If you fight for your excuses, you get to keep them.
Most of my clients are busy. Really busy. No “extra time” — who has that?
The most concerning part?
They don’t have time for themselves.
Not for sleep. Not for exercise. Not for recovery. Not for the kind of quiet self-reflection that tells you who you actually are, what you value, what you’re here to do.
So they drift. Lose direction. Spread themselves thin across every obligation until there’s nothing left for the person doing all the obliging.
When we start working together, the first wall we hit isn’t a strategy problem. It’s an internal one: learning to make time for themselves — not because it’s urgent, but because clarity, capacity, and the health they’ve somewhere lost along the way don’t come without it.
But Angela, I don’t have time.
I hear it often.
And my answer is always the same,
Yes. You don’t. And unless you make it — you’ll be exactly where you are today. No, actually, you’ll be worse.
When I was a kid, I hated green vegetables. Healthy food in general, not my thing. Sandwiches. That was my whole personality.
Then somewhere in my early twenties I had a realization: health and fitness actually matter to me. A lot. So maybe — just maybe — I needed to learn to enjoy the things that would make that possible. Instead of just saying I don’t like salads.
Now?
Roasted Brussels sprouts with garlic and black pepper are my comfort food.
Here’s what nobody tells you: your tastes change when you tell yourself a different story about who you are.
I don’t like small talk. I don’t like uncomfortable conversations. Sales calls are not my idea of a good time. Learning AI feels like homework. Given the choice, I’d eat chocolate, cookies, and cake for every meal.
So what?
Limit my entire life to what’s convenient? What gives instant gratification? And in doing so, give up everything that makes life rich, adventurous, and deeply worth living?
This morning I walked for thirty minutes after the gym. Nothing special about the route. But somewhere in the middle of it, I thought: this is extraordinary. No pain. No discomfort. Pure ease. Energy. Drive. Full presence.
That feeling, that limitlessness, exists on the other side of every inconvenient thing I decided was worth learning to enjoy.
You can keep telling yourself: I don’t have time. I don’t like it. That’s not me.
And you never get what’s waiting on the other side of those limits.
You’re free to choose. You’re always free to make any choice.
But is that really what you want to settle for?