Dear Reader,
"I'm so busy" has become the secret handshake of wellness practitioners.
When we say it, we're rarely just describing our calendar. We're sending coded signals: I'm in demand. My practice is thriving. I matter in this field. I'm good at what I do. It's the ultimate professional humblebrag, delivered with an exhausted sigh.
We might not even realize we’re doing it. But in wellness work, “busy” has quietly become a stand-in for legitimacy and success.
And I want to talk about how that’s harming us.
The (very subtle) status game
I’ve heard many practitioners—myself included—use the word “busy” when what we’re actually saying is something else entirely. Something like:
- I’m financially secure (or trying to be).
- I’m wanted, respected, or needed.
- I’m doing good work—just look how full my schedule is.
But underneath that, I often hear a quieter story. One that sounds more like:
- I don’t have enough support.
- I’m stretched too thin.
- My boundaries are fraying.
- I’m drowning.
And I want to say this gently, because it’s not our fault—we’ve been trained into this mindset. The nervous system gets used to a baseline of “too much” and begins to crave it. Scarcity becomes the water we swim in. Busyness starts to feel normal. And any moment of stillness can feel like failure.
A personal reckoning
In the summer of 2021, I was flooded with patients. I was seeing up to nine people a day, four days a week, often for hour-long visits. My admin day on Friday was spent scrambling to respond to patient messages, trying to close charts, and managing the various other administrative tasks of running a business. I had no admin support and very little time to catch my breath.
By every external metric, I was “so busy.” But I was not okay.
I was burned out and starting to feel resentful. I couldn't keep up with charting. I couldn't provide the kind of care I wanted to give. I couldn't even pay myself reliably. I genuinely considered leaving the field altogether.
That’s when I realized: Busy is not a good proxy for success.
Now, my practice looks very different. I see fewer patients. I charge more. And the care I’m able to give is deeper, more spacious, more effective. My patients get better results. I go home with more energy. I’m slowly rebuilding the foundation I neglected for years: movement, meal planning, and meditation. I still have days where I feel time-squeezed, but it’s no longer my default.
The shift didn’t happen all at once. But it started when I began to reject the idea that busyness was the measure of my worth.
Why this matters
Here's the uncomfortable truth: wellness practitioners enter this field to heal, but we carry our own wounds. Many of us are susceptible to overgiving, perfectionism, people-pleasing, and self-sacrifice. When we tie our professional worth to how full our schedules are, we activate these very patterns—the ones we're often trying to help our clients overcome.
And the “are you busy?” question—though usually asked with kind intentions—reinforces that script. It quietly implies that being busy means you’re doing well. That a long waitlist is something to be proud of. That a full calendar equals a thriving practice.
But that’s not always true. In fact, many of the most “successful” practitioners I know have intentionally created less busy practices—so they can be more present, more resourced, more impactful.
It takes real courage to go against the grain. To stop chasing packed days and start defining success by something deeper.
So what’s a better question?
The next time someone asks if you're busy, consider responding with something that invites a deeper conversation:
- "I'm working on aligning my practice with my actual capacity these days."
- "I'm experimenting with a schedule that supports my well-being as much as my income."
- "I'm focusing less on how many people I see and more on the quality of care I provide."
- "I'm redefining what success looks like in my practice right now."
These responses don't just change the conversation—they change the culture.
When we shift away from "busy" as our metric, we open up more meaningful ways to assess our work. Let's be honest: you can be fully booked and still feel empty. You can have open slots and be doing the best work of your life. The number of patients on your schedule doesn't tell the whole story.
Let’s talk about “enough”
Instead of aiming for busy, what if we aimed for enough—a threshold that's uniquely yours?
What might emerge if you mapped out your ideal ordinary week? Not a fantasy vacation schedule, but a sustainable rhythm that honors your whole life. What matters is asking yourself:
- What do you want to feel like during your day?
- What experience do you want your patients to have when they work with you?
- What non-negotiable elements of your life outside work need protected time?
- What activities replenish you that currently get squeezed out?
Enough is deeply personal. It shifts with your season of life, your pricing, your health, your dreams, your responsibilities, your capacity. And it's allowed to change.
The challenge—and the opportunity—is to define your enough on your own terms.
Because when you know what enough looks like, you can stop measuring your success against someone else's capacity, or your past self's capacity, or what you think your schedule should look like.
You can start choosing your relationship with time, instead of reacting to it.
"But my situation doesn't allow for that..."
I can already hear some of you thinking: This sounds lovely, but not realistic for my life.
And I get it. Let me address some common concerns:
"I can't afford to see fewer people." If you're financially dependent on your current workload, the answer might not be working less, but working differently. Could your pricing strategy use a review? In my own practice, I discovered expenses that were silently eating my profits. Sometimes small adjustments can create meaningful breathing room.
"The demands are beyond my control." Whether it's an employer's expectations, patient needs, or a partner counting on your income, external pressures are real. But your relationship with busyness remains yours to examine. Even without changing your schedule, you can shift how you relate to "busy"—viewing it less as a virtue and more as a signal that your system needs attention.
"My specialty is in high demand." I know brilliant practitioners who are perpetually busy, respected in their fields—and privately burning out. Their expertise is valuable, but the one-to-one model is draining them. Could your knowledge reach people in different formats? Classes, trainings, digital resources—while they require upfront investment, they might create sustainability your current approach lacks.
I'm not suggesting these shifts are simple. But I am suggesting they're necessary. Sacrificing ourselves at the Altar of Busyness isn't just unsustainable for us individually—it ultimately doesn't serve our field or the people we're here to help.
Creating a new relationship with time
After addressing the very real constraints many of us face, you might be wondering: What does the alternative actually look like in practice?
If you're a wellness practitioner feeling time-starved, here's what I want you to know:
You don’t have to live in reaction mode. You don’t have to fill every slot. You don’t have to prove your worth through your calendar.
A more spacious relationship with time is available. It might take rethinking your pricing, your systems, or your definition of success. But it’s there, waiting, if you choose to see it.
And when you start to create that space—for your body, your thoughts, your care—you’ll remember why you got into this work in the first place.
Journal prompts for honest reflection
Set aside 15 quiet minutes with these questions:
- Complete this sentence: "I know I'll have enough in my practice when _______." (Consider financial thresholds, emotional rewards, and energy reserves)
- When I tell people I'm busy, what am I really hoping they'll understand about me or my work? (Look for the underlying needs: validation, security, respect, etc.)
- If I were to design tomorrow with spaciousness as the priority, what would I remove, and what would I protect? (Then ask: what's stopping me from making one of these changes immediately?)
Final thought:
Busy is familiar. But it’s not your only option.
Let’s stop performing busyness—and start practicing enough.
With care,
Katy
