of it in real time. Maybe it's because enough time has passed that I can write about it without reliving it. Or maybe it's just that some chapters flow easier than others, and there's no predicting which ones will wreck you and which ones won't.

Either way, Chapter 3 is done. 3,327 words. Expanded from 1,416.

Manuscript Progress:

• Chapters expanded: 3 of 18 (17%)

• Chapters remaining: 15

• Words added so far: ~3,300 total across expansions

• Target word count: 65,000-70,000 words

• Timeline: 3-4 weeks remaining to complete all edits

• Current status: On track, adjusted for human capacity

Three chapters down. Fifteen to go. The timeline is holding. The voice is consistent. And I'm learning that some weeks you sprint, some weeks you float, and both are okay.

Sometimes the most honest thing you can say is: I showed up but I wasn't fully here, and that's just how this week went.

Not every week is a sprint. Some weeks you float. And that's part of the process too.

The thing about building a life outside the cage:

It's not always neat. It's not always linear. Sometimes your brain and your body operate in different time zones and you just have to trust that they'll sync back up eventually.

This week I floated. Next week I'll write.

And both are okay.

Manuscript progress: 2 of 18 chapters expanded. 16 to go. Timeline adjusted for human capacity, not robot productivity.

Because sustainable pace means recognizing when you need to float for a minute so you don't completely flame out.