Putting Myself Back Into the Life I’m Living

What Vermont taught me about asking, “What do I really want?”

I followed the plan.

You know the one: work hard in school so you can get a good job. Get married. Raise the kids. Grow in your career. Buy the dream house. Give back to your community. Volunteer at church, at your children’s school, and wherever else you can make a difference.

Looking back, I did a pretty good job covering those areas.

But somewhere along the way, I left out someone important.

Me.

I was so busy working toward what I thought I should have, accomplish, or become that I rarely stopped to ask:

What does Jacki want?

Even now, that question takes some effort. My mind immediately starts organizing everyone else’s needs so I can carve out a little time for myself.

Who needs something before I leave? What should I finish first? How can I make sure nobody is inconvenienced?

By the time I work through all of that, I’ve barely considered what I want to do with the time.

Sometimes, I want to recharge. Sometimes, I want enough quiet to hear myself think. And lately, I’ve wanted to experience life more fully—to enjoy the life I’m working so hard to build while I’m actually living it.

This past week, I gave myself the chance.

I went to Vermont.

Saying yes was harder than it sounds

I wanted to see the fall foliage and spend some time hiking. That sounds simple enough, right?

Well, let me introduce you to my brain.

I had just completed an author’s workshop. I’m running a coaching business and a fitness studio, teaching, creating, and writing a book. My partner and I are also downsizing, which means selling my dream home and navigating the uncertainty of where we’ll go next.

Then there’s budgeting and planning for 2027.

There is always something that needs my attention.

And while I’m trying to write a book to help other women, I sometimes catch myself wondering: Who am I to help anyone when my own life feels this messy?

Can anyone relate?

I believe in what I teach. I also have to practice it. Asking for help, making room for rest, and choosing myself still require intention—even when I’m encouraging another woman to do those very things.

When I mentioned Vermont to an employee—an absolute angel—she said, “Go. I’ve got it.”

I looked at her like she had suggested something completely unreasonable.

Then I started listing all the reasons I couldn’t possibly accept her help. I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone. There was too much going on. And what if something happened while I was away?

Also, we have a dog. What about her?

When I shared my concerns with my partner, Toby, who wanted to take me, he reminded me:

“You’re the boss. You can take this time for you.”

Apparently, the people around me were ready to support this trip before I was ready to let them.

Letting go of the itinerary—and a little control

Toby planned the trip.

I’m a planner. He is…more comfortable seeing what happens.

We’ll leave that there. LOL.

We headed toward Vermont with one night booked at a bed-and-breakfast, in a place that hadn’t been on my original list.

Fifteen hours in a car. A shedding, whining dog. And very little certainty about what we would do when we arrived.

For someone who likes a plan, this was a lot.

And leaving town didn’t immediately mean I stopped working. I took four calls on the way.

Then I realized I had forgotten a commitment to cover a class for one of my instructors. I had dropped the ball.

The same employee who told me, “I’ve got it,” raced to the studio and taught the class.

I was grateful, and I felt awful. Following through matters to me, and knowing I had put someone else in that position was hard to sit with.

I spent a few hours beating myself up.

Eventually, I had to acknowledge that the class had been covered. I couldn’t undo the mistake by replaying it for the rest of the trip.

We were losing cell service. I was in a mood. And I could feel myself carrying every responsibility right into the experience I had wanted so badly.

So I put in my earbuds, listened to an audiobook, and let my mind settle for a while.

Then we reached Vermont.

And she wrapped me in her beauty.

Room to experience what was right in front of me

The trees. The colors. The quiet.

I had wanted to see the foliage, but I hadn’t realized how much I needed the space around it.

Without a packed itinerary, we had room to explore. We stayed at two different bed-and-breakfasts, ate wonderful food, and connected with people who were there enjoying the same experience.

I got to hike in peace.

I laughed. I felt more patient. I noticed my surroundings. I enjoyed being with Toby and Keva, our dog, without constantly thinking about the next thing I needed to accomplish.

This became one of the best vacations I’ve had.

The trip was imperfect. Getting there was stressful. I had struggled to leave and made a mistake along the way.

But once I allowed myself to be there, I felt myself returning.

There was room for the part of me that loves to explore, connect, laugh, and take in something beautiful.

At a state park in Killington, a staff member told us the foliage was the best it had been in years.

I was thankful I had said yes in time to see it.

What I’m bringing home

As I write this, we’re making the long drive home.

The businesses, the book, the move, and the unanswered questions are still waiting. But I’m returning with a clearer mind, more energy, and a better understanding of what I need.

I need room to enjoy the process of building this life.

I need to accept help when it’s offered, without first making a case for why I should handle everything myself.

And I need to stop treating my own enjoyment as a reward I can claim only after every responsibility is complete.

Because that finish line keeps moving.

Vermont gave me a chance to act on something I wanted. Now I want to bring that practice into everyday life: making space to think, spending time outside, enjoying the people I love, and asking what I want before my calendar fills up.

You may be asking yourself the same question.

You may have followed the plan, cared for your people, and built a life you’re proud of—while finding it difficult to name what you want next.

Give yourself a little time with that question. Try to answer it before you start working out how to accommodate everyone else.

Where have you left yourself out of the life you’ve worked so hard to build?

For me, it’s time to put myself back into the life I’m living.

xoxo,

Coach Jacki