There are tears rolling down my face…
while at the same time, there are tears that won’t fall at all.
That’s how it feels to carry a vision this heavy.
It hurts and numbs you at the same time.
I’m not just tired. I’m not just frustrated.
I’m heartbroken—because I keep getting hurt.
And I don’t stop to process it, because if I stop, everything I’ve built might fall apart.
So I keep going.
Keep fixing.
Keep rebuilding what others were supposed to carry—because I don’t have the luxury of falling apart.
But I’ve reached a limit.
I’ve been told, “You’re doing too much.”
But what I hear is, “You’re not capable.”
I’ve heard it from family. From friends. From folks who say they support me but disappear when it’s time to build with me.
They don’t ask if creating gives me peace.
They don’t ask if writing helps me breathe.
They don’t understand that Misfits, Dr. Lisa, the credit project, the coaching—it’s not “extra.”
It’s what keeps me alive.
My purpose is layered.
I’m not just in real estate.
I’m not just a coach.
I’m not just a writer.
I am all of it—on purpose.
And I’m no longer explaining that to people who only see value in one version of me.
Because pain has a way of reshaping how you see people.
When I say I’m multi-passionate, I don’t mean I dabble.
I mean I lead, I launch, I labor, I lift others—and I do it all with intention.
But I’m also tired of being the one everyone calls when they’re in need, only to be left alone when I need someone to simply show up.
The same people who once praised the vision are now silently judging the pace.
But when this thing takes off? When it lands in rooms they can’t access? I’ll be the one standing on the foundation they didn’t help pour.
I’m not bitter. But I am… changed.
Because pain has a way of making you sharper. Clearer. Unapologetic.
I’m learning to stop picking up calls just because they come through.
Learning that support isn’t measured by applause—it’s measured by action.
And I’m claiming this right now:
🛑 I don’t owe access to people just because they’ve been around.
🛑 I don’t need validation from those who were never called to carry this vision.
🛑 I won’t keep letting others determine my pace, my worth, or my timing.
I believe in my purpose too much to let it be silenced by convenience or delayed by people who don’t believe in me the way I believe in them.
I still believe in faith. In God’s promises. In what’s next.
He said He’d never see the righteous forsaken nor their children begging for bread—and I’m holding onto that. Even when my voice trembles. Even when the tears are stuck.
Because I know what it feels like to cry silently while smiling publicly.
To encourage others while secretly feeling empty.
To pour and pour and pour… with nothing coming back in return.
But no more.
I’m not giving up—but I am letting go.
Of dead weight. Of misplaced loyalty. Of forced “support.”
And I’m reclaiming my peace with the same power I used to chase their presence.
To every woman who’s felt this too—who’s been told to shrink, to focus, to “just pick one thing”—I see you.
You are not too much.
You are just surrounded by people who can’t fathom your capacity.
But that’s okay.
Because this next season?
It belongs to the ones who kept building through the tears.
This is my pivot.
And this time, I’m choosing me.
If this met you in a moment where the tears were stuck too…
Just know—you’re not alone.
You don’t owe anyone an explanation for the fullness of your calling.
This space? It was carved for us.
Rest. Breathe. Keep building.
And when you’re ready—take up space again.
I unpacked what that means on a soul level in The Power of the Pivot.
And this TED Talk by Chika Okoro is a bold reminder that your voice and presence aren’t “too much”—they’re necessary.
My 2 Cents:
This piece wasn’t written for the algorithm. It was written because I needed to tell the truth—out loud.
There are women out there just like me who are brilliant, layered, exhausted, gifted, overwhelmed, passionate, and heartbroken… all at the same time. We don’t need another productivity hack—we need to be seen. We need space.
So here’s what I want you to know if you’re in this season too:
You don’t have to answer the phone.
You don’t have to explain your why.
You don’t have to keep shrinking just because your presence makes someone else feel small.
You’re not doing too much. You’re just doing what you were called to do.
And I hope you never again let someone who can’t carry your calling convince you that you’re the problem.
Rest if you need. Pause if you must.
But don’t you dare give up.
We were built for this.
—Dr. Lisa