I’m writing this from the school holidays, which means I’ve finally accepted something I probably should have accepted a few years or even weeks ago:

I am not going to get much work done.

Not with a five and six-year-old at home.

School holidays involve an extraordinary amount of snacks, activities, negotiation, driving, refereeing and answering questions that apparently cannot wait another 30 seconds.

There has been proposals and content written from play centres. Video calls taken from my outside office (yes, its now a room) because it was the only place I could find some peace and quiet.

Work squeezed into strange little pockets like while taking on a large puzzle, monitoring toilet roll bowling, arts and crafts projects which, let’s face it, are messy even with adult supervision, accompanied by that familiar feeling that I’m not doing eitherat my bestl.

And I think I’m finally learning to stop pretending it will be otherwise.

What I wanted to actually talk about is what happens before the holidays.

Because somewhere along the way, I’ve developed a habit of trying to compensate for them.

I sprint through the school term. Overachiever mode activated.

Ten weeks of getting as much done as possible. Client work. My own business. Writing. Coaching. Marketing. Exercise. Parenting. Life.

Then the holidays arrive and, twice recently, my body has pretty much said: enough.

I’ve ended up sick, with fevers that have put me completely into bed. I’ve also had a string of injuries this year.

And it has made me ask a question I haven’t particularly wanted to ask:

Am I simply trying to do too much?

There is another layer to this for me.

I have a very strong story around health.

My mum died at 63. There is diabetes and poor health in my family history, and somewhere in the back of my mind I have built a program that says I need to stay fit, stay strong, keep moving, keep my weight down and do everything I possibly can to avoid the same path.

On the surface, those are good intentions.

But even good intentions can become another stick we use to push ourselves.

Move every day.

Lift heavy. Eat clean.

Work harder while you can.

Make up for lost time.

Stay productive.

Keep going.

And I’m beginning to wonder whether the lesson for me is less about doing more and more about consistency over intensity.

I talk about consistency all the time in marketing.

When a business launches a new positioning or brand platform, you don’t change it three months later because you’re bored with it.

You keep showing up. Strengthen and evolve it, yes. But stay consistent.

You give people time to understand what you stand for.

You repeat the message.

You build recognition and trust over time.

Perhaps life isn’t that different.

Maybe consistency doesn’t mean operating at maximum capacity every week of the year.

Maybe it means finding a pace that you can actually sustain.

And perhaps that pace changes with the season you’re in.

Right now, I have small children. I’m in my mid-40s, and clearly my body is asking for more downtime.

That means my working year may look more like 42 weeks than 48.

There will be school holidays.

There will be sick days.

There will be afternoons when someone needs me more than my inbox does.

Accepting that doesn’t make me less ambitious. Or less capable at doing my work.

There is an ancient yogi text called the Bhagavad Gita that says: “It is better to do one’s own dharma, even though imperfectly, than to do another’s dharma, even though perfectly.”

Dharma (the yogi word for purpose or calling if you believe in that, which i do).

Because building a business around an imaginary version of my life, one where I have uninterrupted days, endless energy and no competing priorities - doesn’t make much sense. At least not to me.

Building one around the life I actually have and want to live does.

There is a visibility lesson in this too.

It is tempting to only show the polished parts of leadership and business ownership.

The client win.

The speaking gig.

The clever insight.

The beautifully planned working day.

But sometimes leadership can be messy.

Sometimes ambition and motherhood coexist awkwardly.

Sometimes you feel incredibly clear about your priorities and guilty about them at exactly the same time.

And perhaps confidence is being willing to show that too.

Not because every messy moment needs to become content.

But because there is something powerful about being clear about the life you are actually trying to build and not apologising for it.

The life lesson

Consistency doesn't have to mean giving everything the same amount of energy all year.

It might mean choosing a sustainable pace, knowing what matters in this season of your life and trusting that you don’t have to sprint to prove you’re serious.

Aligning your training with your cycles so you slow down as well as push hard and lift heavier.

A question to sit with

Are you building your life around the capacity you actually have - or constantly trying to keep up with the version of yourself you think you should be?