Filling My Own Tank

Why creating space wasn’t enough— and what helped me come back to myself.

I pull into the Mobil station and wait for my turn at the pump. The low fuel indicator on my dashboard has been illuminated for days, and now it is flashing urgently. As the person in front of me struggles to get the cover off their gas tank, I sigh and sit back in resignation. As I rest my head against the back of my seat, I’m grateful for a moment to relax. 

 I’m tired. My week has become a blur of client notes, errands, appointments, unanswered emails, and meals eaten too quickly between obligations. I feel depleted, overwhelmed, and stretched way too thin. 

As I wait, I realize that I’m also running on empty and feeling just a hint of a cold sneaking up on me. Pausing, I pull out the remainder of my to-do list and decide to forego the rest of the items and head home to give myself some much-needed space and time to rest and reset. In a moment of clarity, I understand that to tackle my to-do list and show up for my clients at my best, I need to take time to refill my own tank as well.

I arrive home, put my things down by the door, and let the dogs out. I am aware that I’m on borrowed time. Being the first one home, I have a little time to relax and unplug before others arrive and the evening routine begins. I head upstairs to run a bath, my mind still reeling with the unfinished items on my list. I take a deep breath and turn on the water.

The room fills with steam as I sink into the bath. I am so looking forward to the warmth of the water, the scent of my favorite oil, and a chance to pause, clear my mind, and rest, if only for a little while.

It’s still daylight as I look out the window from where I soak. The big, beautiful oak tree in our backyard provides shade from the sun, and I can hear the wind chimes hanging from one of its branches as it sways in the breeze. Over the years, many birds have found their own resting place in this tree, and I can hear them now as I attempt to relax.

But in the moment when I reach for stillness, I feel anything but. Instead of embracing the calm respite of a soothing bath, I feel agitated with the discomfort of leaving things unfinished. My mind is noisy with the items on my list, and I feel a pull back to thinking, doing, striving. I recognize a fitful discomfort within me that creates a restlessness I don’t know what to do with.

I notice an urge to get out of the tub and do something—anything that might offer some relief from my unsettledness. I think about the basket of unfolded laundry waiting downstairs, and the emails I need to return, but I’m now beginning to feel exhausted. My mind goes to my phone, and I feel an urge to lie back and scroll through social media. 

In that moment, my gaze shifts back out the window, and I am aware that I’m yearning for a distraction so I don’t have to feel this restless discomfort. I think about all of the things I could be doing instead of sitting in the tub with my noisy mind—my dog Rosie would love to take a second walk of the day, I could get online and begin shopping for my daughter’s birthday, I could crawl into bed and binge-watch my favorite show.

Instead of giving in to the urge to numb, distract—become mindlessly busy —I turn the hot water back on and sink deeper into the bath.

For many of us, this is a fork in the road—a choice between giving ourselves the rest and nourishment we need or distracting ourselves from the discomfort of being still. In a world that rewards productivity and busyness, it can be excruciatingly difficult to stop and give ourselves the true rest that we yearn for and require to thrive.

That afternoon in the bathtub, acknowledging my discomfort, I chose to rest.

As I sank further into the bath, I recognized both the agitation and my exhaustion and got curious. In the past, giving myself space when parts of me were activated allowed my system to calm and clarity to come forward. Why was my mind still so busy and restless when I offered myself space now? Why was the choice to take care of myself so difficult?

The noise in my head was like an alarm alerting me to keep going so as not to fall behind. The unsettledness was the tension between the part of me that feared falling behind and the part of me that deperately needed rest.

As I sank deeper into the tub that day, I chose to offer myself some grace and compassion. I allowed it all—the noise, the restlessness, the discomfort of the internal conflict. Not with an intention of “I need to fix this”, but with the intention to accept what was happening for me in that moment.

But allowing it all, and accepting the parts of me that were busy, did not grant me the rest I truly needed. And so I continued to soak. I focused on my breath, on the warmth of the bath, and the soothing scent of essential oils. 

“And I let go. 

I didn’t try to fix, change, or figure anything out. 

I simply loosened the grasp I had on these unsettled, agitated parts of me and made space for them all. 

And what I noticed was more space opening up.”

By allowing my body to relax, parts of me that were activated- the overwhelm, the restlessness, the agitation—began to soften and recede. And in its place, a sense of peace and presence bubbled up. Focusing on my breath, I exhaled a long sigh of relief. I knew in that moment that I was truly nourishing my system.

As I looked out the window, I watched the sun dip further on the horizon. I could hear a car pull into the driveway, doors slamming, and I knew my time was up. Taking a few more minutes to relish this respite, I reflected. Stepping away and creating space for myself when I need it is not enough. It’s about how I meet myself in that space.

I am becoming clearer about the difference between what distracts me from myself and what brings me back to myself. Choosing the stillness of the bath that day gave my body the rest it needed, and the busy parts of me permission to soften.

Filling my tank—giving myself what I truly need—is about gentleness rather than pressure. It’s turning toward my parts when they become activated and allowing them to be there, meeting them with care and compassion. It’s slowing down and offering my body and mind a quiet place to rest and reset. It’s letting things be unfinished. It’s prioritizing my own well-being over lists, deadlines, and demands.

And that makes room for qualities like clarity and perspective.

As I climbed out of the tub that day, my mind went to my to-do list. Suddenly, it seemed smaller and the remaining items less urgent. In a moment of clarity, I could see that giving myself time and space to be still and rest was not a waste or a luxury I couldn’t afford. It was a gift I gave myself that I could see would ripple out to my family, my clients, and the work that I do.

Getting to the point of exhaustion and overwhelm—pushing too hard, spreading ourselves too thin, carrying too many things—is often rewarded in our society. There was a time when I wore my exhaustion, my overwhelm, and my busyness like a badge of honor. Forcing myself to keep going past the point of exhaustion often left me sick, or at the very least unable to move forward with any efficiency, let alone joy.

I did not get sick that day. In the moment of overwhelm and exhaustion when I felt pulled to busy myself with distractions, I had the choice to rest or get sick; I chose rest.

And that made all the difference.

If you’ve been trying to pause, to slow down, to move away from overwhelm and exhaustion and towards ease and fulfillment—but find that it feels hard or out of reach, there’s nothing wrong with you.

Learning how to support yourself in these moments—how to feel more resourced, more grounded, and more connected internally—is the foundation of the work I do with my clients.

If you’re wanting support with this, I’d love to connect.