Earlier this summer, I found my writing coming to a halt. If I’m honest, I felt myself hitting the brakes unconsciously in a few ways. I wasn’t as driven to push out more content for

cult to toggle between mom-mode to founder-mode to writer-mode as we had almost two weeks of solo parent time. 

For as many times as I’ve documented my burnout, I could tell something was off but it wasn’t that. It wasn’t the all-consuming fatigue that had engulfed me in the past. It was small moments of questioning my directions, noticing why I couldn’t sit still and write. 

I can handle the large-scale burnout. What is beyond my comprehension is when I become better at noticing fatigue before it hits burnout level. Apparently, as my therapist says, this is a measure of healing. I’d argue that it’s a whole new level of discomfort. 

The reality is that life has been nothing short of Mach speed sprints. I’ve been pushing on all cylinders to produce content and secure paid partnerships to make BEAM sustainable. We’ve found that one or both of our kids have either been sick or dealing with a big transition each week since last November. (46 weeks and counting, friends.) We’ve become more firmly entrenched in the sandwich generation of caring for parents and small children. Beyond those facts, we’re dealing with an immense amount of global change and it’s really difficult to stay focused on the goals ahead.

The downshift started small. At first, it was scheduling an encore, pre-aired episode of BEAM Stories. Then it was pausing BEAM Stories for the summer while doing batch recordings of a month’s worth of podcast content. I found that my book proposal, printed, sat on my bedroom bookshelf collecting dust. 

I’ve journaled since April about being a bit aimless and lost as to what was next. I wanted to take BEAM in the direction it needed to go, but it didn’t seem to have any momentum. I wanted to write, but I didn’t feel like I had anything to say. My energy feels like it’s being consumed by something beyond me - whether it’s what I’m processing in therapy or learning about my life in real-time. 

I wasn’t even singing. I know I’m in a mentally good place if I’m singing, even if it’s a jingle from a local plumber commercial that gets stuck in my head. No songs came. I couldn’t even remember all of the words of my children’s favorites beyond the ABCs. When Evie and I were visiting my mother in June, she started quietly singing “woaaaah woaaaaah woaaaah ya boooooooat” and it took me more than 20 minutes of asking her what she was humming to realize that she had just learned a new nursery rhyme. We cruised south on I-55 in our rented SUV as she added words to her song until I finally understood.

“Liiiiiiiiiiife is….a….dwwweeeeeeeeam,” she screamed, exasperated.

“Oh!!!” I exclaimed with a puzzled look in the rearview mirror. “Row Row Row Your Boat?”

“YES MAMA!!” She threw her hands in the air as if to say, why did it take you so long? (To be fair, she was 1.5 years and everything is mumbled at that age.)

Fallow. The word showed up in my dreams. It reverberated in my mind as I glared at blank pages or the freshly dusted manuscript. Each time, I was transported back to my dad once describing farming techniques from his days in southeastern Kansas farmland. 

Growing up, my father lived on his father’s farm in Andale, Kansas with his three siblings, often coming back when they were adults to help with harvest in late August. When I was very young, I remember him coming back from a long day on a combine harvester, dust crackling in the creases of his knuckles, elbows and hairline. 

I don’t remember how they determined which fields would remain fallow or for how long, but knowing my dad, aunt, and uncles and their engineering mindsets, I know they had a plan. For a girl who grew up in the city, far away from barley fields and chicken coops, the grit and strategy of building a farming life was a mystery to me. 

Fallow. The word echoed over the past few months as a siren song. I wrote it down in my notebook in April and finally researched more as my summer hit a rockier moment at the end of July.   

fal·​low

Leaving a land fallow is intentionally leaving previously farmed land unsown for a period of time to regain fertility. 

The goal: let the soil rest and regain natural moisture and nutrients by storing organic matter, letting it naturally rise to the potentially cultivated land by bubbling from the depths. 

Fallowing helps the life cycle of the natural ecosystem, helping improve soil water intake and protecting the soil from erosion. It’s like a reset button for a parcel. It even brings back various natural bird populations. Addition by means of rest. 

Some farms leave land fallow between crops, lasting up to five years. Some choose to rotate uncultivated fields every year. It all depends on your soil, your location, and your personal preference. 

It made me curious how my father’s family decided when and how to structure their crops. With soil degradation  - yet another impact of climate change - and ever-tightening margins on crops, I can imagine the fear of the unknown in leaving a piece of land dormant, not producing something that can help a farmer put food on their table and countless others.

It’s that uncertainty that keeps me coming back to this word. Fallow is my feeling about my work in a sea of others who seem so productive and on the world’s largest stages. Fallow is the synonym for unproductive time, wasted energy, and a general malaise of wandering, wondering why the words or the business-building opportunities don’t come.

Fallow times are not ones we mutter out loud. It’s counterculture in a world of shouting from the digital rooftops about who we are and what incredible things we’re accomplishing. We don’t admit when we need to lie dormant.  We don’t share when we need to rest.

And yet.

It is exactly the time we need to regroup and reset to find our new normal. To regroup. To let the birds come back and the inspiration flow in new ways that weren’t possible before we were still - maybe silent.

In WINTERING,

Imagine my surprise upon rereading the book in the summer, trudging through a “winter” in the middle of one of our hottest summers on record.

Our bodies have natural rhythms, whether we want to follow them or not. For years, I’ve pushed my body past the common ebbs and flows of seasons - willing it to work extra hard when I’m supposed to rest at night. Striving extra hard when I’m supposed to also enjoy the sunshine. Living in a patriarchal society that prizes productivity creates a certain rhythm. I want to explore what it’s like to create, to support my family and friends, and to breathe life into projects that don’t fit that mold. My goal is to find that new rhythm. 

This fallow season feels like a bit of a reset button as I explore a new rhythm of life.  It feels scary, but I started to embrace the fallowness this summer, even if it’s naturally a time of our year when we’re supposed to play and enjoy. The most terrifying part: I don’t know how long this season will last. 

By hitting the brakes, I can feel some good stuff bubbling under the surface, ready to come to life in its own time. I can’t wait to organically share all of that here as it’s ready.   In the meantime, I’m so glad you’re on this journey - thank you for subscribing and supporting me here.

My 3 Favorite Things - Back to School Edition

• Must Listen: StoryPirates! We’re late to this choo-choo-train, but StoryPirates has been a lifesaver. Both kids love listening to the silly stuff and lights up so many children’s book ideas for me.

• Must Watch: The Wild Robot movie (now available to rent and stream)! Brendan’s class is reading the entire series and I’ve been tagging alongside. It is a tear-jerker, shiny heart moment for all ages.

• Must Buy: Yoto Player. This is another incredible gift that we bought Evie on a whim for her 2nd birthday (can you believe she’s two years old? I digress..). She has full control over the stories she listens to and loves changing out the cards.

Celebration Corner

Happy 60th birthday to the ultimate champion of women and the woman who epitomizes tenacity, grace, compassion, and ambition:

Friend, remember to unclench that jaw and roll your shoulders out of your ears. I’ll do the same.