A few weeks ago, I found myself facilitating a leadership training about ten minutes after receiving some news about some developmental delays with my toddler. 

As a mom, I wanted answers. As a business owner, I wanted to show up for my client. So I did what many high-achieving leaders do: I convinced myself I could fit both into the same day. 

The appointment ended. The news felt heavy. I took a deep breath and started the training. 

The training went well. The client was happy. The participants were engaged. 

But if I’m being honest, I shouldn’t have scheduled it that way. The training was already on the calendar, and I knew when I added my son’s appointment right before that it could be an issue. But I made the excuse that I didn’t want to wait another week to get the results of my son’s evaluation.  

What I’ve realized since then is that the issue wasn’t the appointment or even the training. The issue was that I had left myself no room to be human.  

There was no space to process. No space to think. No space to regroup. I had packed my day so tightly that when something emotionally significant happened, there was nowhere for it to go. 

That experience has stayed with me because it forced me to look at something I’ve been avoiding. 

At the beginning of this year, I felt really good about the boundaries I had created around my family. I was intentional about protecting time with my kids. I wasn’t filling every open space on my calendar. There was margin in my schedule, and I could feel the difference in how I showed up at home and at work. 

Somewhere along the way, that changed. 

Not because I stopped caring about my family. Not because I suddenly forgot what matters. In fact, the things filling my calendar were mostly good things – clients we love serving, opportunities to grow the business, meetings that felt important, and projects that needed attention. 

But good things have a way of accumulating. And before I knew it, the discipline that had helped me create space was gone. 

I recently finished reading Essentialism by Greg McKeown, and I found myself highlighting nearly every other page. Not because the ideas were revolutionary. Most of them were things I already knew. 

What is so interesting was how quickly I had stopped practicing them. One of the core ideas in the book is that leaders need to think like editors. An editor’s job isn’t to create more. It’s to decide what stays and what goes. It’s to cut the things that distract from the main message so the most important things can shine through. 

As I read, I realized I had become really good at adding and really bad at editing. 

Adding opportunities. Adding meetings. Adding commitments. Adding ideas. Adding responsibility. None of those things are bad. In fact, many of them are exactly the things I’ve worked hard for. 

But every addition comes with a cost. Every commitment requires time. Every opportunity requires attention. Every yes requires energy. 

The irony is that I teach this every day. I talk about boundaries. I talk about values. I talk about presence. Yet this season has reminded me that awareness and practice are not the same thing. Knowing what matters is one thing. 

Building a life that reflects it is another. 

As I’ve reflected on this season—and on the lessons from Essentialism—there are three practices I’m recommitting to. 

1. Create more space than you think you need.

One of the biggest lessons from that training day was realizing how little buffer I had built into my schedule. When everything goes according to plan, a packed calendar can feel productive. But life rarely goes according to plan. 

Kids get sick. Difficult conversations emerge. Something takes twice as long as expected. Unexpected opportunities appear. Hard news arrives on an ordinary Tuesday morning. 

I’ve realized that margin isn’t wasted time. It’s preparation for reality.   

For leaders, this applies to our teams as much as it does to our own schedules. If everyone is operating at maximum capacity, there is no room for creativity, strategic thinking, learning, or simply being human when life happens. 

2. Conduct a zero-based review of your commitments.

One of my favorite concepts from the book was the idea of questioning things we’ve simply accepted as part of our lives: Meetings. Projects. Commitments. Responsibilities. 

I’m challenging myself to look at my calendar with fresh eyes and ask: Would I choose this again? 

Leaders should ask the same question of their teams. Which meetings still create value? Which processes still serve a purpose? Which priorities belong to this season, and which ones are leftovers from another one?  

Sometimes growth isn’t about adding something new. Sometimes it’s about having the courage to edit. 

3. Stop assuming your priorities will protect themselves.

This may be the lesson I needed most. At the beginning of the year, I was intentional about protecting time with my family. I was creating boundaries that reflected what mattered most to me. Then life got busy. 

Nothing dramatic happened. I didn’t make one terrible decision. I simply stopped paying attention. 

That’s the thing about priorities. They don’t stay protected because we care about them. They stay protected because we continue protecting them. 

Family time needs to be scheduled. Thinking time needs to be protected. Rest needs to be prioritized.  

The things we value most require ongoing maintenance. Maybe that’s the real mid-year reflection. Not asking whether we’re on track with our goals. Asking whether we’re still aligned with what matters most.