Debra Mae White - Permission to Rest: How to cultivate a life of self-care, rejuvenation and nurturing the spirit

F or most of my adult life, fear was the big motivator. I thought I would go broke if I didnt work hard, be forceful, and use might to make my reality into what I wanted it to be. Fearful and anxious, I would wake up, dart out of bed, put on a blue suit, and prepare for battle.

In 1975 I entered the high-stakes, high-pressure financial world and in the 1980s began studying to become a Certified Financial Planner (CFP). There were quotas to meet and sales contests where I was compared with my colleagues. Management pushed us advisors to perform or be fired. Plus, as a young female in a male-dominated profession, I had to prove that I was better and more competent than my male counterparts. One manager I worked for told me I didnt belong in the financial business and should go home and have a baby. I felt I had to prove him wrong, to prove I had what it took to succeed.

When I did start a family, I had a strong desire to provide a good quality of life for my children. This meant not only providing for them financially, but also finding the time to attend school events and drive to after-school activities. Playing the dual role of mother and professional advisor was a daily stressor.

The only travel I did during the years I was building my financial-planning practice was trips sponsored by the firms I affiliated with. I remember attending one conference that brought in a personal-development speaker as part of the agenda. He looked at the audience and asked, How many of you think you are on vacation? I raised my hand. The speakers eye swept across the room and said, If you have your hand up, you are a workaholic. That was my first clue that my life was out of balance, and it was a defining moment for methe awareness moment. I became aware that I was working way too much, and I made my mind up to take a real vacation someday. But I then convinced myself that the vacation could come only when the needs of my business were covered first.

As my practice grew more successful, I felt the pressure to meet and manage the expectations of my clients. My personal desire to help people only added to that pressure. Often I would take on any client who needed help, whether or not they were a good fit for my financial practice and even if they could barely rub two pennies together. Day or night, Id meet demands for appointments, even if they robbed me of sleep or time to myself.

The day-by-day, simmering stress suddenly rose to a boil when I experienced my own financial crises. My first marriage fell apart, and I became a single mother. Shortly after I met my present husband and remarried, we became embroiled in an intense custody battle with my ex-husband that left us emotionally and financially depleted. We had to sell our home and downsize in order to pay off our debt from the custody suit. In essence, we started our financial lives over from scratch.

All this time, sugar was my primary stress reliever. I always kept candy bars close by when I would work late. I could go for hours on a Butterfinger. Physically, I experienced low-energy periods when the sugar high would wear off, and mentally, Id have to psych myself up to keep going. Emotionally, I would overreact to a situation or find myself in tears for no specific reason. When I did make small attempts to manage my life, I would inevitably end up feeling guilty. For example, once, when I declined to help a colleague on a committee, she overtly criticized me, and that night I came home and cried myself to sleep, thinking I wasnt good enough because I couldnt pile on yet another commitment.

Periodically I sought help through counseling, but that was an expensive luxury I couldnt always afford. I kept overworking because I believed that so many people were counting on memy husband, my kids, my clients, and my colleagues. If I stopped to take a breath, I thought their lives would fall apart. My family needed the money to maintain our lifestyle. Even if we had been financially independent, I couldnt face abandoning my clients. I feared letting down those I loved. I thought that if I took care of my own needs, something or someone else would end up neglected and suffer.

I kept up my exhausting pace for three decades because I felt I had no other choice.

In 2005, my thirtieth year in the financial industry, my sisters, my mother, and I made a trip to the Texas hill country retreat known as The Crossings, where poet David Whyte was offering a weekend workshop. Whytes gifted performance led us all into the stillness within. One day during the retreat, I wandered onto an outcropping of limestone set beside a bed of brilliant bluebonnets. When I closed my eyes to ponder that afternoons lesson, I heard a voice within say, You are exhausted and need to rest.

Moreover, the voice continued, This is your new calling: you are called to write about rest, as your next career.

My mind immediately clouded up with fear. How could I shift into a new career, much less a career as a writer? How would I support myself? I would have to sell my house!

Your home will not be lost, but you will have to give up your current career, the voice said.

No, no, no, not me, I thought. I am a financial planner. This is the only thing I am. I couldnt imagine giving up my income or my identity.

Whether the voice was my own spirit speaking or the angels talking to me from heaven above, I will never know. But I was certain that I had been given divine guidance.

Spirit called, but at that moment, I just couldnt bring myself to answer. I came home from the retreat and continued doing what I had beenworking too hard, resting too little, fretting too much. I continued to struggle to be all things to all peoplea good wife, a caring mother, an attentive advisor, a professional leader, and a supportive colleague. All of these roles overshadowed self-care.