Hi Reader,

Do you ever find yourself treating life like a decadent brunch buffet, tottering around with a plate piled high with the waffles and the pancakes and the omelette and the quiche?

Or are you someone who knows their limits and has learned how to say no? If so, I salute you. My brain understands that less is more, but my heart rebels against constraints.

Alongside running my business and taking care of my kids, I coach and facilitate as a contractor, chair a board, volunteer locally, and do my best to keep two beehives and a vegetable garden alive.

A coaching client recently mentioned the Enneagram, and I took it for fun. I’m a Type 7 (Enthusiast) with an 8 (Challenger) wing, which means I pursue ten million passion projects while trying to do some good in the world.

Apparently, Enthusiast/Challengers are also motivated by a deep fear of pain. If my cup runneth over with good stuff, there’s no room for bad stuff…right?

I spend a lot of time thinking about how smartphones displace connected experiences.

But my Enneagram results made me wonder how even meaningful, positive pursuits can crowd out something else we need: presence with our pain.

My family entered 2026 safe, happy, and well fed. Vermont gave us a magically snowy winter, and I'm writing today from a grounded and pain-free place.

But 2025? As my 10-year-old would say, it was buns.

Our parked car was hit by a truck with my mom, sister, and older son inside. My husband spent five days in the hospital after a mountain biking accident. Our tween lost a front tooth in an injury, which meant endless appointments and all the feelings that come with seeing your kid lose even a small piece of themselves.

Everyone is fine. But for the second half of 2025, it felt like everyone I loved was getting hurt. Not to mention the hurt (+ rage, disbelief, and grief) I was processing as I read the headlines each day.

Then in the fall, it was my turn. I had an acute bout of sciatica. I’ve had back pain before during intense seasons of my life, like finishing my MBA while managing a team at Google, or the year I lost multiple loved ones, including our beloved dog, Boss.

Pain has always had a way of wrestling the overloaded plate out of my hands and escorting me to the couch to reflect on how I got there.

Here’s what I’m learning (again):

• The only way out is through. Especially when I “don’t have time,” I need be still and pay attention to how I'm feeling. Kool-Aid-Man-ing my way through the hard seasons creates more pain and delays relief.
• A full plate does not equal abundance, it equals scarcity. When my plate is overflowing, nothing can be savored, and there’s no buffer when I need time and space to heal, or tend to a loved one.

Which brings me to my theme for 2026: Ruthlessly Edit.

Less consuming. More creating. More time for art and writing and speaking.

And more receiving. My enthusiasm gets the best of me when I'm too busy building, fixing, and doing to sit in the garden and watch the bees make the best of the seeds I planted.

Rumi wrote: the cure for the pain is in the pain.

So I’ll leave you with the questions I’m asking myself:

• What might your pain be trying to teach you?
• What lessons does your mind understand, but your heart resists?
• What’s crowding out your presence right now?

I’d love to hear anything you’d like to share.

xx
Phoebe

PS - If you're interested in reading more on the mind-body connection, here are a couple of books I recommend:

Why Zebras Don't Get Ulcers by Dr. Robert M. Sapolsky, Stanford professor of biology and neurology

The Mind-Body Prescription by Dr. John Sarno, who spent his career treating chronic pain at NYU Medical Center