Once upon a time there was a little girl born into a family who didn’t have enough. The little girl was grateful for what they did have but the empty space inside her became more noticeable as she got older; like a tiny fracture in her foundation that slowly began to split under the pressures of life.

One day her parents died. It doesn’t matter what day it was or how old she was, the little girl wasn’t ready to be on her own.

A million questions started running through her head. Who will love me now? Who will take care of me? How will I survive? How will I be safe? Will I ever know joy again? She was terrified.

On her way home from the funeral she saw a pair of red shoes in a shop window.

If there were ever a day that I deserve to treat myself, today would surely qualify.

The little girl left the shop wearing her new red shoes and immediately received a compliment from an attractive stranger. She lit up!

From that day on the little girl and her red shoes became inseparable.

She wore them on dates and had a roster of devoted boyfriends who she kept loosely tethered to her elusive affections. This way she never had to feel the pain of losing anyone ever again.

She wore them on interviews which turned into a dream career path, skyrocketing the little girl to girl boss greatness. She worked relentlessly, climbing every ladder higher than anyone around her.

She wore them to the gym, to marathons, to Tough Mudders, to dance competitions, to musical auditions, to karaoke, to church, to strip clubs, to dinner parties. She hiked every summit on every continent in her red shoes. She achieved every goal and attained every greatness…and yet, she still wasn’t happy.

One day while sprinting from her fractal laser appointment, after meeting with her personal guru for her 4am private yoga session, just before lunch with her career coach who is personal friends with the Dali Llama, in between a company assembly for her annual award show where she gives herself an award every year for being the literal best, and getting in her 15,000 steps, and eating her body weight in protein, and drinking at least two liters of water, and journaling, and then after her afternoon manifesting master class with Gabby Bernstein on her private jet to her fifth house, the vacay villa in the Maldives, she suddenly felt a little tired.

She thought maybe I can slow down and take these shoes off for like ten seconds of box breathing?

But when she tried to take off her beloved red shoes it was like they were fused to her body. They’d taken on a life of their own. Glaring at up her they threatened:

Don’t you dare. You’re nothing without us. If you stop now everyone will see what a worthless, lazy, stupid, saggy, frizzy, ugly, invisible, unloveable sloth you really are. Also, you’ll probably end up homeless. It’s not like you have a trust fund.

The little girl inside her agreed. But the woman she’d become knew better.

If I keep up this pace I’ll be metaphorically or literally dead by my next birthday and I’m actually way too cute to die. Plus maybe one day I might want to let somebody love me for real and that can’t happen if I’m gone.

So she called up this great surgeon she knew in Boston and had the shoes surgically removed from her feet. Then she called up this great shrink and did 12 months of intensive EMDR to force an ego death which allowed her to finally stop over functioning. She released all the prisoners from her roster, deleted social media, got all her silicone parts ex-planted, quit and dismantled her giant corporation and settled down with an organic micro-greens farmer/ carpenter in Brevard North Carolina and they lived humbly ever after.

The original fairy tale is a little different. The Red Shoes by Hans Christian Anderson is about a girl who is orphaned and then raised briefly by an elderly woman who also dies. The little girl becomes possessed by a pair of red shoes which eventually have to be chopped off by a local axe man, symbolizing the sacrifice needed to be made in order to purify her soul. It was intended to be a warning against vanity and to encourage young girls, specifically those growing up in poverty, to steer clear of the pursuit of luxury and instead remain pious, especially in the eyes of the church.

How many of us over-function as a means of survival because we have no other choice?

How many of us are forced to over-function by parents who demand greatness?

How many of us go to great lengths to be loved?

How does your invisible to-do list make you feel each day?

What do you fear would happen if you did less?

What do you fear would happen if you did more?

What do you fear would happen if you stopped trying to earn love?

Who are you when no one is looking?

How do you slow down in a merciless capitalist meritocracy that has rendered so many of us powerless, insufficient, lonely, wounded and exhausted?

The short answer is have an ego death and do less.

The long answer is some combination of radical compassion, systemic change and personal healing.

Recently, I fell down.

There is now a red line to match the red string I wear around my neck which is meant to serve as a reminder to move through life with mindful, heart centered intention. A philosophy and practice I fail at almost daily. I know I’m not alone.

Roughly 48% of global workers are burnt out, while 76% report experiencing periodic or cyclical burnout. I can’t help but wonder how many people aren’t even asked, are too afraid to admit it or simply aren’t considered part of the workforce and therefore not qualified in the research.

I believe there’s an angel hanging out in my kitchen. We’ve bumped into each other a few times over the last two years; mostly in the form of wind even when the door is shut, a few whispers around the crescent moon and once a tiny white feather that appeared above my head from seemingly nowhere. But I know where.

Too much has happened and my nervous system hasn’t had a chance to fully catch up. Ever. The irony of my recent fall is, I’d just spent the weekend writing a portion of this post for a workbook I’m creating while still marketing the first book I wrote and working full time as a very single mama to a hyperactive, special needs fur child.

I got up to take Charlie out to potty before bed and, as usual, planted my feet in the grass and centered myself in a deep squat to meditate while he went on his midnight sniffari. I was meditating, praying and doing the same deep breathing techniques I teach my clients because I practice what I preach. However, my body informed me that a few minutes of mindfulness was insufficient in compensating for all I’ve poured out over the past few months.

I stood up, took a few steps into the kitchen through the back door as Charlie barreled in behind me when all of a sudden I got dizzy and then…my kitchen angel bent me in half and my very thick head kissed the corner of the drawer I’d left open (where I keep Charlie’s poo bags).

Choice words followed by concerned barking and some ice cubes were pressed to my eyebrow as I rushed to a mirror to make sure my skull was still intact. Speaking of ice, the cut might just leave me looking like Vanilla Ice which I’m not thrilled about. That being said, I’m grateful I didn’t hit my eye. I’m grateful to be alive. I’m grateful to a friend on the west coast who was still awake and available for a virtual health assessment. After staying up most of the night I went to urgent care.

I’ve been informed to slow down. Do less. Get rest. Don’t worry. Great advice. I tell people the same thing every day. There’s a lot going on behind the scenes. And, we all have those stories.

It’s easy to tell someone to do less but actually putting it into practice is a bit of a logistical nightmare; like taking a vacation which really just means working extra before you leave and when you come back to make up for the time you spend ‘doing nothing’. Not mention what it costs to ‘do nothing’.

I don’t actually have the answer. At least not today. And likely not tomorrow either. But I’m very curious. Spent the morning revisiting Gnosticism…typical heretic. Heresy means to choose, or as I say, to think, and gnostic means to know…and apparently this path of wading experientially through the mysterious mess of existence is how we eventually come to know.

Happy waiting xo