Can You Have It All, At Once?

I believed I could.
A thriving career. A loving family. Deep friendships.
A strong body. A calm mind. A clear sense of self.

And I didn’t just believe it, I chased it like my life depended on it.

I wore every hat: wife, mother, sister, aunt, executive, friend. I wore them all, and I wore them well until I couldn’t. Behind the complete calendar and the steady smile was a woman silently falling apart.

The Cost of Proving Myself

I became excellent at performing. At work, I pushed harder to prove my worth. At home, I gave more to prove my love. With friends, I showed up even when I had nothing left to give.

Proving myself became a full-time role, but somewhere in the effort, I lost track of what I was trying to prove … and to whom.

I confused love with constant service: Cooking meals when I was exhausted. Listening intently when I had no capacity left. Cheering on others while silencing my own dreams.

It felt selfless. It also kept me from sitting still long enough to ask: What do I need?

I wasn’t just giving. I was avoiding. Avoiding discomfort. Avoiding conflict. Avoiding myself.

The Illusion of Being Invincible

I idolised this image. The one who’s always calm. The one who never asks for help. The one who has it together. But beneath that strength, I was worn thin.

The truth is: invincibility is isolating. And trying to be everything often leaves you feeling like nothing.

Part of my ambition was born when a teacher once told me I’d never amount to anything. That single comment fueled years of achievement. But it wasn’t purpose-driven. It was pain-driven. I wasn’t building toward a dream. I was running from doubt.

The Exhaustion of Curated Living

I knew how to present the right image. Even on the days I wanted to be invisible, I showed up polished, because anything less felt unsafe.

I learned to withhold rather than disrupt. Not because I had no voice, but because I feared what would happen if I used it. I chose harmony over honesty. Liked over seen. Predictable over authentic. But every time I swallowed my needs, I drifted further from myself.

Books were my refuge. But I wasn’t reading to grow. I was reading to disappear. To hide inside someone else’s story, because I couldn’t face my own.

Eventually, it caught up with me. Resentment crept into my relationships because I had nothing left to give.

The Wake-Up Call

That was the turning point. I realised I couldn’t keep giving from an empty place.

I had to pause. I had to listen. I had to ask: What matters most to me?

You can have what’s essential, in the season that asks for it if you’re willing to:  Slow down.
Realign. Let go of what no longer fits. Balance isn’t about doing more. It’s about choosing with intention.

If you’re navigating the space between who you’ve been and who you’re becoming between caregiving and career, dreams and duties, self-expression and self-sacrifice. You are not alone.

You don’t need to be everything. You just need to be honest. With yourself, first.

What I Choose Now

I still carry multiple roles, but not all at once.

Some days I lead.
Some days I nurture.
Some days I rest, without justification.

I don’t need to prove anything anymore.

I choose what matters. I choose myself. And I allow that to be enough.

This reflection comes from my own lived journey, and it’s the foundation of my book, Awakening to Wholeness: A Life Unmasked.

It’s a story of peeling back the layers of performance and perfection to uncover what’s true.

My book holds a mirror to anyone feeling stretched thin between ambition and authenticity.

So, tell me, what does “having it all” mean to you today?