Our Energy is Part of the Product

A friend said something to me recently that I've been thinking about ever since. "I've noticed you push really hard toward a goal... and then you pull back and take a break." Honestly, it’s the best compliment. 

I'm genuinely proud of the way I take care of myself now, but it wasn't always like this.

I've been burnt out. I've been miserable. I've snapped at people who didn't deserve it. I'm even embarrassed to admit that there were times customers got the exhausted version of me too. I’m sure you have been there too. 

I grew up watching a generation—especially women—who did everything for everyone. They kept the plates spinning, but often at the expense of themselves. 

For a long time, I thought that's what success looked like, pleasing everyone. 

At some point, after I wasn't just surviving anymore, I made a decision that I didn't want that to be my life.

Finding your limits is hard. Respecting them is even harder.

Here's something that surprises people: I've realized I have about 18 hours a week of true people-facing capacity. I know, I own a coworking space, my job is literally just people!

Every day I'm switching between conversations, solving problems, celebrating wins, handling disappointments, answering questions, giving tours, supporting members, and responding to whatever walks through the front door.

Emotional labour is a kind of labour that is hard to measure output. And so naturally you always feel like you need to get more done. 

When you're constantly taking care of everyone else, it's incredibly easy to stop taking care of yourself. I used to be an expert people pleaser. I would skip lunch because there "wasn't time." I’d realize at 3 p.m. I hadn't had a sip of water all day. And I would ignore my body because someone else needs something.

It’s true at work, at home, and in our businesses. I used to think it was a badge of honour to be taking care of everyone else's needs, but now I think it's mostly evidence that I wasn't managing myself very well.

The biggest shift came when I realized something uncomfortable.

People don't actually need me.

They enjoy seeing me. They like chatting. They appreciate my help. But they don't need me standing at the front desk every day for The Atrium to be successful.

When I bought The Atrium, I was still working another full-time, very people-heavy job, so the business had to function without me. Every task a system could handle was one more ounce of energy I could spend building real relationships.

One promise I made myself was that I wouldn't go into The Atrium for one full week every month. And for the first year, I mostly kept it. If something urgent came up, I could solve it from my phone.

But I protected time so the business could prove to both of us that it didn't depend on me being physically present.

Then this year happened. We bought a historic building. Renovated it. Moved. Launched. Hosted grand openings. Welcomed more members than ever before. I pushed past my limits, because honestly, this was a season to lean in and push.

And by the end of those first two months, I was exhausted. But knowing July would settle down, I planned to get away. And last week I disappeared for a whole week.

I disconnected, trusted the team, the systems, and that if something wasn't perfect, everyone would survive. Because my wellbeing mattered more than perfection. 

I've learned something important about businesses that rely on relationships, our energy is part of the product.

If I'm depleted and rushed, people feel it. If I'm fully present, they feel that too.

Managing my energy is genuinely one of the best investments I can make in my business because it changes how I show up. That's also why our public hours are only 10 to 4, four days a week. It's what I have capacity for! And the truth is we are in control of our business and get to design them around our lives, not the other way around.  

Some people assume that I don't work much, but the truth is that showing up consistently with energy is much more valuable to people than working more and being miserable.  

I used to think the goal was to maximize my output. Now I believe the goal is to maximize the quality of my presence.

Maybe the goal isn't to squeeze more hours out of ourselves.

Maybe it's to understand ourselves well enough to build businesses that work with our capacity instead of constantly demanding more from it.

No one remembers how many hours you worked, they remember how you made them feel.

Your recovering people-pleaser,

Elle