You Know When You Know
You Know When You Know
There comes a moment when the noise quiets just long enough for a thought to slip in:
I can’t keep doing this the way I’ve been doing it.
You know when you know. And the knowing never really goes away—it lingers, waiting for you to pay attention.
Lately, in my conversations with women, a pattern has been emerging. These are smart, capable, generous women who have carried so much—decades of working, raising families, showing up for everyone else. On one side, there’s gratitude for the privilege of being able to care for others. On the other, there’s a deep undercurrent of resentment that no one dares to admit out loud. Because how do you say, I’m tired of being needed, without drowning in guilt?
The guilt is sharp because it feels like a betrayal: of the mother you adore but now must parent, of the adult children who still lean on you, of the partner or family who expect you to keep the wheels turning. And underneath it all lives a quieter ache—one I know all too well—the question: Am I even allowed to want more?
I have lived this. I know what it’s like to look around at a life that appears “fine” on the outside but feels suffocating on the inside. I’ve carried the unspoken resentment, the gnawing guilt, and the deep sense of unworthiness that comes from believing my value is tied only to what I produce, give, or fix.
And here’s what I’ve learned: the knowing is not here to punish you. It’s here to wake you up.
A friend recently reminded me of the importance of creating “white space.” And I’m starting to hear women quietly admit how elusive that feels. One told me she doesn’t know how to step off the hamster wheel long enough to even breathe, let alone make space for herself. Others nod in silent agreement, as though simply speaking it aloud is both a confession and a relief.
These flickers of honesty matter. They signal the beginning of something new—a willingness to name what’s been hidden, to question the endless demands, and to imagine a life that holds room for them too.
That shift—quiet as it may be—is where change begins.
So if you’ve been feeling the weight of resentment and guilt, or the shame of not being “productive enough,” I want you to know this: you’re not broken, and you’re not alone. You’re simply at the threshold of your next becoming.
And yes, there is hope. There is a way through this.
If you’re feeling that whisper in your own life—the one that says, something has to change—let’s talk. Schedule a free consultation with me. No pressure, just a conversation with someone who has been there and understands.
Because you know when you know. And once you know, there’s no going back—only forward.
